CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
ADVENTURES AMONG THE SOUDANESE, AND STRANGE MEETING WITH THE MAHDI.
Day after day, for many days, our captives were thus driven over theburning desert, suffering intensely from heat and thirst and hunger, aswell as from fatigue, and treated with more or less cruelty according tothe varying moods of their guards.
At last one afternoon they arrived at a city of considerable size,through the streets of which they were driven with unusual harshness bythe Arab soldiers, who seemed to take pleasure in thus publicly heapingcontempt on Christian captives in the sight of the Mohammedanpopulation.
Their case seemed truly desperate to Miles, as he and his comradespassed through the narrow streets, for no pitying eye, but many a frown,was cast on them by the crowds who stopped to gaze and scoff.
What city they had reached they had no means of finding out, beingignorant of Arabic. Indeed, even though they had been able to conversewith their guards, it is probable that these would have refused to holdcommunication with them.
Turning out of what appeared to be a sort of market-place, they weredriven, rather than conducted, to a whitewashed building, into whichthey entered through a low strong door, studded with large iron-headednails. As they entered a dark passage, the door was slammed and lockedbehind them. At first, owing to their sudden entrance out of intenselybright day, they seemed to be in profound darkness, but when they becameaccustomed to the dim light, they found that they were in the presenceof several powerful men, who carried long Eastern-like pistols in theirgirdles, and curved naked swords in their hands. These stood likestatues against the wall of the small room, silently awaiting the ordersof one whose dress betokened him of superior rank, and who was engagedin writing with a reed in Persian characters. A tall, veryblack-skinned negro stood beside this officer.
After a few minutes the latter laid down the reed, rose up, andconfronted the prisoners, at the same time addressing some remark to hisattendant.
"Who is you, an' where you come fro?" asked the negro, addressinghimself to Miles, whom he seemed intuitively to recognise as the chiefof his party.
"We are British soldiers!" said Miles, drawing himself up with an air ofdignity that would have done credit to the Emperor of China. You see,at that moment he felt himself to be the spokesman for, and, with hiscomrades, the representative of, the entire British army, and was putupon his mettle accordingly. "We come from Suakim--"
"Ay, black-face!" broke in Jack Molloy at that moment, "and you may tellhim that if he has the pluck to go to Suakim, he'll see plenty moreBritish soldiers--an' British seamen too--who'll give him an' hisfriends a hot and hearty welcome wi' bullet, bayonet, and cutlashwhenever he feels inclined."
"Are you officer?" asked the negro of Miles, and not paying the smallestattention to Molloy's warlike invitation.
"No, I am not."
Turning to the armed men, the officer gave them an order which causedthem to advance and stand close to the Englishmen--two beside eachprisoner--with drawn swords. An extra man took up his position behindMolloy, evidently having regard to his superior size! Then two men, wholooked like jailers, advanced to Stevenson, cut the cords that bound hisarms, and proceeded to put iron fetters on his wrists.
"Comrades," said Molloy, in a low voice, when he perceived that his turnwas coming, "shall we make a burst for it--kill them all, get out intostreet, cut and slash through the town, and make a grand run for it--ordie like men?"
"Die like fools!" growled Simkin, as he suffered his hands to bemanacled.
"No, no, Jack," said Armstrong; "don't be rash. Let's bide our time.There's no sayin' what'll turn up."
"Well, well," sighed Molloy, resigning himself to his fate, "there'sonly one thing now that's sartin sure to turn up, an' that is the sodthat'll cover our graves."
"You're not sure even of that, man," said Moses Pyne, who was beginningto give way to despair, "for may-hap they'll only dig a hole in thesand, an' shove us in."
"More likely to leave the dogs an' vultures to clear us out o' the way,"said Simkin, whose powers of hope were being tested almost beyondendurance.
While the prisoners indulged in these gloomy anticipations, theoperation of fixing their irons was finished, after which they weretaken across an inner court which was open to the sky. At the otherside of this they came to another heavy iron-studded door, which, whenopened, disclosed a flight of steps descending into profound darkness.
"Go in!" said the negro, who had accompanied them.
