midnight
I am dead ! '' And he pursued his onward way , with the red glow of the cigar under the chestnut splendor of his beard , and the black eyes of veiled women flashed lovingly on his tall , lithe form , with the scarlet undress fez set on his forehead , fair as a woman 's still , despite the tawny glow of the African sun that had been on it for so long . He was `` dead '' ; therein had lain all his security ; thereby had `` Beauty of the Brigades '' been buried beyond all discovery in `` Bel-a-faire-peur '' of the 2nd Chasseurs d'Afrique . When , on the Marseilles rails , the maceration and slaughter of as terrible an accident as ever befell a train rushing through the midnight darkness , at headlong speed , had left himself and the one man faithful to his fortunes unharmed by little less than a miracle ; he had seen in the calamity the surest screen from discovery or pursuit . Leaving the baggage where it was jammed among the debris , he had struck across the country with Rake for the few leagues that still lay between them and the city , and had entered Marseilles as weary foot travelers , before half the ruin on the rails had been seen by the full noon sun . As it chanced a trading yawl was loading in the port , to run across to Algiers that very day . The skipper was short of men , and afraid of the Lascars , who were the only sailors that he seemed likely to find to fill up the vacant places in his small crew .