Chapter Twenty Three.
A Triumphal Entry.
It was one bright evening, just about dusk, that, utterly exhausted by a long day’s march, the head of the long line of horses, camels heavily laden, and marching men, came within sight of the city that was their goal, and in the glimpse the English party had of the place before night closed in it seemed to be one of the most desolate looking spots they had ever seen.
“But it is not fair to judge it,” said the professor quietly. “We can see next to nothing; it is fully two miles away; and we are all weary and low-spirited with our long march. Wait till morning.”
It had been expected that they would march in that night, but a halt was called in the midst of a great, dusty plain, and preparations for camping were at once begun.
Frank lay wakeful and restless for long enough. In his excited state sleep refused to come. Now that the goal had been reached it was hard to believe that they were there, and had succeeded in making their way to the neighbourhood of the far-famed cities of the Soudan with so little difficulty. Of physical effort there had been plenty, but he had anticipated bitter struggles and disappointments; attempts to reach the prison of his brother in one direction, and being turned back, to attempt it again and again in others. Instead all had been straightforward, and their ruse had succeeded beyond all expectation.
But now that they were at one of the late Mahdi’s strongholds on the Nile the question was, Would Harry Frere be there after all, or taken far to the south to the home of someone who held him as a slave?
Now for about the first time the adventurer fully realised the magnitude of the task he had taken in hand. The desert journey had impressed him by the vastness of the sandy plains and the utter desolation they had traversed; but that only appeared now to be the threshold of the place he had come to search. All the vast continent of Africa seemed to be before him, dim, shadowy, and mysterious, and as he sank at last into a feverish sleep, it was with his brother’s despairing face gazing at him, the reproachful eyes sunken and strained and looking farewell before all was dark with the obscurity of the to-come.
“Hadn’t you better rouse up now, sir?” said a familiar voice; but Frank, after his long and painful vigil, was unable to grasp the meaning of the words, far more to move.
“Mr Frank, sir—I mean, Ben—Ben Eddin. Humph! what an idiot I am!” came softly out of the gloom. “It was bad enough to make such a slip out in the desert, where there were no next door neighbours; but to go and shout it out here, just beside this what-do-they-call-him’s city was about the maddest thing I could have done. S’pose some one had heard me; it would have taken a great deal of lathering and scraping, more than ever a ’Rabian Night’s barber ever got through, to make people believe I was the Hakim’s slave.
“Mr—Bother! What’s the matter with me this morning? I believe I’m half asleep, or else my brains are all shook up into a muddle by that brute of a camel. Here, Ben Eddin, rouse up and put on your best white soot. Here’s the Sheikh been with a message to say that we’re all going to form a procession and march through the town to camp in the groves on the other side. It’s to be a triumphal what-do-they-call-it? and the Baggara chief is going to show off all his prisoners and plunder, and we’re to make the principal part of the show. I say, Ben, do wake up; the coffee’s nearly ready, and you ought to do a bit o’ blacking, for the back of your neck where the jacket doesn’t reach is getting quite grey with the sun burning it so much.”
Procession—show—triumph—coffee—and the rest of it, made not the slightest impression upon Frank’s torpid brain; but those words about the black stain and the bleaching caused by the scorching sun somehow suggested the risk he might run of being discovered, and that meant the frustration of his plans to rescue his brother. In a moment now his brain began to work.
“Is that you, Sam?” he cried hastily.
“I suppose so, sir, but there are times when I get pinching my leg to wake myself, expecting that I shall start up to find myself back in my pantry. But I don’t, even when I make a bruise which turns blacker than your arms, and with a bit of blue touched up with yellow outside. I say, are you awake now?”
“Yes, yes, of course; but the sun is not up yet.”
“No, he ain’t as industrious as we are out in these parts, and doesn’t get up so early. Now you understand about looking your best?”
“Yes, yes, I understand, Sam.”
“But do you really, Ben? Don’t deceive me, and go to sleep again. If you do I know how it will be.”
“How it will be?” said Frank impatiently.
“You’ll say that I didn’t call you. Come, now, recollect where you are, and what we’ve got to do. Mr Abraham—”
“Ibrahim, man! I’ve told you so half a dozen times before.”
“Then it’s all right, Ben Eddin. You are wide awake.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But what about the Sheikh?”
“He says we are to go to the Emir’s palace.”
“Emir’s palace? What Emir—what palace?”
“That fierce old chap as had such a bad arm. He’s an Emir. Mr Imbrahim says he’s just heard, and that an Emir’s a great gun out here. Sort of prince and general all in one, I suppose. He told me his name, but I forget what it is. It’s very foreign, though, and there’s a good lot of it. He’s a great friend, and a sort of half brother of the other fellow.”
“Other fellow? What other fellow?” said Frank, half angrily.
“Oh, you know, sir, the other big man that followed the Mahdi in taking the Soudan.”
“You mean the Khalifa?”
“That’s right, sir. I’m not good at all over these Egyptian chaps. I’ve one name for them all—the bad lot, and that’s enough for me. Now, sir—bah! Ben Eddin, I mean; breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, so look sharp. I like to see you have a good meal in the morning, just as I like one for myself. It’s something to keep you going all day. It makes a deal of difference if you start fair.”
“I’ll be there,” said Frank.
“Recollect you’re to put on your clean white cotton jacket. Mr Ibbrahim says his chaps have been seeing to the camels so that they shall look their best, and that it’s very important that the Hakim should be dressed out well, and he will.”
Frank’s toilet in those days was very simple, and within the time he was at the door of the Hakim’s tent, to find him dressed and waiting to begin his morning meal, the professor coming from the tent directly after, ready to greet both and enjoy the excellent repast that was waiting, the Emir having kept up his attentions in that direction to the doctor who had saved his arm from mortification, and consequently himself from death.
There was the loud hum of voices right away through the camp, from which the fragrant smoke of many fires arose through the grey dawn, and an unwonted stir indicating great excitement prevailed and rapidly increased with the coming light, for the orange and gold streamers announcing the rising of the sun were beginning to flush in the eastern sky, illumining the far-spreading city, and turning the sands where it was built into sparkling gold.
As the sun rose higher the three Englishmen gazed wonderingly at the city which lay stretching to right and left—the place into which they were to make their triumphal entry that morning, as soon as the Emir’s little force, which seemed to have grown unaccountably during the night, was marshalled; and the professor pretty well expressed the feelings of his two friends as he stood and gazed at the place, their eyes dwelling longest upon a white dome-like structure that towered up, and which they learned was the Mahdi’s tomb.