Molloy, who was first, hesitated, and the tremendous flush on his face,and frown on his shaggy brows, seemed to indicate that even yet hemeditated attempting his favourite "burst"! But Stevenson, pushing pasthim, at once descended, saying, as he went, "Don't be foolish, Jack; we_must_ learn to submit."
There were only three steps, and at the bottom a room about fifteen feetsquare, to enlighten which there was a small hole high up in one of thewalls. It did little more, however, than render darkness visible.
"God help us!" exclaimed Miles, with a sensation of sinking at the heartwhich he had never felt before.
And little wonder, for, as their eyes became accustomed to the dimlight, it was seen that the walls were blank, with nothing on them torelieve the eye save the little hole or window just mentioned; that thefloor was of hard earth, and that there was not a scrap of furniture inthe room--not even a stool, or a bundle of straw on which to lie down.
"`I will trust, and not be afraid,'" said Stevenson, in a low voice.
"Who will you trust?" asked Simkin, who was not aware that his comradehad quoted Scripture.
"I will trust God," answered the marine.
"I wouldn't give much for your trust, then," returned Simkin bitterly,as well as contemptuously, for he had given way to despair. "You BlueLights and Christians think yourselves so much better than everybodyelse, because you make so much talk about prayin' an' singin', an' doin'your duty, an' servin' God, an' submitting. It's all hypocrisy."
"Don't you believe that Sergeant Hardy is a good soldier?" askedStevenson.
"Of course I do," replied Simkin, in some surprise at the question.
"An' _he_ doesn't think much of himself, does he?" continued the marine.
"Certainly not. He's one o' the kindest an' humblest men in theregiment, as I have good reason to know."
"Yet he frequently talks to us of attendin' to our duty, an' doin'credit to the British Flag, an' faithfully serving the Queen. If thisis praiseworthy in the sergeant, why should the talk of duty an' servicean' honour to God be hypocrisy in the Christian? Does it not seemstrange that we Blue Lights--who have discovered ourselves to be muchworse than we thought ourselves, an' gladly accept Jesus as our Saviourfrom sin--should be charged with thinkin' ourselves `_better_ than otherpeople'!"
"Come now," cried Jack Molloy, seating himself on the floor, and leaninghis back against the wall; "it do seem to me, as you putt it, Stevenson,that the charge ought to be all the other way; for we, who make nopurfession of religion at all, thinks ourselves so far righteous thatwe've got no need of a Saviour. Suppose, now, as we've got to as low astate o' the dumps as men can well come to, we all sits down in a rowan' have a palaver about this matter--Parson Stevenson bein' the chiefspokesman."
They all readily agreed to this proposal. Indeed, in the circumstances,any proposal that offered the faintest hope of diverting their mindsfrom present trouble would have been welcome to them at that moment.The marine was nothing loath to fall in with the fancy of hisirrepressible comrade, but we do not propose to follow them in the talkthat ensued. We will rather turn at once to those events which affectedmore immediately the fortunes of the captives.
On the morning after their arrival in the city there was assembled inthe principal square a considerable concourse of Soudan warriors. Theystood chatting together in various groups in front of a public building,as if awaiting some chief or great man, whose richly caparisoned steedstood in front of the main entrance, with its
out-runner standing beforeit.
This runner was a splendid specimen of physical manhood. He was asblack as coal, as graceful as Apollo, and apparently as powerful asHercules,--if one might judge from the great muscles which stood outprominently on all his limbs, he wore but little clothing--merely a pairof short Arab drawers of white cotton, a red fez on his head, and asmall tippet on his shoulders. Unlike negroes in general, his featureswere cast in a mould which one is more accustomed to see in theCaucasian race of mankind--the nose being straight, the lipscomparatively thin, and the face oval, while his bearing was that of aman accustomed to command.
The appearance of a few soldiers traversing the square drew the eyes ofall in their direction, and caused a brief pause in the hum ofconversation. Our friends, the captives, were in the midst of thesesoldiers, and beside them marched the negro interpreter whom they hadfirst met with in the prison.
At the door of the public building the soldiers drew up and allowed thecaptives to pass in, guarded by two officers and the interpreter.Inside they found a number of military men and dignitaries groupedaround, conversing with a stern man of strongly marked features. Thisman--towards whom all of them showed great deference--was engaged whenthe captives entered; they were therefore obliged to stand aside for afew minutes.
