Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  CRUEL TREATMENT--DESPAIR FOLLOWED BY HOPE AND A JOYFUL DISCOVERY.

  After the rough treatment he had received, the Mahdi, as we may wellbelieve, did not feel more amiably disposed towards his prisoners.

  Of course he had no reason for blaming Miles for what had occurred,nevertheless he vented his wrath against white men in general on him, bykeeping him constantly on the move, and enforcing prolonged and unusualspeed while running, besides subjecting him publicly to many insults.

  It was a strange school in which to learn self-restraint and humility.But our hero profited by the schooling. Necessity is a stern teacher,and she was the head-mistress of that school. Among other things shetaught Miles to reason extensively--not very profoundly, perhaps, noralways correctly, but at all events in a way that he never reasonedbefore. The best way to convey to the reader the state of his mind willbe to let him speak for himself. As he had a habit of thinking aloud--for sociability, as it were--in the dark cell to which he had beenrelegated, we have only to bend down our ear and listen.

  One night, about a week after the overthrow of his tyrant master, Mileswas seated on the hard floor of his cell, leaning against the wall, withhis knees drawn up and his face in his hands--his usual attitude whenengaged in meditation after a hard day's work.

  "I wouldn't mind so much," he murmured, "if I only saw the faintestprospect of its coming to an end, but to go on thus from day to day,perhaps year to year, is terrible. No, that cannot be; if we cannotescape it won't be long till the end comes. (A pause.) The end!--theend of a rope with a noose on it is likely to be _my_ end, unless Iburst up and run a-muck. No, no, Miles Milton, don't you think of that!What good would it do to kill half-a-dozen Arabs to accompany you intothe next world? The poor wretches are only defending their countryafter all. (Another pause.) Besides, you deserve what you've got forso meanly forsaking your poor mother; think o' that, Miles, when youfeel tempted to stick your lance into the Mahdi's gizzard, as Molloywould have said. Ah! poor Molloy! I fear that I shall never see youagain in this life. After giving the Mahdi and his steed such atremendous heave they would be sure to kill you; perhaps they torturedyou to--"

  He stopped at this point with an involuntary shudder.

  "I hope not," he resumed, after another pause. "I hope we may yet meetand devise some means of escape. God grant it! True, the desert isvast and scorching and almost waterless--I may as well say foodless too!And it swarms with foes, but what then? Have not most of the greatdeeds of earth, been accomplished in the face of what seemedinsurmountable difficulties? Besides--"

  He paused again here, and for a longer time, because there came suddenlyinto his mind words that had been spoken to him long ago by his mother:"With God _all things_ are possible."

  "Yes, Miles," he continued, "you must make up your mind to restrain youranger and indignation, because it is useless to give vent to them.That's but a low motive after all. Is it worthy of an intelligent man?I get a slap in the face, and bear it patiently, because I can't helpmyself. I get the same slap in the face in circumstances where I _can_help myself, and I resent it fiercely. Humble when I _must_ be so;fierce when I've got the power. Is not this unmanly--childish--humbug?There is no principle here. Principle! I do believe I never had anyprinciple in me worthy of the name. I have been drifting, up to thistime, before the winds of caprice and selfish inclination. (A longpause here.) Well, it just comes to this, that whatever happens I mustsubmit with a good grace--at least, as good grace as I can--and hopethat an opportunity to escape may occur before long. I have made up mymind to do it--and when I once make up my mind, I--"

  He paused once more at this point, and the pause was so long that heturned it into a full stop by laying his head on the block of wood whichformed his pillow and going to sleep.

  It will be seen from the above candid remarks that our hero was notquite as confident of his power of will as he used to be,--also, that hewas learning a few useful facts in the school of adversity.

  One evening, after a harder day than usual, Miles was conducted to theprison in which he and his companions had been confined on the day oftheir arrival.

  Looking round the cell, he observed, on becoming accustomed to the dimlight, that only one other prisoner was there. He was lying on the bareground in a corner, coiled up like a dog, and with his face to the wall.Relieved to find that he was not to be altogether alone, Miles sat downwith his back against the opposite wall, and awaited the waking of hiscompanion with some interest, for although his face was not visible, andhis body was clothed in a sort of sacking, his neck and lower limbsshowed that he was a white man. But the sleeper did not seem inclinedto waken just then. On the contrary, he began, ere long, to snoreheavily.