“And so this is Omdurman, is it?” he said. “Then I suppose Khartoum will be just such a city of mosques and palaces. Why, there isn’t a redeeming feature in the whole spot! It’s just a squalid collection of mud-houses and hovels, built anyhow by people accustomed to live in a tent or nothing at all. Why, if you took the trees away—and it wouldn’t take long to do that—it would be fit for nothing but to be washed away as so much mud, if the Nile would flood as far.”
“But surely poor old Harry can’t be here!” said the doctor, in a low, troubled voice.
“Who knows?” said the professor softly, after glancing at Frank’s pained features. “We must see, and—cheer up, everybody—we will, for we shall have splendid chances. Do you hear, O Chief Surgeon and Special Physician to the Emir?”
“But look,” said the doctor; “I thought the place miserable enough yesterday evening, while now, though the sun does give it a sort of golden glaze, the miserable huddle of shabby huts looks ten times worse, for the light exposes its ruinous state.”
“Go on,” said the professor. “You can’t speak evil enough of it, say what you will. But I say, both of you—I won’t bother you much with my hobby—what a falling off there is everywhere; what a difference between the cities of the rule of the past, with their magnificent palaces and temples, or even the simple, majestic grandeur of the pyramids, and the buildings of the modern inhabitants! The glory has departed indeed. Ah, here comes Ibrahim again. Well, Sheikh, how goes the world?”
“I have seen the Emir this morning, Excellencies, and he sends you greeting. He desires that you ride directly after the mounted men. You are to occupy a place of honour before the camels laden with the spoil taken by his warriors.”
“As his principal prisoners,” said the doctor coldly. “Well, we will try not to disgrace the man who has treated us as his friends. But what about his son? Am I to see and treat him before we start?”
“No, Excellency. He will ride in a litter borne by two led camels, and the Emir asks that you will see his son when you reach the rooms he has ordered to be ready for you beside his own palace.”
“And for my friends as well, Ibrahim?” said the doctor quickly.
“Yes, Excellency; the house is large, and there are gardens and grounds with ample room for your servants and slaves as well as for your picked supply of camels. For they are picked, O Hakim. I have been round the camp this morning and seen the many beasts of burden being loaded ready for leading to the city. The horses too, and these are splendid beasts. But the camels! Yours, O Hakim, are well fed, young, and healthy, full of strength.”
“Mine, Ibrahim? Yours.”
“No, Excellency; speak of them as yours, for yours they are. Your name protects them. If they were mine they would be taken before the day was past. If we get safely back to Cairo, as Heaven willing we shall, if it pleases you and you are satisfied with your servant’s works you may give them back to him when their work is really done.”
“We shall see, Ibrahim,” said Frank, smiling, and then turning serious and resuming his part, for the Emir’s men were approaching them, evidently with some message.
The sun was now well up, and this being the time arranged for, so as to give éclat to the proceedings, trumpets and uncouth sounding horns began to blare out, the excitement in the camp increased, and soon after, with a certain amount of order prevailing over the barbarous confusion, the procession was started, a dense crowd pouring out from the city into the plain to meet them; when the faint answering sound of trumpets arose like an echo, accompanied by the dull, soft, thunderous boom of many drums.
At the first glance it seemed to be a grey-looking mob, all a mixture of black and white, debouching upon the plain; but soon after there was the glint of steel, and through the crowd a dense mass of horsemen could be seen approaching.
This was the signal for a wild shout from the returning raiders, trumpets were blown and drums beaten with all the force their bearers could command, and the Emir’s horsemen rode proudly onward, following the trumpeters and drummers; and now several standards made their appearance in various parts of the procession, around which horsemen clustered, each looking as if he felt himself to be the hero of the day—the triumphant warrior returning clothed with honour from the slaughter of the enemies of the Prophet; and to a man they would have been prepared to deal out ignominy and death to the daring teller of the simple truth that they were nothing better than so many bloodthirsty murderers and despoilers of the industrious builders of the villages of the river banks.
Minute by minute the excitement grew, and the plain in front changed from tawny golden drab to grey, black, and white, for Omdurman seemed to be emptying itself in the desire to give the returning band a welcome. Even the horses appeared to take part in the general feeling, for they curvetted and pranced, encouraged by their riders, whose flowing white headgear and robes added with the flashing of their spears to the picturesque aspect of the scene.
In an almost incredibly short space of time the procession was formed, or rather formed itself. The slight camping arrangements had disappeared as if by magic, and that which one hour had been a swarming ant-hill of humanity, apparently all in confusion, was the next a long, trailing line of men, horses, and camels, headed by a barbaric band, moving steadily towards the entrance to the city, while the scene of the night’s encampment was the barren plain once more, dotted with the grey ashes of so many fires.
Onward they went in a course which meant a meeting with the horsemen coming from the city, and a passage through the increasing crowd, the Emir’s warriors passing on till the head of the guard galloped up as if in a state of wild excitement, shouting “The Hakim!—the Hakim!”
The Hakim was already mounted upon his sleek camel, in the whitest and most voluminous of turbans and robes, and sat with his followers, waiting till the last of the main body of horsemen had passed.
Then came a little knot surrounding the camel litter in which lay the Emir’s son, and at a sign from the officer, the Hakim’s camel was led close behind the litter; Frank and the professor on their camels next; Sam, looking as dignified as his master, followed; with him the Sheikh, leading his men with the Hakim’s sleek camels, of which he looked as proud as any member of the procession.
Following close behind came the Emir himself, a swarthy, noble-looking savage warrior, his brother chief by his side; and then in a long line were the trophies of their swords and spears, the heavily laden camels for the most part carrying a heterogeneous collection of objects dear to the hearts of the raiding band, but many bearing dull, heavy-eyed women, several with their children, slaves of their new masters, torn from their homes, and for the most part seeming apathetic and taking it all as a matter of course—kismet (fate)—which they must patiently bear till the next change in their condition came to pass; one which they knew might be at any hour, for their careers had taught them that a stronger force might at any moment appear in the mysterious desert and come down like a tempest, to reverse their state, the conquerors of to-day becoming the fugitives of to-morrow.
The last of the heavily laden, murmuring and groaning camels was followed by another troop of some fifty mounted men, whose horses pranced and caracoled to the faintly heard blaring of trumpet and beating of drum in front, while like a gigantic, ungainly serpent the returning force glided on over the sandy plain, till the musical (?) head disappeared between two long lines of horsemen who formed an avenue which kept back the crowd, and were ready when the last camel and the rear guard had passed through to fall in behind and follow their more fortunate plunder-laden comrades into the city.
