Chapter Four.
The New Recruit.
For a few moments the picture was at its best, actors and spectator looking as rigid as if carved in wood or stone.
Then all was over, the doctor dropping the stick and scrambling up; Frank putting the tongs into the fender, Sam stooping to pick up the letter from the carpet, and the professor tearing his fez off his head, to dash it on the floor.
“Hang it!” he cried angrily; “destroyed the illusion! There, it’s all over, Frank. I can’t see it now.”
“Beg pardon, sir. Letter, sir,” said Sam stiffly, and he was as rigid as a drill sergeant, and his face like wood in its absence of all expression, as he stared hard over the waiter at his master, whose fingers trembled and cheeks coloured a little as he took the missive.
“Ahem!” said the doctor uneasily, and Sam, who was about to wheel about and leave the room, stood fast. “A—er—er—a little experiment, Samuel,” he continued.
“Yes, sir,” said the man quietly.
“Er—errum—Samuel,” said the doctor; “the fact is, I—er—we—er—we do not wish this—that you have seen just now—talked about downstairs.”
“Suttonly not! sir,” said the man sharply, though the moment before he had been chuckling to himself about how he would make cook laugh about the games being carried on in the study.
“Thank you, Samuel,” said the doctor, clearing his throat and gaining confidence as he went on. “The fact is, Samuel, a confidential servant ought to be trustworthy.”
“Suttonly, sir,” said Sam.
“And hear, see, and—”
“Say nothing, sir, of course. You may depend upon me, sir.”
“Thank you, Samuel. Well, after what you heard last night you will not be surprised that we have decided to go out to Egypt at once in search of Mr Harry Frere.”
“Not a bit, sir. Just what I should expect.”
“Exactly, Samuel. To go up the country means, you see, the necessity of dressing ourselves like the people out there.”
“Yes, sir; much better for the climate.”
“And that is why we were, so to speak, going through a little practice.”
“Suttonly, sir. Quite right. And about luggage, sir. What shall I get ready?”
“Ah! That requires a little consideration, Samuel. I’ll go into that with you by and by.”
“Very good, sir. But I should like to ask one question.”
“Certainly, Samuel,” said the doctor gravely; “what is it?”
“Only this, sir. When do we start?”
“When do we start?” said the doctor, staring. “My good man, I did not propose to take you.”
“Not take me, sir?” cried the butler, staring. “Why, whatever do you think you could do without me?”
The doctor stared blankly at his man, and then turned to the professor.
“Ah! No hesitation, Morris,” said the latter sharply. “I haven’t quite come round yet regarding both of you, though matters have altered me a good deal during the last five minutes; but with regard to this last phase—the idea of taking your servant—that really is quite out of the question.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Sam seriously; “I don’t think that it would be right for master to think of going without me.”
“Well, Samuel, I must own,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “I should miss your services very much.”
“You couldn’t do it without me, sir,” said the man sternly. “I shouldn’t like you to attempt it.”
“Look here, Doctor Morris,” said the professor angrily, “do you allow your servant to dictate to you like this?”
“Well, you see,” said the doctor, “Samuel has always been such a good, attentive fellow, and taken so much interest in his work, Landon, that I feel rather puzzled as to whether this is dictation or no.”
“It aren’t, sir, really,” cried Sam appealingly. “Is it, Mr Frank?”
“Well, no, I don’t think it is,” said the young man. “I take it that Sam is only anxious to go on waiting upon his master.”
“That’s it, sir. Thankye, Mr Frank. That’s it, but it ain’t all. If you three gentlemen are going on your travels to find and bring back Mr Harry, it seemed to me that I’m just the sort o’ man as would be useful. I don’t want to make out as I’m a dabster at any one thing, gentlemen, but there ain’t many things I shouldn’t be ready to have a try at, from catching one’s dinner to cooking it, or from sewing on buttons to making a shoe.”
“Look here, Sam, you can shave, I know,” said Frank, “for you’ve shaved me several times.”
“Well, sir,” said the man, with a queer cock of the eye, “I’ve soaped and lathered your chin, and I’ve run a razor over your face, but I don’t think I found anything to scrape off.”
“I call that mean,” cried Frank; “just when I was putting in a word for you. I’m sure there was a little down on my upper lip and chin.”
“Oh, yes, sir, just as if you had had a touch with a sooty finger; but down don’t count with me in shaving; it’s what comes up bristly and strong.”
“Well, leave my beard alone,” said Frank. “Look here, could you shave a man’s head?”
“Ask master, sir,” said the butler with a grin, and Frank turned to his brother’s old companion.
“Oh, yes, he has shaved the heads of patients for me several times,” said the doctor. “He’s very clever at that.”
“I say, Professor Landon,” said Frank, turning to him, “do you hear this? The Hakim ought to have his barber, and you know what important folk they are in the East.”
“Humph! Yes,” said the professor thoughtfully; “there is something in that. Barbers have become grand viziers, and in such shaving countries a barber is held in high respect. He would be all right there. But no, no, I cannot be weak over so vital a thing as this. Just think, you two, of the consequences if through some inept act on his part he should ruin all our prospects.”
“Me, sir?” cried Sam excitedly; “me ruin your prospects by committing that there act as you said! I wouldn’t do it for any money. Take a oath before a magistrate or a judge that I wouldn’t I don’t even know what it is.”
“Oh, you’d do your best, I believe, Sam,” said the professor.
“I’m glad you do, sir,” said the man, who was almost whimpering. “It sounds hard on an old servant to be thought likely to do what you said.”
“But look here, my lad; we ought to do all that is wanted for ourselves, excepting such little jobs as we could set the Arabs to do.”
“Arabs, sir? The Arabs!” cried Sam. “Oh, I don’t think much of them. I’ve seen ’em. That lot as come over to London seven years ago. Bed-ridden Arabs they call theirselves. They could tumble head over heels, and fire off guns when they were in the air; but you gentlemen want a good honest English servant, not a street tumbler and accryback.”
“Tut, tut, tut! listen to me,” said the professor. “Do you know what the desert is like?”
“Can’t say I know much about it, sir, only what I read in Mungo Park’s travels. Deal o’ sand, ain’t there?”