  Miles gradually fell into a train of thought that seemed to bring backreminiscences of a vague, indefinable sort. Then he suddenly becameaware that the snore of the snorer was not unfamiliar. He was on thepoint of rising to investigate this when the sleeper awoke with a start,sat bolt upright with a look of owlish gravity, and presented thefeatures of Jack Molloy.

  "Miles, my lad!" cried Jack, springing up to greet his friend warmly, "Ithought you was dead."

  "And, Jack, my dear friend," returned Miles, "I thought--at least Ifeared--that you must have been tortured to death."

  "An' you wasn't far wrong, my boy. Stand close to me, and look mestraight in the eyes. D'ee think I'm any taller?"

  "Not much--at least, not to my perception. Why?"

  "I wonder at that, now," said Molloy, "for I've bin hanged three times,an' should have bin pulled out a bit by this time, considering myweight."

  His friend smiled incredulously.

  "You may laugh, lad, but it's no laughin' matter," said Molloy, feelinghis neck tenderly. "The last time, I really thought it was all up wi'me, for the knot somehow got agin my windpipe an' I was all but choked.If they had kep' me up half a minute longer it would have bin all over:I a'most wished they had, for though I never was much troubled wi' thenarves, I'm beginnin' now to have a little fellow-feelin' for thesufferin's o' the narvish."

  "Do you really mean, my dear fellow, that the monsters have beentorturing you in this way?" asked Miles, with looks of sympathy.

  "Ay, John Miles, that's just what I does mean," returned the seaman,with an anxious and startled look at the door, on the other side ofwhich a slight noise was heard at the moment. "They've half-hanged methree times already. The last time was only yesterday, an' at anymoment they may come to give me another turn. It's the uncertainty o'the thing that tries my narves. I used to boast that I hadn't got noneonce, but the Arabs know how to take the boastin' out of a fellow. Ifthey'd only take me out to be hanged right off an' done with it, Iwouldn't mind it so much, but it's the constant tenter-hooks ofuncertainty that floors me. Hows'ever, I ain't quite floored yet. Butlet's hear about yourself, Miles. Come, sit down. I gets tired soonerthan I used to do since they took to hangin' me. How have they binsarvin' you out since I last saw ye?"

  "Not near so badly as they have been serving you, old boy," said Miles,as he sat down and began to detail his own experiences.

  "But tell me," he added, "have you heard anything of our unfortunatecomrades since we parted?"

  "Nothing--at least nothing that I can trust to. I did hear that poorMoses Pyne is dead; that they had treated him the same as me, and thathis narves couldn't stand it; that he broke down under the strain an'died. But I don't believe it. Not that these Arabs wouldn't kill himthat way, but the interpreter who told me has got falsehood so plainlywrit in his ugly face that I would fain hope our kind-hearted friend isyet alive."

  "God grant it may be so!" said Miles fervently. "And I scarcely thinkthat even the cruellest of men would persevere in torturing such agentle fellow as Moses."

  "May-hap you're right," returned Molloy; "anyhow, we'll take whatcomfort we can out o' the hope. Talkin' o' comfort, what d'ee think hasbin comfortin' me in a most wonderful w
ay? You'll never guess."

  "What is it, then?"

  "One o' them little books as Miss Robinson writes, and gives to soldiersand sailors--`The Victory' it's called, havin' a good deal in it aboutNelson's flagship and Nelson himself; but there's a deal more than thatin it--words that has gone straight to my heart, and made me see God'slove in Christ as I never saw it before. Our comrade Stevenson gave itto me before we was nabbed by the Arabs, an' I've kep' it in the linin'o' my straw hat ever since. You see it's a thin little thing--thoughthere's oceans o' truth in it--an' it's easy stowed away.

  "I forgot all about it till I was left alone in this place, and then Igot it out, an' God in his marcy made it like a light in the dark to me.