The Hakim’s countenance was dignified and impressive enough to thoroughly keep up his character, and he listened in silence to the remarks made in a low tone from time to time by the professor, who was eagerly noting the crowd in front that they were approaching; but Frank sat his camel as if turned into stone, his eyes fixed upon the wilderness of mud-brick buildings, while he wondered which contained the prisoner they had come to save.
The Hakim’s air of dignity was of course assumed; but one of his followers, in spite of his long intercourse with Europeans, took to his position proudly and as if to the manner born, and this was the Sheikh, whose handsome old grey-bearded face seemed to shine with a moon-like radiance reflected from the principal, the Hakim being his sun.
So manifest was this that after glancing at him several times in a half-amused, half-contemptuous way, Sam suddenly burst out with—
“You seem to like it, Mr Abrahams!”
The Sheikh started, and looked at the man riding the camel at his side in surprise.
“Yes,” he said; “it is old-fashioned, and not new and civilised like things in Cairo, but it is grand, and I am proud of the Hakim and my camels; are not you?”
“Not a bit of it!” said Sam contemptuously. “It’s all very well for you, Mr Abrahams, being a native and used to it. But me, an Englishman—a Londoner—proud of it! Why, I wonder at you.”
“But,” said the old man, “look at the camel you are riding; how soft, how sleek, how graceful, and how easily it moves! Ah! I see you are getting proud.”
“Me? Proud? What, of being here?” cried Sam.
“Yes; you have learned to ride the camel, and you sit it easily and well. You ride as if, as you Englishmen say, you were born upon it.”
“Oh, do we? Well, I won’t say I can’t ride it now, nor I won’t say it don’t come easy. You see, Mr Abrahams, there ain’t many things an Englishman can’t do if he gives his mind to it.”
“You look well, Mr Samuel,” said the old man, smiling.
“Now, no chaff!” said Sam suspiciously. “No gammon! You mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m glad I do. You think these savages will think so too, and that I am the real thing?”
“Oh, yes. Look at the Hakim.”
“Sha’n’t! I’ve been looking till I feel ashamed of him.”
“Ashamed?” said the Sheikh. “Why?”
“Dressed up like that! Him a first-class London surgeon and M.D., with Palladium Club and Wimpole Street on his card. I tell you I’m ashamed of him, and I’m ashamed of myself, and I ain’t sure now that it isn’t all a dream.”
“I do not understand,” said the Sheikh coldly.
“You can’t, Mr Abrahams. You’re a very nice, civil old gentleman, and I like you, and I’m much obliged for lots of good turns you’ve done me; but you see you’ve never been to London, and don’t know what’s what.”
“No,” said the Sheikh; “I have never been to London yet, but I have often thought of going with some family, for I have been asked twice. But if I do come I shall try to see you, Mr Samuel.”
“Glad to see you, old chap, any time,” said Sam warmly; “and if you do come I’ll show you what our country’s like.”
“Thank you, Mr Samuel,” said the Sheikh, smiling pleasantly; “and if I do come I shall dress as you English do; but I will not be ashamed of it.”
“Here, you’re going on the wrong road, old gentleman,” said Sam. “I’m not ashamed of the nightgown and nightcap. They’re cool and comfortable. It’s seeing the guv’nor dressed up, and him and me and Mr Frank and Mr Landon in this procession. Do you know how I feel just now?”
“Thirsty?” said the Sheikh, smiling.
“Well, pretty tidy. I shall be worse soon. But if you come to that, I’ve been thirsty ever since I came to Egypt. I mean I feel as if I’d come down to a cheap circus, and we were going into a country town where the big tent had been set up, and that by and by we should be all riding round the ring doing Mazeppa and the Wild Horse, or Timour the Tartar; stalls a shilling covered with red cloth; gallery thruppence.”
The Sheikh stared wonderingly, and then shook his head.
“I do not understand, Mr Samuel,” he said.
“Of course you don’t, sir. How can you, seeing that you’ve picked up what you know by accident like, and not had a regular English education? There, it’s all right. It was only a growl, and I’m better now.”
“But you said you were ashamed of the Hakim.”
“I said so, but I ain’t, Mr Abrahams. He’s splendid ain’t he?”
“He is grand,” said the Sheikh earnestly. “His power, his knowledge—it is wonderful!”
“That’s right, old man, so it is.”
“And I hope when all the work is done, and we have taken Mr Frank’s—”
“Steady there: Ben Eddin’s.”
“Yes, Ben Eddin’s brother safely back to Cairo, that I may have an accident.”
“An accident?” said Sam, staring.
“Or a bad illness, so that the great Hakim may cure me. Hah! what a physician! It is noble—it is grand!”
“I say, do you mean all that?” said Sam.
“Mean it?” said the Sheikh wonderingly. “I have been seventy years in the world, and for forty of those years I have been taking travellers to see the wonders of my land; but I have never met another man like the Hakim, whom I could look up to as I do to him.”
“You do mean it?” said Sam, whose eyes glistened and looked moist. “Thank you, Mr Abrahams. You and me’s the best of friends for saying that. He is what you say—grand. You like him, and don’t half know him.”
“I know him to have a great heart, Mr Samuel,” said the old man warmly.
“Great heart, yes, and a big, broad chest; but it ain’t half big enough to hold it. Why, when my poor old mother was bad—dying of old age she was—I made bold to ask the doctor to go down to see her, meaning to pay him out of my savings, and feeling as I’d like the dear old girl to have the best advice. Down in the country she was, forty miles away.”
“How sad!” said the old Sheikh. “Two very long days’ journey.”
“Get out!” cried Sam, laughing. “England ain’t the Soudan. Forty miles by the express means under one hour’s ride, Mr Abrahams.”
The Sheikh looked at him gravely.
“Mr Samuel,” he said, “the barbers in Egypt and Turkey and Persia always have been famous for telling wonderful stories. I thought now you were speaking seriously.”
“So I was, and about the doctor being so good to my poor old mother. Twice a week he kept on going to see her till she died, and when I wanted to pay something, he laughed at me and said he had done it all for a faithful servant and friend who was a good son. That’s why I’m out here to look after him, Mr Abrahams. He’s splendid, and you’re right. Just you tumble off your camel and break a leg or a wing, or crack your nut, and let him put you right. I’ll nurse you, and so will Mr Frrrr—Ben Eddin.”
“Hah! I think I will,” said the Sheikh, “when we have done; only I must not break too much for I am growing old. But two long days’ journey in an hour, Mr Samuel? The Cairo railway never does anything like that.”
“The Cairo railway!” said Sam scornfully. “Don’t talk about it. Why, I went down into the country with the Hakim once, and we rode part of the way nearly twice as fast as I said. Not eighty miles an hour, but seventy; that’s a fact. Hullo! what’s going on now? They look as if they’re going to eat us.”