“Yes,” said the professor, “there is a deal of sand there, and no houses, no butlers’ pantries, no kitchens.”
“Well, sir, if I made up a box with half a knifeboard for a lid, and my bottle o’ blacking, my brushes, and a leather or two and the rouge for my plate, I daresay I could get on.”
“Bah-h-h-h!” snarled the professor. “Why didn’t you add a big stone filter, a plate-rack, and a kitchen boiler? My good man, you’re impossible.”
“I ain’t, sir, ’pon my word. You mean I should have to make more of a shift. Well, of course I would.”
“Look here, then, I grant that you can shave. You can make a fire, boil water, and cook?”
“Can I, sir?” cried the man scornfully. “I should think I can!”
“Can you cook kabobs?”
“What’s them, sir—Egyptian vegetables?”
“Vegetables! Hark at him! Did you ever hear of Kous-kous?”
“Can’t say I ever did, sir; but look here, I’ll buy ‘Cookery for the Million,’ and I’ll soon learn.”
“Oh, you’re improving!” said the professor sarcastically. “Here, I’ll try you on something else. Could you ride and drive a camel?”
“What, one of them wobbly, humpy things at the Zoo? I never tried, sir, but I’ve seen the children have rides on them. I could soon manage one o’ them, sir. I’d try an elephant if it came to that.”
The professor shook his head disparagingly, and Sam gave Frank and his master an imploring look, which made the former take his part. “Look here, professor,” he said quietly; “really I think it might be managed,” and Sam’s long face shortened.
“Managed! Do you think we shall do what we propose if you and Morris take your valets?”
“There is going to be a black slave in the party,” said Frank, “and I do not see why the Hakim should not have a barber who is a white slave.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the professor, in a regular camel-like grunt, and he set up his back after the manner of that animal.
“Would you mind going as a slave, Sam?” asked Frank—“the Hakim’s slave?”
“Not a bit, sir, so long as Mr Hakim’s going to be one of the party. Me mind being a slave? Not I. Ain’t Mr Harry one pro tempenny? I’m willing, sir, willing for anything. I don’t want no wages. I want to go.”
“And you shall go, Samuel,” said the doctor firmly. “I’ll talk the matter over with Mr Landon.”
“Thankye, sir, thankye,” cried the man joyfully. “And I beg your pardon, Mr Landon, sir; don’t you take against me because it’s going against you. I’m willing to do any manner of things to make you gentlemen comfortable all the time.”
“I believe you, Sam,” said the professor. “There, I give way.”
“Thankye kindly, sir!” cried the man excitedly.
“But look here. It is only due to him that he should be told that we are going upon a very dangerous expedition. We shall have to travel amongst people who would think it a meritorious action to cut our throats if they had the merest suspicion that we were going to try and rescue Mr Harry Frere. Then we shall have the risks of fever, dying from thirst, perhaps from hunger, and as likely as not being taken prisoners ourselves and made slaves—are you listening, Sam?”
“Hearing every word, sir. But I say, sir, is it as bad as that?”
“Honestly, my man,” said the professor solemnly; “it is all that and worse, because we shall have to cut ourselves adrift from all Government protection and trust to our own wits. Now then, my man, do not hesitate for an instant—if you feel that you cannot cheerfully put up with peril and danger, and dare every risk, say so at once, for you will be doing your master a good turn as well as us.”
“Are you gentlemen going to chance it all?” said Sam quietly.
“Certainly.”
“All right, gentlemen, then so am I, and as soon as ever you like.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Frank, who had been watching the play of the man’s countenance anxiously, and he crossed to Sam and shook his hand, making the butler’s face glow with pride and pleasure combined.
“Now then,” said the professor, “one more word, Sam. It is of vital importance that you keep all this a profound secret. From this hour you know nothing except that you are the Hakim’s servant till we have left Cairo. After that you are the Hakim’s slave, and you hold him in awe.”
“Of course, sir,” said Sam, with his face wrinkling with perplexity. “I’ll hold him in anything you like. I won’t say a word to a soul. I won’t know anything, and I hope Mr Hakim will be as satisfied with me as master has always been.”
“And you think I have always been satisfied with you, Samuel?” said the doctor, smiling pleasantly.
“I think so, sir,” replied the man. “I’ve been some years in your service, and you’re a gentleman as will always have everything done as it should be.”
“Of course.”
“And you never found fault with me yet. And I will say that a better mas—”
“No, you will not,” said the doctor quickly. “That will do.”
“Certainly, sir,” said the man, looking abashed.
“You like the doctor as a master, then?” said Frank, with a twinkle of the eye.
“Like him, sir!” cried Sam.
“Well, I think you will like your new master quite as well.”
“I hope so, sir. I’ll do my best. Shall I see him soon?”
“Of course,” said Frank. “There he is. The Hakim, Doctor Morris—the learned surgeon who is going to practise through the Soudan.”
“Oh-h-h!” cried Sam, with his face lighting up. “I see now, gentlemen.”
“But remember,” said the doctor sternly, “the necessity for silence has begun, so keep your own counsel, which will be keeping ours.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now go and begin putting together the few things you will require on our voyage and journey.”
“Remembering,” said the professor, “that we must take only the simplest necessaries. I shall have to overhaul every man’s bag after you have brought it down to the lowest state. There, Sam, I agree to your going fully, for I believe you will not let us repent it.”
“Thank you, sir. Shall we go soon?”
“Within forty-eight hours if it can be managed. Give me my hat and stick. I’ll go at once and see if berths are to be had on a P. and O. boat. You two will begin getting absolute necessaries together in the way of your professional needs, not forgetting your instruments and chemicals, Frank. Take all you said. They will be heavy and bulky, but they will pay for taking. As for me, as soon as I have settled about the boat I will get my own few things together and see to the arms. I have a pretty good selection of Arabian weapons. What more we require can be obtained in the Cairene bazaar.”
Chapter Five.
Sheikh Ibrahim.
Time works wonders, they say; so does money in able and experienced hands.