"Who is he?" asked Molloy of the negro interpreter.
"Our great leader," said the negro, "the Mahdi."
"What! the scoundrel that's bin the cause o' all this kick-up?" askedJack Molloy, in surprise.
The interpreter did not quite understand the seaman's peculiar language,but he seemed to have some idea of the drift of it, for he turned up hisup-turned nose in scorn and made no reply.
In a few minutes an officer led the captives before the Mahdi, whoregarded them with a dark frown, directing his attention particularly toJack Molloy, as being the most conspicuous member of the party, perhaps,also, because Molloy looked at him with an air and expression of sterndefiance.
Selecting him as a spokesman for the others, the Mahdi, using the negroas an interpreter, put him through the following examination:--
"Where do you come from?" he asked, sternly.
"From Suakim," answered Molloy, quite as sternly.
"What brought you here?"
"Your dirty-faced baboons!"
It is probable that the negro used some discretion in translating thisreply, for the chief did not seem at all offended, but with the samemanner and tone continued--
"Do you know the number of men in Suakim?"
"Yes."
"Tell me--how many?"
To this Molloy answered slowly, "Quite enough--if you had only the pluckto come out into the open an' fight like men--to give you such a lickin'that there wouldn't be a baboon o' you left in the whole Soudan!"
Again it is probable that the interpreter did not give this speechverbatim, for while he was delivering it, the Mahdi was scanning thefeatures of the group of prisoners with a calm but keen eye.
Making a sign to one of his attendants to lead Molloy to one side, hesaid a few words to another, who thereupon placed Miles in front of hismaster.
"Are you an officer?" was the first question put.
"No," answered our hero, with quiet dignity, but without the slightesttinge of defiance either in tone or look.
"Will you tell me how many men you have in Suakim?"
"No."
"Dare you refuse?"
"Yes; it is against the principles of a British soldier to giveinformation to an enemy."
"That's right, John Miles," said Molloy, in an encouraging tone; "giveit 'im hot! They can only kill us once, an'--"
"Silence!" hissed the Mahdi between his teeth.
"Silence!" echoed the interpreter.
"All right, you nigger! Tell the baboon to go on. I won't run foul ofhim again; he ain't worth it."
This was said with free-and-easy contempt.
"Do you not know," resumed the Mahdi, turning again to Miles with afierce expression, "that I have power to take your life?"
"You have no power at all beyond what God gives to you," said Milesquietly.
Even the angry Mahdi was impressed with the obvious truth of thisstatement, but his anger was not much allayed by it.
"Know you not," he continued, "that I have the power to torture you todeath?"
Our hero did not at once reply. He felt that a grand crisis in his lifehad arrived, that he stood there before an assemblage of "unbelievers,"and that, to some extent, the credit of his countrymen for courage,fidelity, and Christianity was placed in his hands.
"Mahdi," he said, impressively, as he drew himself up, "you have indeedthe power to torture and kill me, but you have _not_ the power to openmy lips, or cause me to bring dishonour on my country!"
"Brayvo, Johnny! Pitch into him!" cried the delighted Molloy.
"Fool!" exclaimed the Mahdi, whose ire was rekindled as much by theseaman's uncomprehended comment as by our hero's fearless look and tone,"you cannot bring dishonour on a country which is already dishonoured.What dishonour can exceed that of being leagued with the oppressoragainst the oppressed? Go! You shall be taught to sympathise with theoppressed by suffering oppression!"
He waved his hand, and, quickly leaving the court, walked towards hishorse, where the fine-looking negro runner stood and held his stirrup,while he prepared to mount. Instead of mounting, however, he stood fora few seconds looking thoughtfully at the ground. Then he spoke a fewwords to the runner, who bowed his head slightly as his master mountedand rode away.
Grasping a small lance and flag, which seemed to be the emblems of hisoffice, he ran off at full speed in front of the horse to clear the wayfor his master.