“It is only their way of showing joy, Mr Samuel.”
“But they’re a-shouting, ‘Hay—keem! Hay—keem!’”
“They have heard how the Hakim saved the Emir’s and his son’s lives and cured so many more. Hark they are saying that a great prophet is come, and they are crying aloud for joy.”
“Prophet!” said Sam grimly, as he made an atrocious joke; “not much profit for him, poor chap. Why, they’ll bring all the sore places out of the town for him to cure.”
“Yes, he will be a great man here.”
“And him sitting so cool and quiet there on his camel in his robes and turban, looking like one of Madame Tussaud’s wax figures out for the day.”
For the excitement had been rapidly increasing, as the returning party were met and passed through the crowd, who had shouted themselves hoarse by way of welcome to the warriors, their chiefs, and to their plunder. The wild music, the sight of the fighting men and the spoil, had done much; but the news, which had spread like fire through tow, of the Hakim and his powers seemed to drive the excitable, wonder-loving people almost wild. It was another prophet come into their midst, and had the procession lasted much longer the Hakim’s career in Omdurman would have commenced with a long task of healing the injured who had been crushed by the crowd.
Fortunately for all, the English party and the people themselves, the two lines of mounted men helped to keep back the rush of the crowd who pressed forward to see the great man of whose deeds they had just heard, and the length, the intricacy, and narrowness of the streets played their part in lessening the gathering; but it was a weary journey—one which grew slower and slower, till the city was completely traversed, and the mounted men rode off to one side, leaving the Hakim’s followers to pass through the rough gateway of a high mud wall, over which were seen the pleasantest objects of the morning’s ride.
For over the wall rose the broad leaves of palms, and as the party rode into and under the greenery of a large enclosure, they found themselves in sight of the Emir’s palace, with the camel litter just in front—a palace of sun-baked mud, at whose entrance-gate a dozen mounted men were placed to keep back the crowd, among whom were already several applicants for help from the Hakim. But these were driven away at once, for the doctor’s attention was required for the Emir’s son.
Chapter Twenty Four.
Freedom of Action?
The doctor’s patient needed his help badly, for the exertion of the journey and triumphant entry had taxed his strength too much, and once more he was fully under the Hakim’s charge, and was carried by his orders to the quarters assigned to the party and their following, on one side of the low, rambling place, and quite distinct.
It was while the doctor was busily tending the sufferer in the shady room looking out on the greenery of the court, that the Emir himself, freshly dismounted after seeing to the bestowal of the trophies of the incursion, came in, to stand gravely aside, waiting patiently till the Hakim, satisfied that he could do no more, left the coarse divan upon which the patient lay, and signed to the father that he might approach.
The doctor and his assistants drew back with the Sheikh, who stayed in the rough chamber to act as interpreter, the professor’s Arabic being only an unsatisfactory mode of conversation, and all save the Hakim looked away.
But there was no need for the latter’s watchfulness, the Emir seeming to have a perfect knowledge of what was necessary, and full confidence in the great man’s power. Hence it was that he contented himself with going down on one knee by his son’s side and laying a hand upon the insensible man’s brow for a few minutes before rising, and turning to the Sheikh—
“Ask the Hakim if he will live,” he said stoically.
The answer was given directly. “Yes, but the recovery has been thrown back.”
The Emir uttered a low, deep sigh, and bowed his head. Then turning to the Hakim he took a great, clumsy-looking ring from one finger, and, bending low, he offered it to his prisoner.
To his surprise it was declined, but in a grave and smiling way, accompanied too with gestures which seemed to say, “I need no payment; I am beyond such trifles as these.”
The effect was striking, for the Emir stood for a few moments gazing at his captive with something like awe. Then, catching at the Hakim’s hand, he pressed it for a moment against his forehead, and strode out of the room.
“Humph!” ejaculated the professor, as soon as they were alone. “I almost wish you had taken that ring, old fellow. It was curiously antique.”
“I thought it better not, Fred,” said the doctor quietly. “Let’s keep up my character of one who seeks only to do good and heal.”
“Yes, you’re right, old fellow; but an ancient gem like that is tempting. It may be a thousand years old.”
“And now about obtaining news of Hal,” said Frank, looking from one to the other. “They surely are not going to keep us shut up here?”
“A little patience, Frank, lad,” said the professor; “here we are, within the walls of Omdurman, and received as friends; it cannot be long before we find out whether there are other prisoners here.”
“Whether there are other prisoners here!” cried Frank excitedly. “Why, we know.”
“That poor Hal was either here or at Khartoum months ago. We must not be too sanguine. He may be many miles away.”
“You may be right,” said Frank wearily, “and I will not be sanguine; but if you begin dealing with probabilities and improbabilities, I may reply that it is quite possible that Hal is here in Omdurman—that he may even be in this very house. We know that he was a prisoner, do we not?”
“Of course,” said the professor.
“Then he would be the slave of some important man?”
“Certainly, my dear boy.”
“Well, this Emir seems to be one of the most important men here; why may not fate have brought us to the very place?”
“Ah, why not, Frank, lad? But it is too improbable.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, in his quiet, grave way; “far too improbable. Still, it is wonderful that we should have reached the very centre of the enemy’s stronghold, and, what is more, that we should stand so well with this Emir. Be patient, Frank, and let us see what a few days bring forth. The Sheikh will begin at once, and he is a hundred times more likely to gain information than we are.”
“And the first thing to learn is how we stand.”
They began to find that out directly, for the coming and going of their guard, and a few questions from the Sheikh, supplied the information that this man had them in charge and was answerable to his chief for their safety, the Emir having quite made up his mind that the Hakim should form a part of his household so that he would have medical and surgical help when it was needed, and also that he might enjoy the credit of possessing so wonderful a physician, and share that of his cures.
The arrangements made were perfectly simple; in fact, they were such as they would have met with in a tent; the only difference was that there were solid walls and a roof overhead.
The Hakim learned, too, as the days glided by, that he was expected to see as many sick and wounded people as he conveniently could each morning, from the time of the first meal till noonday. After that the guard turned everyone away, and as time passed on the friends found that the rule was never transgressed.
“The people have been taught so, O Hakim,” said the Sheikh.
“Then we are to be at liberty for the rest of the day?” said the doctor.
“Yes, O Hakim, and you are to have everything you desire. You only have to speak. It is the Emir’s orders. But if at any time you are wanted for the Emir’s people or his friends, you are to see them in the after part of the day. What is there that the Hakim would desire now? The camels are well supplied, thy servants have good sleeping and resting-places, and supplies are sent in every morning while you are busy with the sick and wounded. What shall I tell the guard you require?”