The professor’s were experienced hands, and he had ample funds at his disposition. The result of his inquiries that morning was that he found he could by starting the next night catch the mail which would bear him and his friends, travelling night and day, to Brindisi—for southern Italy, where the mail steamer would be waiting to take them on to Ismailia. Then in a few days from starting they would have changed into the not very efficient Egyptian railway, to be set down within sight of the pyramids on the borders of the mighty desert, with the south open to them, if all went as they had arranged, for their journey in search of the prisoner gazing northward and hoping still that help might come and his captivity and sufferings at last be ended.
It is wonderful what energy will do.
Now that the plans had been decided upon the professor worked like a slave. Long experience had made him an adept. He knew exactly what outfitters to go to, and when there what to select, and it was wonderful how little he deemed necessary.
“You see we hardly want anything here, Frank, lad,” he said. “Some things we cannot get out there, but the majority of our necessaries we must buy in Cairo, and quietly too, for if it got wind that we were going upon such an expedition we should be stopped.”
“I suppose so.”
“But I can manage all that. I have an old friend or two, sheikhs who will do anything I ask, and supply me on the quiet with followers and tents and camels. For they love me as a brother, and you shall hear them say all sorts of sugary flowers of speech. They will bless me, and say that it is like the rising of the sun upon their tents to see my noble visage once again. They will kiss the sand beneath my feet in the warmth of their attachment, and do all I wish for shekels, Franky, all for shekels.”
“But can you trust them?” said Frank.
“Certainly. They will keep faith, and be ready even to fight for us if the odds are not too great, and the shekels are duly paid. There, I don’t think we need trouble about anything more, after the two leather cases are packed with the conjuring tricks and physic of the learned Hakim and his slaves. The sinews of war will do the rest. Hah! I am glad we are going into the desert once again. We must get to Hal as soon as possible, and somehow scheme to get him free, but you must curb your impatience. It will be all express till we reach Cairo—all the end of the nineteenth century; but once we are there, excepting for the civilisation of that modern city we shall have gone back to the times of the Arabian Nights and find the country and the people’s ways unchanged. And do you know what that means?”
“Pretty well,” said Frank; “crawling at a foot’s pace when one wants to fly.”
“That’s it; just as fast as a camel will walk.”
Those hours of preparation passed more quickly to Frank than any that he could recall during his busy young life, and over and over again he despaired of the party being ready in time, so that he could hardly believe it when the carriage-door was slammed, the whistle sounded, and the train glided out of the London terminus with the question being mentally asked, Shall we ever see the old place again?
Then sleepless nights and drowsy days, as the party sped through France and Switzerland, dived through the great tunnel, to flash out into light in sunny Italy, and then on and on south, with the rattle of the train forming itself into a constant repetition of two words, which had been yelled in the tunnel and echoed from the rocky walls of the deep cutting—always the same: “Save Harry! Save Harry!” till Frank’s brain throbbed.
Then Brindisi, with the mails being hurried from the train to the noble steamer waiting to plough the Mediterranean and bear the adventurers south and east for the land of mystery with its wonders of a bygone civilisation buried deeply in the ever-preserving sand.
And now for the first time Frank’s brain began to be at rest from the hurry of the start, as he lay back half asleep in the hot sunshine, watching the surface of the blue Mediterranean and the soft, silvery clouds overhead, while the doctor and the professor sat in deck-chairs, reading or comparing notes, but all three resting so as to be ready for the work in hand.
It was one glorious evening when Frank was leaning over the side gazing forward towards the land that they were soon to reach, and where they would give up the inert life they were leading for one of wild and stirring adventure, that the young man suddenly started out of his dreamy musings, for a voice behind him said softly—
“Beg pardon, sir.” Frank turned sharply round. “Don’t mind me speaking, sir, I hope?”
“No, Sam,” said Frank, rousing himself and speaking in a tone which plainly suggested, “Go on.”
“Thankye, sir. Don’t seem to have had a chance to speak to you in all this rumble tumble sort of look-sharp-or-you’ll-be-left-behind time.”
“No, we haven’t seen much of one another, Sam.”
“We ain’t, sir, and I don’t know as I’ve wanted to talk much, for it’s took all my time to think and make out whether it’s all true.”
“All true?”
“Yes, sir. Seems to me as if I’m going to wake up directly to find I’ve been having a nap in my pantry in Wimpole Street.”
“Hah! It has been a rush, Sam.”
“Rush, sir? It’s wonderful. Seems only yesterday we were packing up, and now here we are—down here on the map. One of the sailors put his finger—here it is, sir, signed Jack Tar, his mark, for it was one of the English sailors, not one of the Lascar chaps. That’s where we are, sir.”
Sam held up a conveniently folded map, surely enough marked by the tip of a perspiring finger.
“He says we shall be in port to-morrow, and have to shift on to the rail again, and in a few hours be in Cairo on the River Nile.”
“That’s quite correct, Sam,” said Frank, smiling; “and then our work will begin.”
“And a good job too, sir; I want to be at it. But my word! it seems wonderful. Me only the other day in my pantry, Wimpole Street, W., and to-morrow in King Pharaoh’s city where there were the plagues and pyramids.”
“And now hotels and electric lights, and the telegraph to communicate with home.”
“Yes, sir, it’s alarming,” said Sam. “Pity it don’t go right up to Khartoum—that’s the place, ain’t it, sir?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“So as we could send a message to Mr Harry: ‘Keep up your spirits; we’re on the way.’”
“Ah, if we could, Sam!” said Frank, with a sigh.
“Never mind, sir; we’re not losing much time. But who’d ever think it! I used to fancy that foreign abroad would look foreign, but it don’t a bit. Here’s the sea and the sky looking just as it does off the Isle o’ Wight when you’re out o’ sight o’ land; and only when we saw the mountains with a morsel of snow on their tops did the land look different to at home. I suppose it will be a bit strange in Egypt, though, sir, won’t it?”
“Oh, yes. Wait a few hours longer,” said Frank, “and then you’ll see.”
Sam came to him the next night when they were settled in the European hotel, where the professor was welcomed as an old friend.
“I’ve put out all you’ll want, sir,” said the man. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No, Sam; I’m just going to bed so as to have a good night’s rest ready for work to-morrow. Well, does this seem foreign?”