  "Stevenson came by it in a strange way. He told me he was goin' over abattle-field after a scrimmage near Suakim, lookin' out for the wounded,when he noticed somethin' clasped in a dead man's hand. The handgripped it tight, as if unwillin' to part with it, an' when Stevensongot it he found that it was this little book, `The Victory.' Here itis. I wouldn't change it for a golden sov, to every page."

  As he spoke, footsteps were heard approaching the door. With a startledair Molloy thrust the book into its place and sprang up.

  "See there, now!" he said remonstratively, "who'd ever ha' thowt thatI'd come to jerk about like that?"

  Before the door opened, however, the momentary weakness had passed away,and our seaman stood upright, with stern brow and compressed lips,presenting to those who entered as firm and self-possessed a man ofcourage as one could wish to see.

  "I knowed it!" he said in a quiet voice to his friend, as two strongarmed men advanced and seized him, while two with drawn swords stoodbehind him. At the same time, two others stood guard over Miles."They're goin' to give me another turn. God grant that it may be thelast!"

  "Yes--de last. You be surely dead dis time," said the interpreter, witha malignant smile.

  "If _you_ hadn't said it, I would have had some hope that the end wascome!" said Molloy, as they put a rope round his neck and led him away.

  "Good-bye, Miles," he added, looking over his shoulder; "if I never comeback, an' you ever gets home again, give my kind regards to MissRobinson--God bless her!"

  Next moment the door closed, and Miles was left alone.

  It is impossible to describe the state of mind in which our hero pacedhis cell during the next hour. The intense pity, mingled with anxietyand fierce indignation, that burned in his bosom were almost unbearable."Oh!" he thought, "if I were only once more free, for one moment, witha weapon in my hand, I'd--"

  He wisely checked himself in the train of useless thought at this point.Then he sat down on the floor, covered his face with his hands, andtried to pray, but could not. Starting up, he again paced wildly aboutthe cell like a caged tiger. After what seemed to him an age he heardfootsteps in the outer court. The door opened, and the sailor wasthrust in. Staggering forward a step or two, he was on the point offalling when Miles caught him in his arms, and let him sink gently onthe ground, and, sitting down beside him, laid his head upon his knee.From the inflamed red mark which encircled the seaman's powerful neck,it was obvious enough that the cruel monsters had again put him to thetremendous mental agony of supposing that his last hour had come.

  "Help me up, lad, and set my back agin the wall," he said, in a lowvoice.

  As Miles complied, one or two tears that would not be repressed fellfrom his eyes on the sailor's cheek.

  "You're a good fellow," said Molloy, looking up. "I thank the Lord forsendin' you to comfort me, and I _do_ need comfort a bit just now, d'eeknow. There--I'm better a'ready, an' I'll be upside wi' them next time,for I feels, somehow, that I couldn't stand another turn. Poor Moses!I do hope that the interpreter is the liar he looks, and that theyhaven't treated the poor fellow to this sort o' thing."

  Even while he spoke, the door of the cell again opened and armed menentered.

  "Ay, here you are," cried the sailor, rising quickly and attempting todraw himself up and show a bold front. "Come away an' welcome. I'mready for 'ee."

  But the men had not come for Molloy. They wanted Miles, over whom therecame a sudden and dreadful feeling of horror, as he thought they wereperhaps going to subject him to the same ordeal as his friend.

  "Keep up heart, lad, and trust in the Lord," said the sailor, in anencouraging tone as they led our hero away.

  The words were fitly spoken, and went far to restore to the poor youththe courage that for a moment had forsaken him. As he emerged into thebright light, which dazzled him after the darkness of his prison-house,he thought of the Sun of Righteousness, and of the dear mother who hadsought so earnestly to lead him to God in his boyhood.

  One thing that greatly encouraged him was the fact that no rope had beenput round his neck, as had been done to Molloy, and he also observedthat his guards did not treat him roughly. Moreover, they led him inquite a different direction from the open place where he well knew thatcriminals were executed. He glanced at the interpreter who marchedbeside him, and thought for a moment of asking him what might be hisimpending fate, but the man's look was so forbidding that he forbore tospeak.