“Our liberty,” said the Hakim sternly. “My people have been stopped three times when they tried to leave the gate.”
“Yes, O Hakim; it was the order given by the Emir to his servant, the guard.”
“Then tell the guard what I say. The confinement here is too great.”
“There is the garden beneath the trees, Excellency,” said the Sheikh.
“Yes, but we wish to see the town—to go where we will.”
“I will go to the guard and tell him, Excellency,” said the Sheikh humbly, and he went away.
Within an hour—a long and weary one to Frank—he was back.
“I have seen the chief guard, Excellency, and he has taken your message to the Emir, who sent for me at once.”
“Well?” said the doctor; and Frank and the professor came close to hear the reply.
“The Emir Prince sends greeting to your Excellency,” said the old Sheikh, who seemed greatly impressed at being made the medium of communication between two such great men, “and he thanks you humbly for the great change you have made in his dear son, who seems to be hourly gaining strength.”
“Yes, yes,” said the doctor, rather impatiently; “go on.”
“The Emir Prince says that he is aggrieved because you make so few demands for yourself and your people, for he desires that you should treat his home as yours, and have all that you desire.”
“Then he gives us our liberty to go where we please?” said the doctor eagerly, and Frank and the professor gave vent to sighs of satisfaction which made the Sheikh’s brow wrinkle.
“The Emir desires me to say that your servants are at liberty to go where they please in the city or out into the country round; and that as he has noticed that the great Hakim has beautiful camels but no horses, he has only to speak and horses will be brought for his servants’ use.”
“I shall keep to my camel, Ibrahim,” said the doctor. “I think it will seem best, more in character. What do you think?”
The old man was silent.
“What does this mean?” said Frank, for he was first to notice the Sheikh’s troubled look.
“The Emir Prince bade me say to his Excellency that he could not allow the great Hakim to go about among the people, for his life would be made a burden to him—he could not go a step without having a crowd of sufferers following him and throwing themselves beneath his camel’s feet.”
The doctor frowned.
“He said that the great Hakim’s health and comfort were dear to him, and he felt that it would be better that so great a man should live as retired a life as the Khalifa himself.”
“Then I am to be kept regularly as a prisoner?” said the doctor, in dismay.
“But if sometimes the noble Hakim desires greatly to ride through the city and out into the country, if he will send word by the guard, the Emir will summon the horsemen and attend upon his friend and preserver as a guard of honour, and protect him from the crowds that would stop his way.”
“Oh, who wants to be paraded in a show?” said the doctor petulantly. “I would rather stop in prison than be led out like that, eh, Fred?”
“Certainly,” said the professor.
“Well, never mind,” said the doctor cheerfully, the next minute. “I will not complain. I have my part to play, and I mean to go on playing it contentedly while you and Frank play yours, and find out where poor old Hal is kept a prisoner. That done, we must begin to make our plans to escape either back to Cairo or to the nearest post of the Anglo-Egyptian army.”
“Or the river,” said Frank. “But I don’t like this, for us to be free and you a prisoner.”
“It is the penalty for being so great a man,” said the doctor merrily. “And really there is a large amount of common-sense in what our friend says. I should be regularly hunted through the streets, and I could not go in Eastern fashion and turn a deaf ear to the poor wretches who cast themselves at my feet.”
“But it seems so hard for you,” said Frank.
“And it takes all the satisfaction out of our perfect freedom,” said the professor.
“But your Excellencies are not to have perfect freedom,” said Ibrahim slowly.
“What do you mean?” cried Frank.
“When you go out I and three or four of my young men are to attend you with the camels.”
“So much the better, Ibrahim. You will be invaluable to us.”
“Your Excellency is very good to say so,” replied the old man sadly; “but that is not all.”
“Not all?” cried the professor.
“No, Excellency. The Emir Prince says that he feels answerable to the great Hakim for your safety; that you are well known to be the Hakim’s followers, and that there are wise men, Hakims of the people here in Omdurman and Khartoum, who are dogs, he said—fools and pretenders who can do nothing but work ill. These people, he says, hate the great Hakim with a jealous hate, and would gladly injure his servants. Therefore he gives the head of his bodyguard, the Baggara who has charge of us here, orders to attend you everywhere you go.”
“Alone?” said Frank, after a few moments’ display of blank surprise and annoyance.
“No, Excellency; always with eight or ten men; and he is to answer for your safety abroad and here with his head.”
The Sheikh’s words seemed to have robbed the little party of the power of speech. But at last Frank exclaimed—
“Then we have journeyed all this way for naught?”
“To be as badly off as if we had stayed in Cairo and waited for the British and Egyptian advance.”
“No,” said the doctor quietly; “disappointment is making you both go to extremes. We are here on the spot, and we must work by other hands.”
“Whose?” said Frank bitterly.
The doctor pointed gravely to Ibrahim, who drew himself up with a look at the speaker full of gratitude and pride.
“Yes, O Hakim,” he said quietly; “it seems that I and my young men are at liberty to come and go with the camels, and we can mix with the people as we please. If, then, their Excellencies will trust their servant and give him time he will do all he can to search out tidings of their friend and brother. Shall it be so?”
“Yes,” said the doctor firmly.
The old Sheikh bowed, and then turned to Frank.
“Ben Eddin is black,” he said, with a smile, “and the day or night may come when I shall say to him, ‘I have glad tidings for you. Come as one of my camel-drivers, and maybe I can get you past the guard.’”
“Ibrahim!” cried the young man wildly, “don’t promise me too much.”
“I promise nothing, Ben Eddin,” said the old man smiling; “but an Arab Sheikh and the black slave with him can go far unnoticed. Wait and see. Till then go on and be a patient servant to the sick man here, the Emir’s son. He likes you in his way. Maybe he will be better soon, and want you to bear him company here and there.”
“Yes, it is possible,” cried Frank excitedly.
“And it would give you time to search the place or learn by chance where the prisoner may be. It is not wise to let the heart sink in sorrow as the sun goes down amongst the mists of night. Does it not rise again and bring the light? Surely it is better that you are here.”
“Yes,” said Frank eagerly. “I spoke in haste.”
Chapter Twenty Five.
Sam’s Tongue.
As soon as the first disappointment had passed off it was decided to make the best of their position—one whose advantages soon grew upon the adventurers. So the Hakim settled down steadily to his task of healing, and the Emir’s son not only rapidly improved, but grew more friendly as he gained strength.