“Foreign, sir? Hullo! there’s another of ’em.”—Slap.—“Missed him again! Have they been at you yet, sir?”
“What, the mosquitoes? Yes. I just brushed one off.”
“They seem to fancy me, sir. I expected they’d be great big things, but they’re only just like our gnats at home.”
“Indeed! What about their bite!”
“Oh, yes, they bite sharper, sir. I expect it’s because they’re so precious hungry, sir. But foreign? Oh, yes, this’ll do, sir. It’s wonderful, what with the camels and the donkeys. My word! they are fine ’uns. I saw one go along cantering like a horse. Yes, sir, this’ll do. But I suppose we’re not going to stay here long?”
“Only till the professor can make his preparations for the start, and then we’re off right away into the desert.”
“Right, sir; on donkeys?”
“On camels, Sam.”
“H’m! Seems rather high up in the air, sir. Good way to fall on to a hard road.”
“Road—hard road, Sam?” said Frank laughing. “If you fall it will be on to soft sand. There are no roads in the desert.”
“No roads, sir? You mean no well-made roads.”
“I mean no roads at all; not even a track, for the drifting sand soon hides the last foot-prints.”
Sam stared.
“Why, how do you find your way, sir?” said Sam, staring blankly.
“Either by the compass, as one would at sea, or by trusting to the Arabs, who know the landmarks.”
“And sometimes by the camels’ bones,” said the professor, who had entered the room unheard. “Plenty of them die along the caravan tracks. But I daresay we shall find our way, for there is the big river which marks our course pretty well, if we were at fault.”
“Thankye, sir; you’d be sure to know,” said Sam hurriedly. “I was only asking Mr Frank like so as to pick up a little about the place.”
The man asked no more questions, but made the best of his way to his own room.
“Come down and out into the grounds, my lad,” said the professor. “The doctor’s sitting in the garden having his cigar.”
“I was just going to bed.”
“Yes, but come with me for an hour first. I’ve an old friend waiting to see me, and I thought I’d bring you down.”
“I don’t want to meet his old friends,” thought Frank impatiently. Then aloud, as he followed: “Of course you will say nothing about the object of our visit here?”
“Trust me,” said the professor quietly.
“Is your friend staying here?”
“Yes; he comes here regularly at this time of year, expecting to meet old visitors to Egypt.”
“I see,” said Frank drily. Then to himself, “I wish he was at Jericho. I can’t talk about anything now but the desert.”
As they descended into the prettily lit-up hall and went out into the garden among the palm trees, the scene was attractive enough to fix any newcomer’s eyes; but Frank could see nothing but a long wide stretch of desert country, at the horizon of which were a few palms overshadowing dingy, sun-baked mud buildings, houses formed of the brick made of straw now as in the days when the taskmaster-beaten Israelitish bondmen put up such pitiful plaint.
“Where is the doctor?” said Frank.
“Over yonder on that seat,” replied the professor, as they were going down a sandy path towards a group of palms. “Ah, there’s my friend.”
Frank looked in the indicated direction, but he saw no English visitor. There was a stately looking turbaned figure, draped in white, standing in the dim shadowy light among the palms, and he seemed to catch sight of them at the same moment, and came softly forward, to stop short and make a low obeisance to each in turn.
“Well, Ibrahim, how are you?” said the professor sharply.
“His Excellency’s servant is well and happy now, for his soul rejoices to find that the dogs told lies. They said his Excellency would not come to El Caire until the war was over, and the Mahdi’s successor—may his fathers’ graves be defiled—had gone back to the other dogs of the far desert.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve come again. Frank, this is Sheikh Ibrahim, of the Dhur Tribe. And look here, Ibrahim, this is my friend and brother, Mr Frank Frere.”
“And my master,” said the Arab, with another grave and dignified reverence, speaking too, in spite of the flowery Eastern ornamentation, in excellent English. “His Excellency has come, then, to continue his search for the remains of the old people?”
“Hah!” cried the professor, “that’s right. Now let’s understand one another at once. No, Ibrahim, I have not.”
“Not come, Excellency?” cried the Sheikh, in a disappointed tone, and his hands flew up to his long flowing grey beard, but he did not tear it, contenting himself with giving two slight tugs.
“No, not come to explore.”
“But, your Excellency, I and my people have found a fresh temple with tombs, and deep in the sand where no one has been before.”
“Yes, and you know too that the authorities have given strict orders that no expeditions are to be made right out in the desert on account of the danger?”
“It is true, O Excellency,” said the Arab, with a sigh, “and I and mine will starve. We had better have been driving our sheep and goats here and there for pasture far away yonder, than waiting for English travellers. All who are here go up the river in boats. There are no journeys into the wilds this year. I have been stopped twice.”
Frank glanced at the professor, and saw that his eyes were glittering as he spoke in a low tone.
“Yes, Sheikh,” he said; “it is very ill for you, and it is bad for me. There are those stones cut into and painted that we left buried in the sand.”
“Yes, Excellency; hidden safely away, waiting for your servants to dig them out. Why not let me gather my people and let us go so many days’ journey out into the wilderness and carry them off, before some other learned traveller to whose eyes all the mysteries of the past are like an open book shall come and find them?”
“That would be bad, Ibrahim,” said the professor slowly.
“It would break thy servant’s heart, Excellency,” said the man. “Look here, Excellency. It is forbidden, but my people are away there to the south with the tents and camels, and their Excellencies might come and dwell with us in the tents for days, and then some night the camels would be ready—the poor beasts are sobbing and groaning for burdens to bear and long journeys into the desert—and some moonlight night they might be loaded with their sacks of grain and skins of water, and no one would know when we stole away into the desert to where the old tombs are hidden. Then the treasures could be found and brought away by his Excellency’s servants, who would rejoice after and have the wherewithal to buy oil and honey, dhurra and dates, so that their faces might shine and the starving camels grow sleek and fat upon his Excellency’s bounty.”
“Ah,” said the professor slowly and dubiously, as Frank listened with his heart beating fast, while he held his quivering nether lip pressed tightly by his teeth; “you think that would be possible, Sheikh?”