  Presently they stopped before a door, which was opened by a negro slave,and the guards remained outside while Miles and the interpreter entered.The court into which they were ushered was open to the sky, andcontained a fountain in the centre, with boxes of flowers and shrubsaround it. At the inner end of it stood a tall powerful Arab, leaningon a curved sword.

  Miles saw at a glance that he was the same man whose life he had saved,and who had come so opportunely to the rescue of his friend Molloy. Butthe Arab gave him no sign of recognition. On the contrary, the glancewhich he bestowed on him was one of calm, stern indifference.

  "Ask him," he said at once to the interpreter, "where are the Christiandogs who were captured with him?"

  "Tell him," replied Miles, when this was translated, "that I knownothing about the fate of any of them except one."

  "Which one is that?"

  "The sailor," answered Miles.

  "Where is he?"

  "In the prison I have just left."

  "And you know nothing about the others?"

  "Nothing whatever."

  The Arab seemed to ponder these replies for a few minutes. Then,turning to the interpreter, he spoke in a tone that seemed to Miles toimply the giving of some strict orders, after which, with a wave of hishand, and a majestic inclination of the head, he dismissed them.

  Although there was little in the interview to afford encouragement,Miles nevertheless was rendered much more hopeful by it, all the morethat he observed a distinct difference in the bearing of the interpretertowards him as they went out.

  "Who is that?" he ventured to ask as he walked back to the prison.

  "That is Mohammed, the Mahdi's cousin," answered the interpreter.

  Miles was about to put some more questions when he was brought to asudden stand, and rendered for the moment speechless by the sight ofMoses Pyne--not bearing heavy burdens, or labouring in chains, as mighthave been expected, but standing in a shallow recess or niche in thewall of a house, busily engaged over a small brazier, cooking beans inoil, and selling the same to the passers-by!

  "What you see?" demanded the interpreter.

  "I see an old friend and comrade. May I speak to him?" asked Miles,eagerly.

  "You may," answered the interpreter.

  The surprise and joy of Moses when his friend slapped him on theshoulder and saluted him by name is not easily described.

  "I _am_ so glad to see you, old fellow!" he said, with sparkling eyes."I thought you must be dead, for I've tried so often to find out whathad become of you. Have some beans and oil?"

  He dipped a huge ladleful out of the pot, as if he were going toadminister a dose on the spot.

  "No, thank you, Moses, I'm a prisoner. These are my guards. I wonderthey have allowed me even to exchange a word with you. Must be quick.They told us you had
been half-hanged till you were frightened todeath."

  "They told you lies, then. I've been very well treated, but whattroubles me is I can't find out where any of our comrades have gone to."

  "I can tell only of one. Molloy is alive. I wish I could say he'swell. Of the others I'm as ignorant as yourself. But I've seen afriend who--"

  At this point he was interrupted by the interpreter and told to move on,which he was fain to do with a cheery good-bye to Moses and a wave ofthe hand.

  Arrived at the prison, he found that Molloy had been removed to a morecomfortable room, into which he was also ushered, and there they wereleft alone together.

  "D'you feel better now, my poor fellow?" asked Miles, when the door wasshut.

  "Better, bless you, yes! I feels far too well. They've given me a rareblow-out of beans an' oil since you were taken off to be hanged, and Ifeels so strong that the next turn off won't finish me! I could neverhave eaten 'em, thinkin' of you, but, d'ee know, I was quite sure, fromthe way they treated you as you went out, that it warn't to be hangin'wi' you this time. An' when they putt me into this here room, an'produced the beans an' oil, I began to feel quite easy in my mind aboutyou. It was the man that brought your marchin' orders that told 'em toputt me here. D'ee know, lad, I can't help feelin' that a friend o'some sort must have bin raised up to us."

  "You're right, Jack, I have just seen the Arab whose life I saved, andwho saved yours! It's very strange, too, that beans and oil should havebeen your fare to-day, for I have also seen Moses Pyne in the street,not half-an-hour since, cooking and selling beans and oil!"

  "You don't mean that?"

  "Indeed I do. I've spoken to him."

  Sitting down on a stool--for they were promoted to a furnishedapartment--Miles entered into an elaborate account of all that hadbefallen him since the hour that he had been taken out, as they boththought, to be hanged!