This friendliness was not displayed in his behaviour towards his doctor but in his dealings with Frank, who in his efforts to help Morris devoted himself heart and soul to their principal patient.
The young Emir had from the first seemed to be attracted by Frank, while he was morose to his white attendants, the very fact of the young man being a black and a slave to a white seeming to form a bond of sympathy; and finding that the Hakim would take no gifts, he often showed his satisfaction by making some present or another to his dumb attendant.
A greater one was to come.
Advantage was soon taken of the Emir’s concession. Notice was given to the Baggara guard, and one afternoon, guarded by six mounted men, Frank, the professor, and Sam, attended by the Sheikh, mounted their camels and rode out of the palace gates to inspect the city and a part of its surroundings, with which, from the freedom he had already enjoyed, Ibrahim was becoming pretty well acquainted.
As soon as they started, the guard fell back to the rear, contenting themselves with following, and leaving the Sheikh to take whatever course he chose, so that he led, with Frank at his side, talking to him in a low voice as if describing all they saw to his dumb companion, who questioned him from time to time with his eager eyes.
Long experience as dragoman and guide had made the old man wonderfully intelligent and apt to comprehend his employer’s desires, and that he did so now was shown at the first start.
“Which way am I going, Ben Eddin?” he said quietly. “Through the better parts of the city, where the wealthier people are, who keep slaves,” and in a few minutes Frank was gazing about him with horror as he asked himself what must the worst parts of the place be if these were the best. For eyes and nostrils were disgusted at every turn. The heat was intense, and wherever any creature died or the offal of the inhabitants’ food was cast out into the narrow ways, there it festered and rotted beneath the torrid rays of the sun, while myriads of loathsome flies, really a blessing to the place in their natural duty of scavengers, rose in clouds, and to hurry from one plague was only to rush into another.
Misery, neglect, and wretchedness appeared on every hand; but the population swarmed, and habit seemed to have hardened them to the power of existing where it appeared to be a certainty that some pestilence must rise and sweep them off.
Frank was not long in discriminating between the free and the enslaved. Those swarthy, black often and shining, sauntering about well-armed, and with a haughty, insolent bearing and stare at the mounted party; these dull of eye and skin, cringing, dejected, half naked, and often displaying the marks of the brutality of their conquerors, as they bent under heavy loads or passed on with the roughest of agricultural implements to and from the outskirts of the town.
“Plenty of slaves, Ben Eddin,” said the Sheikh gravely. “Poor wretches, swept in from the villages to grow the Baggara’s corn and draw and carry their water. They spare their camels to make these people bear the loads. Plenty of slaves. Look!”
Frank’s eyes were already noting that to which the Sheikh drew his attention, for a party of about a dozen unhappy fellaheen, joined together by a long chain, which in several cases had fretted their black skins into open sores, were being driven along by a Baggara mounted upon a slight, swift-looking camel, from whose high back he wielded a long-lashed whip, and flicked with it from time to time at the bare skin of one of the slaves who cringed along looking ready to drop.
They were on in front, stopping the way in the narrow street between two rows of mud-brick houses, and consequently Frank’s party had to slacken their pace, the driver having glanced insolently back at them and then fixed his eyes half-wonderingly upon Frank, before turning again and continuing his way, quite ignoring the fact that those behind were waiting to pass.
When he stopped he had turned his camel across the narrow road, completely blocking the way, and when he went on again, after gazing his full, he hurried his camel a little so as to overtake the last of the ironed slaves, and lashed at him sharply, making the poor wretch wince and take a quick step or two which brought him into collision with his fellow-sufferer in front, causing him to stumble and driving him against the next, so that fully half of the gang were in confusion.
The result was a savage outburst from their driver, who pressed on, making his whip sing through the air and crack loudly, as he lashed at the unfortunates, treating them far worse than the beasts that perish; but not a murmur arose as they stumbled on through the foul sand of the narrow way.
But there was one sound, a low, harsh, menacing grating together of teeth, and the Sheikh, who had long been inured to such scenes, turned sharply, to see that Frank’s eyes were blazing with the rage within him.
“Yes,” he whispered warningly, “it is horrible; but they are the conquering race from the south. We must bear it. Yes.”
“Hah!” sighed Frank, and he shuddered at the bare idea of his brother being a victim to such a fate.
Just at that moment the roadway widened out a little, and the Sheikh took advantage of this to press on, so as to get his party past the depressing scene.
The camel he rode protested a little, and at the moaning growl it uttered the Baggara turned a little, and his eyes met those of Frank, looking dark and menacing.
“Hasten, Ben Eddin,” whispered the Sheikh, and the young man’s camel made step for step with that of the Sheikh; but before Frank’s eyes quitted those of the slave-driver the man said something fiercely, raised his whip, and was in the act of striking at the young Englishman when there was a plunge, a bound, and the leader of the Emir’s guard had driven his beautiful Arab horse against the flank of the driver’s camel, sending the poor beast staggering against the mud house to the left and nearly dismounting the rider.
In an instant the savage turned with raised whip upon his aggressor, but the guard’s keen, straight sword flashed out of the scabbard, and the sight of the rest of the party cowed him, while pointing forward, the guard sat watching him sternly till the party had passed the gang, when, with a quick sweep of his sharp blade he caught the whip close to the shaft, sheared it off, and then pressing his horse’s sides he bounded on, leaving the brute scowling in his rear.
“We are to be saved from all insult, Ben Eddin,” said the Sheikh gravely; “but you must not resent anything you see, and this shows you how careful we must be.”
“Yes, but it makes my blood boil,” said Frank to himself, as he gave the old Arab a meaning look full of promise as regards care.
They rode on and on and in and out through what at times was a teeming hive of misery and degradation, where filth and disorder seemed to be rampant. At times there were houses of larger build, and here and there attempts had been made to enclose a garden, in which there was the refreshing sight of a few trees; but the monotony of the place was terrible, and the absence of all trace of a busy, thriving, industrious population was depressing in the extreme.
“We must ride out from the city another time, Ben Eddin,” said the Sheikh gravely, after they had gone on through the crowded ways for fully a couple of hours, their guard following patiently in the rear, and their presence ensuring a way being made through some of the well-armed, truculent-looking groups.
“Yes,” said the professor, who overheard his words; “and I am afraid that we shall do no good hunting among these narrow streets. Can’t you take us amongst the houses of the better-class folk, Ibrahim?”
“That is what I am trying to do, Excellency,” said the old man; “but you see—wherever there is a big house it is shut in with walls, and there are so few—so few. It is like one of our worst villages near Cairo made big—so big, and so much more dirty and bad.”
“The place is a horror, Frank,” said the professor. “I wonder the people do not die off like flies.”