“Possible, your Excellency?” said the man, in an earnest whisper; “why not? Am I a man to boast and say ‘I will do this,’ and then show that I have a heart of water, and do it not?”
“No,” said the professor slowly; “Sheikh Ibrahim has always been a man in whom my soul could trust, in the shadow of whose tent I have always lain down and slept in peace, for I have felt that his young men were ready with their spears to protect me, and that their father looked upon me as his sacred charge.”
“Hah!” said the Sheikh, with calm, grave dignity. “They are the words of truth. His Excellency trusts me as he has always done. Will he come, then, into the desert once again? If he says yes, Ibrahim will go away to-night with gladsome heart to the village close by, and there will be joy in the hearts of his two young men, who are waiting sorrowfully there.”
“You know the desert well, Ibrahim,” said the professor slowly.
“It is my home, Excellency. My eyes opened upon it first, and when the time comes they will look upon it for the last time, and I shall sleep beneath its sands.”
“Yes, as a patriarchal Sheikh should,” said the professor. “But you and your young men are quite free from engagements?”
“Ready to be thy servants, to do thy bidding, for no one wants us now; go where you will choose, and work and dig, and find as they have found before.”
“It is good,” said the professor gravely. “Of course I shall pay you well.”
“His Excellency always did pay us well,” said the Arab, bending low.
“And my two friends will add to the payment.”
The Arab smiled.
“You will keep our departure quite private, Ibrahim—no one is to know.”
The man shook his head.
“And I should want you to lead us wherever I chose to go.”
“You always did, Excellency.”
“But suppose I wanted you to go where some of your people—I mean men of your race—would consider it dangerous?”
“There are Arabs of some tribes, Excellency, who are of low breed—men who are not of the pure blood, who would say the way was dangerous: the men of my tribe, the Dhur, do not know that word. If they said they would take the English learned one, they would take him. They have their spears and their guns and swords, and their camels are swift. Is not that enough, O Excellency?”
“Quite,” said the professor; “but there would be danger, perhaps, for the Mahdi’s followers range far.”
“True, my lord, and they are many. Mine are but as a handful of sand. His Excellency would not go to fight the Khalifa? It would be mad.”
“A wise man can fight with cunning, and do more than a strong man with his sword and spear.”
The Sheikh was silent, and stood in the semi-darkness with his eyes reflecting the lights of the hotel strangely, as he glanced from one to the other as if trying to read their faces.
“I shall have to tell him all, Frank,” said the professor slowly, in Latin.
“The risk is too great,” replied Frank hurriedly. “We should be putting ourselves in his power, and if he is not true he would destroy all our hopes.”
“We can go no further without his help, Frank,” said the professor gravely. “Tace.”
“His Excellency’s words are dark,” said the Sheikh, in a low, deep voice. “He speaks of dangers, and of the Mahdi’s men, and of fighting with cunning. Will he not fully trust his servant, and make his words and wishes shine with the light of day? Does his Excellency wish to play the spy upon the new Mahdi’s movements?”
“No,” said the professor firmly.
The Sheikh drew a long breath which sounded like a sigh of relief.
“I am glad,” he said softly, “for their lives are dear to my young men. They have their wives and little ones, and the followers of the Mahdi seek blood. What would the learned Englishman who loves the stone writings of the ancient people do amongst the conquering spearmen of the prophet’s chosen one?”
“Answer this, Ibrahim: Do you believe this new Mahdi or Khalifa is the chosen one of the prophet?”
The Sheikh laughed softly.
“Thy servant thought much when he was young, and all his life he has had dealings with the wise men from the west who have come here from many countries to see and seek out what the old people left buried in the sands of time. He could not help, as he saw the wonders they brought to light, and sat in the same tent with them, growing wiser and thinking in their tongue. He has seen, too, again and again, fresh prophets rise to utter the same cry, ‘Lo, O people, I am the prophet’s chosen, sent to free the country from the heathen Christian dog.’ And it has always been the same: the people cry aloud and believe and follow him to the fight always to kill and destroy, to make slaves, and to pass like a flight of locusts across the land, and the new prophet eats and drinks and makes merry till he dies like the thousands he has killed; but he does not carry out his boast, and another arises and cries, ‘Lo, I am the chosen of the prophet. Upon me does the Mahdi’s mantle fall.’ Excellency, I am a man of the desert, but there is wisdom even amongst the sand, and I have picked up some, enough to know when false prophets come amongst the people. No; I do not believe the new Mahdi is the chosen one. He is only another man of blood. Why does my master ask? Why does he wish to run where there is danger to him and his friends—danger to us who would be his guides?”
“Listen,” said the professor, and in a few well-chosen words he told the old Sheikh of Harry Frere’s unhappy fate.
“Hah!” ejaculated the old Arab, after hearing the speaker to the end. “Yes; I have heard of this before. With mine own eyes I saw the German who escaped, and it was said that there was a young Englishman out yonder, a slave. And he is your brother, my lord?” he continued, turning quickly upon Frank.
“Yes; my brother, whom I have come here to save.”
“It is good,” said the Arab slowly. “But I hear that an army is going south to fight the Khalifa.”
“Yes,” said Frank bitterly; “but it will be months or years before they reach the place, and before then my brother may be dead. Sheikh,” said Frank, in a low, hoarse voice that bespoke the emotion from which he suffered “he is a slave, and in chains. I must go to his help at once.”
“The young Excellency’s words are good, and they make the eyes of his servant dark with sorrow; but it will not be freeing his brother from his chains if he goes as a young man would, to rashly throw away his life. It is so easy away out there. Here there is law, and if a man steals or raises his hand against his brother man, there is the wise judge waiting, and the judgment bar. But out yonder they make their own laws, and it is but a thrust with a spear, a stroke with a sharp sword, and the sand is ever athirst to drink up the blood, the jackals and the unclean birds to leave nothing but a few bones. Has the young Excellency thought of all this?”
“Yes,” said Frank hoarsely, “and I have seen in the darkness of the night when I could not sleep, my brother’s hands stretched out to me, and have felt that I could hear his voice calling to me to come and save him.”
The Sheikh stood silently there beneath the palms, and for some minutes no words came.