At the entrance to the building an official of some sort took hold ofMiles's arm and led him away. He glanced back and observed that twoarmed men followed. At the same time he saw Molloy's head toweringabove the surrounding crowd, as he and his comrades were led away inanother direction. That was the last he saw of some at least, of hisfriends for a considerable time.
Poor Miles was too much distressed at this sudden and unexpectedseparation to take much note of the things around him. He was broughtback to a somewhat anxious consideration of his own affairs by beinghalted at the gate of a building which was more imposing, both in sizeand appearance, than the houses around it. Entering at the bidding ofhis conductors, he found himself in an open court, and heard the heavydoor closed and bolted behind him.
Thereafter he was conducted to a small chamber, which, althoughextremely simple, and almost devoid of furniture, was both cleaner andlighter than that in which he and his comrades had been at firstimmured. He observed, however, with a feeling of despondency, that itwas lighted only by small square holes in the roof, and that the doorwas very substantial!
Here his conductor left him without saying a word and bolted the door.As he listened to the retreating steps of his jailer echoing on themarble pavement of the court, a feeling of profound dejection fell uponour hero's spirit, and he experienced an almost irresistible tendency togive way to unmanly tears. Shame, however, came to his aid and enabledhim to restrain them.
In one corner of the little room there was a piece of thick matting.Sitting down on it with his back against the wall, the poor youth laidhis face in his hands and began to think and to pray. But the prayerwas not audible; and who can describe the wide range of thought--thegrief, the anxiety for comrades as well as for himself, the remorse, theintense longing to recall the past, the wish that he might awake andfind that it was only a wild dream, and, above all, the bitter--almostvengeful--self-condemnation!
He was aroused from this condition by the entrance of a slave bearing around wooden tray, on which were a bowl of food and a jug of water.
Placing these before him, the slave retired without speaking, though hebestowed a glance of curiosity on the "white infidel dog," beforeclosing the door.
Appetite had ever been a staunch friend to Miles Milton. It did notfail him now.
Soldier-life has usually the effect of making itsdevotees acutely careful to take advantage of all opportunities! He setto work on the bowlful of food with a will, and was not solicitous toascertain what it consisted of until it was safely washed down with adraught from the jug. Being then too late to enter on an inquiry as toits nature, he contented himself with a pleasing recollection that themain body of the compost was rice, one of the constituents oil, and thatthe whole was by no means bad. He also wished that there had been moreof it, and then resumed his previous--and only possible--amusement ofmeditation.
Thinking, like fighting, is better done on a full stomach! He hadgradually thought himself into a more hopeful state of mind, when he wasagain interrupted by the entrance of visitors--two armed men, and themagnificent negro runner whom he had observed holding the Mahdi's horse.One of the armed men carried a small bundle, which he deposited on theground, and then stood beside his companion. Both stood like sentinelswith drawn swords, ready, apparently, to obey the commands of therunner.
Advancing to the captive, the latter, producing a key, unlocked andremoved his manacles. These he handed to one of the men, and, turningagain to Miles, said, to his great surprise, in English--
"Undress, and put on de t'ings in bundle."
We may here observe that up to this time Miles and his comrades inadversity had worn, day and night, the garments in which they had beencaptured. Our hero was not sorry, therefore, at the prospect of achange. Untying the bundle to see what substitute was given for hisuniform, he found that it contained only a pair of loose cotton drawersand a red fez.
"Is this all?" he asked, in surprise.
"All," answered the negro.
"And what if I refuse to undress?" asked Miles.
"Your clo'es will be tore off your back and you be bastinado!"
This was said so calmly, and the three grave, powerful men seemed sothoroughly capable of performing the deed, that our hero wiselysubmitted to the inevitable and took off his uniform, which one of theguards gathered up piece by piece as it was removed. Then he pulled onthe drawers, which covered him from the waist to a little below theknees. When he had put on the red fez he found himself clothed inexactly the same costume as the runner, with the exception of a smallgreen tippet which barely covered the top of his shoulders, and seemedto be worn rather as an ornament than a piece of clothing, thoughperhaps it formed a slight protection from the sun.
In this cool costume they left him, carrying away his uniform, as ifmore thoroughly to impress on him what uncommonly cool things they werecapable of doing in the hot regions of the Soudan!
Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan Page 24