“Doubtless they do, Excellency,” said the old Sheikh gravely.
“They must, Frank,” continued the professor. “The dry sand saves the place from being one vast pest-house. Look at the foul dogs, and yonder at the filthy vultures seated on the top of that mud house.”
“There’s lot’s more coming, sir,” said Sam, putting in a word, as he looked upward in a disgusted way. “I do hate those great, bald-headed crows.”
“Hideous brutes!” said the professor, watching the easy flight of about half a dozen that were sailing round as if waiting to swoop down upon some prey.
“There is a dead body near,” said the Sheikh calmly.
“What, on in front?” said the professor quickly; “for goodness’ sake, then, let’s go another way!”
The Sheikh looked at him half-protestingly, and shrugged his shoulders a little.
“Does his Excellency mean to go back the way we came?” he said. “It is very bad, and if we go by here we shall soon be outside upon the wide plain where we can ride round to the gate near the Emir’s palace.”
“Then by all means let’s go on,” said the professor.
“There may be nothing dead,” said the Sheikh. “I think not, for the birds are waiting.”
There was evidently, though, some attraction, for the numbers of the birds were increasing as they pushed on, to ride out into an opening all at once—a place which had probably been a garden surrounded by buildings, now fast crumbling into dust, and here upon one side, not a dozen yards away, lay the attraction which had drawn the scavenger birds together, at least a hundred more that they had not previously seen dotting the ruins in all directions.
“What a place!” said the professor, halting the beast he rode, which, like its fellows, instead of paying the slightest heed seemed to welcome the rest; and they all stood bowing their heads gently as if it were a mere matter of course, and no broad hint of their fate in the to-come.
For there, crouched down with its legs doubled beneath, was a large camel, evidently in the last stage of weakness and disease, its ragged coat and flaccid hump hanging over to one side, bowing its head slowly at the waiting vultures, that calm, bald-headed and silent, sat about with their weird heads apparently down between their shoulders—a great gathering, waiting for the banquet that was to be theirs.
Frank had hard work to repress the words which rose to his lips, and he signed to the Sheikh as he urged his beast forward.
“Hold hard a minute,” said the professor; “it is not nice, but I want to see in the cause of natural history. I never saw a camel die.”
Frank knit his brows, and in the cause of natural history felt glad that the loathsome birds refrained from attacking the wretched beast until it was dead.
The poor animal had, however, nearly reached what was for it that happy state of release, for as the professor watched, the camel slowly raised its head, throwing it back until its ears rested against its hump, gazed upwards towards the sky, shivered, and was at rest.
“Poor brute!” said the professor; “and what a release. Why, Ibrahim, I thought the Arab of the desert was tender to his beast, whether it was camel or horse?”
“Well, Excellency,” said the old man proudly, “look at the camel you ride; look at these. I am an Arab: have you ever seen me otherwise than merciful to my beasts?”
“No,” said the professor; “but look at that wretched creature! Ugh! how horrible! Let’s ride on.”
It was time, for nearly heedless of the presence of man, the vultures were dropping down from the ruins, and those in the air were making a final sweep round before darting upon their carrion prey. The party rode on in silence for a few minutes, the Sheikh waiting for the professor to continue; but he remained silent, and the old man began in protest—
“An Arab does not leave his beast like that, Excellency. These men here are not Arabs, but the fierce, half-savage people from high up the country, who have descended the river, killing and destroying, till wherever they stop the land is turned into a waste. Time back, when the great general was sent up to Khartoum, we said ‘Now there will be peace, and the savage followers of the Mahdi will be driven back into the wilds; people will dare to live again and grow their corn and pasture their flocks and herds;’ but, alas! it was not to be. The great Gordon was murdered, his people slaughtered, and the country that has been watered with the blood of the just still cries aloud for help. Is it ever to come?”
“Yes, Ibrahim, and soon,” said the professor. “Who knows of the preparations being made better than you?”
“Yes, Excellency, I know,” said the Sheikh slowly; “but it is so long in coming, and while they are waiting to be freed from the horrible tyranny of the Mahdi and his successor, the people wither away and die.”
The old man looked at Frank as he spoke, and the young man gave him an approving nod, after which they rode on through the squalor and horrors of the place till the road grew more straight and wide, the hovels fewer. Then the filth and misery grew scarcer, patches of cultivated land appeared, from which weary-eyed faces looked up, half wondering, here and there, but only to sink listlessly again as their owners toiled on, with taskmasters ready to urge them on with their labour, as they tortured their sluggish oxen toiling at water-wheel or grinding at a mill.
But for the most part the Baggaras’ slaves allowed the passers-by to go unnoticed, never once lifting their eyes from the ground.
As the party rode slowly on, their eyes carefully searched the buildings they passed in these outskirts of the town, till they reached the entrance where they first arrived, and soon after were winding their way in and out of the narrow streets till they came to their portion of the Emir’s palace, and passed the guarded gate, to thankfully throw themselves upon the rugs of their shadowy room, hot, weary, and choked with dust.
“Well,” said the Hakim, as soon as their guards were out of hearing, “good news?”
“No,” said Frank, “the worst. We might go wandering in and out of this desolation of sordid hovels and crumbling huts for years, and see no sign of the poor fellow.”
“And perhaps pass the place again and again,” added the professor. “We are going the wrong way to work. What do you say, Ibrahim?”
“Thy servant fears that it is useless to go searching in such a way as this,” replied the old Sheikh. “The city is so big—there are so many thousands crowding the place.”
“Then what can we do?” said Frank wearily.
“Only try to get news of a white slave who was taken at Khartoum, Excellency,” said the old man calmly. “I am working, but I fear to ask too much, for fear that I might do harm.”
“Have we gone the wrong way to work, after all?”
“No,” said the doctor decisively. “We are here, and Khartoum is so far away. You are hot and weary now, Frank; rest and refresh, my lad; they are grand remedies for despair.”
“Yes,” said the professor; “I feel as much out of heart as you, my boy, but common-sense says that we have only tried once.”
Frank nodded, and rose to go into the room he shared with Sam, too weary and disheartened to notice that his old friend’s servant had followed him, till he was startled by feeling the man’s cool hands busy about him with a brass basin of cool water and a sponge, when he sat up quickly.
“Why, Sam,” he cried, “are you going mad?”
“Hope not, sir,” said the man, “though that hot sun and the dust can’t be good.”
“But what are you doing?”
“What’ll set you right, sir, and ready for your meal.”
“But you forget that I am the Hakim’s slave.”
“Not I, sir. Keep still, the black won’t come off.”