At last he repeated his former stereotyped expression.
“It is good. Yes,” he said, “it is good, and God will go before you on such an errand as this, my son. I am growing old now.”
“And you—”
Frank began to utter his thoughts impulsively, but the professor laid a hand sharply upon his arm.
“Silence,” he said, and the Arab paused for a few moments as if to give way, but as Frank checked himself he went on—
”—And old men grow to love money and greater flocks and herds, and more and better camels, as they come nearer to the time when all these things will be as naught. I have been much with the wise men from Europe, and it has been pleasant to my soul to take their piastres to make my tribe richer every year. His Excellency here has paid me much gold in the past times, and I and my people have worked justly for him, so that he has come to us again and again, till his coming has been that of a friend, and my heart was sore when I heard that he was not to be with us this season of the year. And now he has come for this as to a friend to ask the help of me and mine. He has come to me as a brother in suffering, and it is good. Yes, Excellency, you are welcome to the tents of your brethren, and we will do all we can to bring the lost one back. And what I bid my people do they will do, till I am gathered to my fathers and my son takes my place. But when I go to my people to-night and tell them of your words, they will say ‘O my father, this is not work for money. Our master must not give us payment for such a thing as this. Of a truth we will go and bring the young man back to those who mourn for him. If we redden the sand with our blood instead, well, we have died as men, and we shall sleep with the just.’”
The professor caught the old Arab’s hand, and Frank snatched impulsively at the other, the thin, nervous fingers closing tightly upon the English grip, and they stood in silence for some minutes.
“Tell him what I feel,” said Frank at last. “I can’t find words.”
“Neither can I,” said the professor, “but I must try.”
“Listen, Sheikh,” he said, “you have made our hearts glad within us. For when this news came to England I said to myself that I would seek my old Arab friend and ask him to help me to find our young brother.”
“It is good,” said the Arab softly. “You remembered the far away.”
“How could I forget the man who watched by me in his tent when I was sick unto death, and who rejoiced over me when I was brought back to life? I looked back upon you as a brother and friend, and now I have come; but this must not be only a work of friendship. You and your young men must be paid, and paid well, for all their risks, for we do not come as poor suppliants. I and my friends are fairly rich, and will gladly spend money over this adventure.”
“Yes, money is as water that we fling upon the sand at such a time as this,” said the Sheikh. “And you are rich. Well, so are we. Our life is simple; we live as we have always lived, in tents, and our riches are in our flocks and herds, our camels and our horses. We have our pride as you have, even if we do work for the rich English for the piastres they pay. But in such a work as this for our wise brother and friend, take money? No; we go to help our brother. It is for love.”
“But Sheikh—” began Frank.
“Let your young brother be silent, Excellency; the bargain is made, and we must have much thought about how this is to be done. As you said, the fight must be with cunning; much wisdom must be brought to bear. We must try and find out what the Khalifa desires most. We must go as merchants, and you will need your piastres to buy enough for a little caravan of such things as will be welcome in the enemy’s camp. Powder for the guns of his people for certain he will want. Strong wines and waters too, for he, like those of his kind, loves to break the prophet’s laws. I will leave you now to sleep and muse upon all this. Mayhap you will find some plan or scheme, as you English call it, that will be better than mine; but something of this sort it must be, and we will go.”
“Yes,” said Frank eagerly, “and we will go.”
The Sheikh shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said, “this is no work for such as you. The task is for me and mine. Good-night.”
He turned, and seemed to fade into the darkness at once, just as the doctor, who had been waiting impatiently upon the seat, strode up.
“Well,” he said, “have you secured your man?”
“Yes,” replied the professor; “but there is a battle yet to fight. He does not know our plans.”
Chapter Six.
The Starting Point.
What with the excitement and the change, as it were, into another life such as he had only read of in books, Frank Frere’s was a very poor night’s rest, so that after dozing off and waking again and again, hot, feverish, and uncomfortable, he was not sorry to see the first signs of dawn peering through his blinds.
Getting from beneath the mosquito curtain, he opened the window wider, and then stayed for a few minutes to wonder that the morning air should be so cool to his heated brows.
Returning to bed, he lay thinking for a few minutes, and then all at once thought ceased and he slept soundly for an hour, to start up in horror, full of the impression that he had overslept himself.
But a glance at his watch showed that it was still early, as he began to dress, meaning to have a look round the place before breakfast. Matters, however, shaped themselves differently, for on going to the window and looking out, there to the left lay the hotel garden with its clumps of palms and orange trees, where beneath the former he saw an early visitor in the shape of the tall, dignified-looking Sheikh in his clean white robes and turban, walking slowly to and fro, as if in expectation of seeing the professor.
Frank hurried down, too eager to reach the garden to pause and look about at the Eastern aspect of everything around; but he found that he was not first, for there before him were the professor and the doctor just passing out, and he joined them just as they reached the Sheikh, who greeted them all with solemn dignity.
“I have slept on the matter, O Excellencies,” he said.
“And now you think better of it?” said the doctor sharply.
The Sheikh smiled.
“I have thought much of it, Excellency,” he said gravely, “but the matter was agreed upon last night. All that remained was to find out the best way and the safest. I feel that it must be as I said; we—my people and I—must journey through the desert to avoid the windings of the great river, taking with us such merchandise as the Mahdi’s people will be glad to buy, and once at Khartoum or Omdurman we must trust to our good fortune about finding the prisoner. Once we do find him the merchandise must go, and we shall trust to our fleet camels and knowledge of the desert to escape. What do your Excellencies say?”
The professor turned to Frank.
“Will you tell him?” he said. “It was your idea.”
Frank shrank for the moment, but mastering his hesitancy he turned to the old Sheikh, and rapidly growing earnest and warm, he vividly described his plans, while the old man stood stern and frowning, apparently receiving everything with the greatest disfavour, merely glancing once or twice at the doctor and then at the speaker, as allusions were made to the parts they were to play. When the professor was mentioned the listener remained unmoved, but he frowned more markedly when the servant’s name was mentioned.