“But I can’t let you be waiting upon me. Suppose one of the Emir’s men came in.”
“Well, that would be awkward, sir; but I’d chance it this time.”
“No,” said Frank stoically. “There, I feel a little rested now. Go on and bathe yourself. You want it as badly as I.”
“But let me tend you a bit, sir—Ben.”
“Sir Ben!” cried Frank angrily. “You mean to betray us, then?”
“It’s just like me, Ben Eddin; but you will let me give you a cool sponge down? It’s quite right, sir, as a barber.”
“No, no, I’m better now,” said Frank sharply, and he busied himself in getting rid of the unpleasant traces of their ride, feeling the better for the effort he was forced to make, and listening in silence to Sam, who, after so long an interval from conversation was eager to make use of his tongue.
“Hah!” he said; “water is a blessing in a country like this; but oh, Ben Eddin, did you ever see such a place and such a people?”
“No,” said Frank shortly. “Horrible!”
“Why, our Arabs, sir, with their bit of a tent are princes and kings to ’em. Ugh! the horrible filth and smells and sights, and then the slaves!”
“Horrible!” said Frank again.
“I’ve read a deal about slavery, sir, and the—what do they call it?—atrocities; but what they put in print isn’t half bad enough.”
“Not half,” assented Frank.
“After what I have seen to-day, not being at all a killing and slaughtering sort of man, I feel as if it’s a sort of duty for our soldiers to come up here with fixed bayonets, and drive the black ruffians right away back into the hot deserts they came from. Did you see inside one of those huts we passed?”
“I saw inside many, Sam,” replied Frank.
“I meant that one where the two miserable-looking women came to the door to see us pass.”
“What, where a man came back to them just before we reached the dying camel?”
“Yes; that was the place.”
“I just caught a glimpse of him as we passed.”
“Was that all, Ben Eddin?”
“Yes, that was all. Why?”
“Ah, you were on first, and I was a bit behind the professor, sir, and I saw it all.”
“What did you see?”
“Saw him go up to first one and then the other, knocking them down with a big blow of his fist; and the poor things crouched with their faces in the sand and never said a word.”
“The savage!”
“That’s right,” said Sam viciously. “I was talking to Mr Abraham about it afterwards, and he said he saw it too, and that they were slaves, like hundreds upon hundreds more, who had been taken in some village the wretches had looted, and that he hadn’t a doubt that their husbands had been cut down and killed in one of the raids. What’s a raid, sir?”
“A plundering expedition, Sam,” said Frank wearily, “such as that the Emir was upon when we were captured.”
“Oh, I see, sir. Big sort o’ savage kind o’ murder and burglary, wholesale, retail, and for exportation, as you may say. When they want anything they go out and take it?”
“Exactly.”
“Hah! That’s what old Mr Abraham meant when he said that these Soudan tribes didn’t care about settling down and doing any gardening or farming, because they could go and help themselves whenever they wanted. He said they were black locusts who came out of the south.”
“He was quite right, Sam,” replied Frank, “and you have seen the effect of their visits; every place is devastated, and the poorer, industrious people get perfectly disheartened.”
“I see, sir. Feel it’s no use to get together a bit of a farm and some pigs, because as soon as the corn’s ripe and the pigs are fat these locusts come and eat the lot.”
“You are right as far as the corn is concerned, Sam,” said Frank, smiling; “but I don’t think you have seen many pigs since you have been out here.”
“Well, now you come to mention it, sir, I haven’t. I was thinking about it when I saw some of those bits of farm places outside where the slaves were at work, and it made me think of an uncle of mine who was in that line of business away in the country—he’s a rich farmer now out in Noo Zealand. I used to go for a holiday to see him sometimes down in Surrey, and he would say that there was nothing like having a good sow and a lot of young pigs coming on, different sizes, in your styes, for they ate up all the refuse and got fat, and you’d always something to fall back on for your rent, besides having a nice bit of bacon in the rack for home use. He said he never saw a small farm get on without pigs. Some one ought to show ’em how to do it out here. But I don’t know what would be the use of fattening up your pigs for the Mahdi chaps to come and drive them away.”
“There is no fear of either, Sam,” said Frank, smiling. “These Mohammedan people look upon the pig as an unclean beast.”
“Well, that’s true enough, sir; but it is his nature to. He’s nasty in his habits, but he’s nice.”
“I mean unclean—not fit to eat—a Mohammedan would be considered defiled by even touching a pig.”
“Ho!” said Sam scornfully, “and I suppose killing and murdering and getting themselves covered with blood makes ’em clean! Unde—what do you call it?—undefiled. Well, all I can say is that the sooner this holy man and his followers are chivied out of the country the better.”
“Yes—yes—yes, Sam,” said Frank, more wearily; “but don’t talk to me. I want to think.”
“I know, sir, about Mr Harry, sir; but don’t think, sir. You think too much about him.”
“What!” cried Frank angrily.
“It’s true, sir. You’re fretting yourself into a sick bed, and though I’d sit up o’ nights, and do anything in the way of nursing you, sir, we can’t afford to have you ill.”
“Why not, Sam?” said the young man bitterly. “It is all hopeless. Poor Harry is dead, and the sooner I follow him the better.”
“Mr Frank—Ben Eddin, I mean—I do wonder at you! It don’t seem like you speaking. Never say die, sir! What, talk about giving up when we’ve got to the place we were trying for! There, I know. You’re done up with being out in the sun. But cheer up, sir. You come and have something to eat, and then have a good night’s rest. You’ll feel different in the morning. Why, we’ve hardly begun yet. You knew before you started that Mr Harry’s up here somewhere. Well, we’ve got to find him, and we will.”
“If I could only think so,” groaned Frank.
“Think so, then, sir,” said Sam earnestly. “Why look at me, sir. ’Bout a month ago I used to groan to myself and think what a fool I was to leave my comfortable pantry in Wimpole Street to come on what I called a wild-goose chase; but I came round and made up my mind as it was a sort o’ duty to the guv’nor and you gents, and though I can’t say I like it, for the smells are horrid, and the way the people live and how they treat other people disgusting, I’m getting regular used to it. Why, if you gentlemen were to call me to-morrow and to say that the job seemed what you called it just now, hopeless, and you were going back, I should feel ashamed of you all. You take my advice, sir, and stick to it like a man. It’s like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, I know; but the needle’s there, and you’ve got to pick out the hay bit by bit till there’s nothing left but dust—it’s sand here—then you’ve got to blow the dust away, and there’s the needle.”
“That’s good philosophy, Sam,” said Frank, smiling.
“Is it, sir? Well, I am glad of it. I only meant it for good advice.”