Frank worked himself up till in his eagerness his words came fast, as he strove hard to impress the Sheikh with the plausibility of his plans. But the old man remained unmoved, and when at last the speaker had said all that he could say there was a dead and chilling silence, the young man turning from his listener to look despairingly from the doctor to the professor, and back again, “The Sheikh cannot see it,” said the young man despairingly; “but it seems easier to me now than ever.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “I feel that it might be done. The idea grows upon me.”
“But you do not like it, Ibrahim,” said the professor, looking hard in the solemn, impenetrable face before him.
“There is the servant—the doctor’s man,” said the Sheikh gravely. “I have not seen him.”
“You soon shall,” said the professor.
“Tell me,” continued the Sheikh; “this young man—can he make cures—can he bind up wounds and attend to an injured or dying man?”
“He has been my servant and has helped me for years,” said the doctor.
“Hah!”
Then there was silence again, and Frank gazed at the deeply-lined, calm and impassive face before him with a feeling of resentment.
“He will not do,” thought the young man; “he is too slow and plodding. We want a brisk, dashing fellow, full of spirit and recklessness.”
He turned to the professor, and spoke a few words in Latin.
The professor smiled.
“You do not know Ibrahim yet,” he said quietly. “A young Englishman dashes at a thing without consideration; an Arab looks before he leaps, and examines the starting and the landing place. Hush!”
“Yes,” said the Sheikh at last, and he bowed his head again and again as he spoke, evidently calculating every move in the great game of chess with live pieces in which he was about to engage. “Yes; his Excellency here will be the learned Hakim—he is a learned Hakim, and the people will crowd to his tent. I could take him and his Excellency the professor, who speaks our tongue like I speak it myself, anywhere, and they would be welcome. The idea is grand and cannot fail, but my heart grows faint when I think of his young Excellency here. Could he bear to act like a slave for all the many weary months in that disguise?”
“Yes,” said Frank firmly.
“And hold your peace, no matter what may befall?”
“Yes. I will” said Frank, through his set teeth.
“We may come suddenly upon the prisoner in chains; we may see him beaten by his taskmaster. Brothers love brothers,” said the Sheikh gravely. “Could the young Excellency hold his peace and stand by looking on at such a time?”
“Yes,” said Frank, in a low, harsh voice: “it is to save my brother’s life. I would not speak to save my own.”
The old Sheikh’s face was stern and rugged as ever; not a muscle twitched; but there was a new light in his eyes as they rested upon Frank’s, and he uttered a low sigh of satisfaction.
“The English are a great, brave nation,” he said gravely. “No wonder they make themselves masters of the world.”
“Then you are satisfied, Ibrahim?”
“No, Excellency, not yet,” replied the Sheikh. “Take off those clothes and put on those that I will get, and you are the interpreter of the great Frankish Hakim. That is enough. The people will rush to you and call you brother. His Excellency here, clothed as I will clothe him, that great, grand head white from the barber’s razor, with that magnificent beard hanging down over his robe in front, and with the wisdom of the physician to cure the sufferers who will come—even the Khalifa and his greatest officers would come and bend to him. Yes, all this is grand.”
“Well done,” said the professor, with a sigh of relief.
“His Excellency here is a great doctor—one who can cure bad wounds?” asked the Sheikh.
“One of the best in London,” said the professor enthusiastically. “He can almost perform miracles.”
“It is good,” said the Sheikh gravely. “He will find much work to do, for the Mahdi’s followers die like flocks and herds in time of plague for want of help. Now about his young Excellency here. He will be the Hakim’s slave?”
“Yes; his learned slave, Ibrahim. He is skilled in chemistry and science.”
“I do not know what chemistry and science mean, Excellency.”
“The power to perform natural miracles,” said the professor.
“It is enough; but he must do as he said. As he is now he would be watched by suspicious eyes; I could not answer for his life. As the Hakim’s black slave who helps his master and is mute, yes, he will be safe too. But this man—this servant? What can he do? Will he be black and mute?”
“H’m, no,” said the professor, hesitating.
“Has he a brother in chains and misery whom he would die to save?”
“H’m, no,” said the professor again. “Frank, lad,” he said, in Latin, “I’m afraid Sam will not pass.”
“What will he do, then?” asked the Sheikh.
“Attend on his master, the Hakim.”
“One of my young men can do that.”
“Hold the wounded when the Hakim bandages their cuts.”
“One of my young men would be safer far.”
“He knows the Hakim’s ways, and will sponge the bullet-wounds and fetch the water bowl.”
“The Hakim’s black slave should do all that, Excellency.”
“I’m afraid you are right,” said the professor; “but I want to take him if we can. Come, he is a capital cook.”
“A learned Hakim like his Excellency here would live on simple food, such as one of my young men could prepare.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say, Ibrahim. He is a very useful fellow.”
“But his being with us might mean making the Mahdi’s followers doubt, and once they doubted it means death to us all.”
The professor’s face was a study as he turned to Frank.
“He’s right, my lad; he’s right.”
“It may mean ruin to our journey, even as men perish when they make for a water-hole, to find it dry. Can he do anything else?”
“Heaps of things,” cried the professor.
“But they are as nothing if they are not suited to our task, Excellency. Does he look to be an Englishman?”
“A thorough-paced Cockney, Ibrahim, I am sorry to say.”
“Cockney, Excellency?”
“Well, very English indeed.”
“Would he be painted black, Excellency?” said Ibrahim.
“He’d only look like an imitation Christy Minstrel if he were, eh, Frank?” said the professor.
“Would he have his head shaved like his Excellency the Hakim?” said the Sheikh.
“Got him!” cried the professor excitedly. “Here, Ibrahim, you wanted to know what he can do. He’s the Hakim’s barber, and can shave a head.”
“Ah-h-h-h!” said the Sheikh, drawing out the ejaculation to an inordinate length. “He can shave—and well?”
“Splendidly! Can’t he, Morris?”
“Oh, yes, excellently well,” said the doctor, smiling.
The Sheikh took off his turban and softly passed one hand over a head which was like a very old, deeply-stained billiard ball at the top, but was stubbly at the back and sides, as if it had not been touched by a barber for a week.
“May he shave me, Excellency?” said the old man. “I should like to see the man and whether he is skilful enough to deceive those who will watch him with jealous eyes.”
“Of course you can see him,” said the doctor. “He will be in my room.”
“Let’s go, then, at once,” said the professor. “I say, Ibrahim, there need be no disguise about him. He is a Frank, and the Hakim’s slave.”
“Yes, that will do, Excellency,” said the Sheikh. “The Hakim’s skill as a learned man and curer of the people’s ills will cover all. If this man is clever, too, as a barber every Moslem will look upon him as a friend. Barber, surgeon, and the Hakim’s slave. Yes, that will do.”
Five minutes after the party were in the doctor’s room, and upon the bell being answered by a native servant, Sam was fetched from his breakfast, to come up wondering, half expecting that something was wrong.
“Sam,” said the doctor gravely, “I wish you to shave this gentleman’s head.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll ring for some hot water.”
“No,” said the professor; “we’re going where hot water will be scarce—I mean that sort of hot water. Do it with cold.”
“Right, sir,” said the man, in the most unruffled way, and slipping off his coat he turned up his sleeves, placed a chair for the Sheikh, opened the doctor’s dressing-case, brought out shaving-box, strop, and razors, and then made the old chief look a little askance as one of the latter was opened, examined, and laid down, while the brush and shaving-box were brought so vigorously into action, that in a very short time the Arab’s head was thoroughly lathered, and left to soak.
“I always prefer hot water, gentlemen,” said Sam, confidentially; “it’s better for the patient, and better for the razor, for it improves the edge. But these are splendid tools, as I know.”
Whipping open one of the choice razors, and drawing the strop as if it were a short Roman sword, Sam made the Sheikh wince a little as the sharp blade was made to play to and fro and from end to end, changing from side to side, and with all the dash and light touch of a clever barbel, being finished off by sharp applications to the palm of the operator’s hand.
“There we are, sir,” said Sam, who seemed to be quite in his element. “Don’t squirm, sir; I won’t cut you, nor hurt you either. I was taught shaving by a first-class hand.”
“Don’t talk so much, Sam,” said Frank impatiently. “We want you to shave this Arab gentleman carefully and well.”
“Well, ain’t I trying my best, Master Frank? Look at that, and look at that, and that. Razor cuts beautifully.”
As he spoke he scraped off with long sweeps the white, soapy foam, which came away darkened with tiny swathes of blackish-grey stubble.
“I call this a regular big shave. Don’t hurt, do I, sir?”
The Arab uttered a grunt which might have meant yes or no.
Sam took it to mean the latter.
“Thought not, sir. That’s fine shaving-soap, sir; he—mollient; softens the stubble and the skin at the same time. My word! this is a prime razor. Only fancy, Mr Frank, being out here, shaving a native!”
“Will you keep your tongue quiet!” whispered Frank angrily. “This is a serious matter. Mind what you’re doing, and don’t talk.”
“Don’t ask a man to do impossibilities, sir,” said the man appealingly; “did you ever know anyone shaved without the operator talking all the time? It’s natural, sir, and seems to make you shave cleaner. I’m a-doing the very best I can. I must talk, or I should get nicking his skin and spoil the job.”
“Then for goodness’ sake talk,” cried Frank petulantly.
“Thankye, sir; now I can get on,” and with wonderful celerity Sam scraped away with light hand till the last line of lather was taken off, a touch or two here and there given with the brush, and this fresh soap removed, after which the razor was closed, sponge and water applied, and a clean towel handed to the Sheikh, who received it with a grave smile and nod of the head.
“Good,” he said softly. “Clever barber. It is good.”
“Then you are satisfied?” said the professor eagerly.
“Quite, Excellency. Now I have no fear.”
Sam smiled too with satisfaction as he carefully wiped and re-stropped the razor before placing it in its case. At the same time, though, there was a peculiar, inquisitive look in his eyes. For the whole business seemed to be strange, and he looked longingly at Frank as if hoping that he would follow and explain, when the doctor said—
“That will do, Samuel. Go and have your breakfast.”
But Frank did not follow, for he was eager to hear what the Sheikh would say as soon as they were alone.
Little was said, though, the old Arab being anxious to go and rejoin his followers staying in the village half a mile outside the town, promising to be back during the morning to talk over the arrangements for the venturesome journey.
“Will he come back and hold to the promise?” said Frank to the professor.
“For certain,” was the reply.
“But do you think he will prove business-like and go to work heart and soul in our service?”
“I can only speak from past experience,” replied the professor. “I have always found him thoroughly trustworthy, and I feel sure he will be so now.”
“And about the preparations, the dress, provisions, and the many odds and ends we shall require?”
“All that I shall leave to Ibrahim. What you have to get ready is a couple of portmanteaus that can be swung one on either side of a strong camel by means of straps. These must contain all your chemical and electrical apparatus in one, the doctor’s instruments and medicines in the other, with an ample supply of lint, bandages, antiseptics, plaisters, and the like. Chloroform, of course. But there must be no superfluities. As to dress, we must place ourselves in Ibrahim’s hands.”
“What about weapons?” said Frank. “Swords and revolvers, of course. What about rifles?”
“I have brought two or three antiquated weapons for show; that is all. We are not going to fight. Give up all thoughts of that.”
Frank stared at the speaker anxiously.
“Surely we ought to carry revolvers,” he said.
“Surely we ought not. If we go as men of war we shall fail. If we go as men of peace we may succeed. Leave all that to Ibrahim, and we shall know what is to be done when he comes back this morning. Now then, the first thing to be done is to eat and drink.”
Frank sighed.
“Without this we shall do no work.”
Frank knew the wisdom there was in these words, and he resigned himself to his fate, accompanying his companions to the hotel coffee-room to take their places at the table set apart for them, to become for the time being a mere group of the many, for the place was full of visitors staying, and others making a temporary sojourn before continuing their steamer’s route, these to India or China, those back to Europe; while other tables were occupied by officers awaiting their orders to go up country, or go on making preparations for the advance of the troops already there, and further arrangements for those coming out by the great transports expected; for it was the common talk now that before long a large force was to march against the Mahdi’s successor, and Gordon was to be at last avenged.