Chapter Thirty Eight.
For Freedom.
The English party had ample proof of Ibrahim’s words, for the narrow ways of the city were thronged that day with the wild troops that had ridden in from the desert, many too from Khartoum, and the wild blasts and throbbings of barbaric trumpet and drum resounded through the place; but the Emir’s house remained undisturbed, though more than once the professor noticed that there was an uneasy look in the eyes of the head guard when he came near them, and appeared to be especially devoted to the care of all in the place.
That day there were no calls upon the Hakim for help, and he was able to devote himself entirely to Frank, upon whom his ministrations had the best effect.
In fact, he woke that night as if out of a long sleep looked wonderingly at Sam, and seemed puzzled by the bandages laid across his head. Then as if realising that he had been ill, he lay perfectly still, thinking, till the doctor came to his side a short time later, when he took and pressed the hand which felt his pulse and head, nodded gently, and proved at once that the fit of delirium had quite passed away, for he said in a whisper—
“Don’t say anything. I know I have been ill. But tell me: any news of Harry?”
“Not yet, my dear boy. We must have patience.”
“Yes, Frank, lad,” said the professor cheerily, “patience.”
Frank bowed his head softly and let his eyelids drop, lying perfectly still for some little time.
“Drowsy, Frank?” said the doctor at last. But there was no reply. All was silent but the distant sound of shouting and uproar, as if the newcomers to the city were quarrelling with their friends.
The silence startled the professor, who looked from their new patient to the doctor, and back again searchingly; but the latter paid no heed.
“Is this right?” he said at last, anxiously.
“Yes, perfectly right. What I have given him has checked the fever, and he will sleep from exhaustion for many hours to come. But we must watch by him through the night, in case there should be any relapse. I do not think there will be, but we will be upon our guard.”
“Of course,” said the professor. “I was going to propose that I should sit up with him.”
“Thanks, my dear Fred,” said the doctor gravely; “but I have already made my plans. We will take three hours each. Which watch will you have?”
“The first,” said the professor.
“Best so. Watch by him till midnight; then wake up Samuel, and he shall call me at three.”
The Hakim was master of the position, and everything was carried out as he proposed, the doctor coming on duty to receive the same report as the professor had given to Sam, to wit, that the patient had not stirred.
It was about six, and the doctor was congratulating himself upon the long, restful night his patient had enjoyed, when the face of the old Sheikh appeared at the open window, to which the doctor stepped softly and satisfied the old man as to the sick one’s state.
Ibrahim nodded his satisfaction, and set to work at once upon Sam’s duties, preparing the morning meal quite as a matter of course, but receiving orders to hurry nothing, so that no one should be disturbed.
“The young Excellency will be better soon?” whispered the old man.
“If we could give him good tidings to-day, Ibrahim, he would be nearly well,” replied the doctor. “Have you anything to tell?”
“Nothing, Excellency, only that the city is full of dervishes, and the wretched people are lamenting that they have not fled to the north. They pray that the Egyptian army may soon be here. One said last night, ‘If the Khedive’s people do not soon come they will find none of us left. These our masters will either slay or carry us away for slaves.’”
An hour of patient watching ensued, and then there was the sound of many voices at the gate, and Ibrahim’s grave face looked full of anxiety as he hurried out, while the doctor aroused his friend and Sam.
He had just time to return to the side of Frank’s couch, to find him sleeping still, when Ibrahim came back to the door with the officer of the guard, and their manner set his heart at rest, for they had evidently no danger to announce.
The old Sheikh set his face hard, as he spoke in a whisper.
“One of the chiefs—a friend of our master the great Emir, and friend of the new Mahdi,” he said, “sends you one of his slaves, O Hakim, and bids you for the sake of your young friend, whom he saved from a dervish band, to heal his hurt.”
The doctor felt as if something had clutched his breast, and he looked up, fighting hard to be composed, to see that the professor had come to the inner door and was hearing every word.
His voice sounded husky as he spoke, but he mastered his emotion and said gravely—
“My knowledge is at the service of all who suffer, and I will try and heal the slave of the great Emir’s friend. Let the injured man be brought to the door. What is his hurt?”
“Thy servant cannot tell,” said the old man, and he interpreted the Hakim’s words to the officer, who retired, and in a few minutes returned, ushering to the outer door a white figure lying with fast-closed eyes upon a hand litter, which was set down outside.
The Hakim drew a deep breath, and again had to fight hard to maintain his composure, for he felt that the critical time had come, just, too, when he who had toiled so hard to bring all this about was lying insensible to the success of his plot.
It was only a temporary fit of nervous agitation, and then the Hakim was walking gravely and full of dignity of mien to where the injured man lay, the professor following him, trembling with excitement.
There were about a dozen of the chiefs followers standing about the litter, all eager to catch a glimpse of the great Hakim, but ready to shrink back reverently when he appeared, leaving only the chief of the guards and one who was their leader.
These, too, drew back a little, and all seemed to accept as a matter of course that the great Hakim should pass gravely out of the door, walk round the litter, and then stand by its side with his back to them, the professor and Ibrahim taking their positions close by.
“Let the Emir’s people say why this man has been brought,” said the Hakim slowly, and as he looked down he saw the occupant of the bier start and tremble; but did not raise his eyelids.
The Sheikh interpreted the words, and the head man, who had superintended the bringing of the slave, said quickly—
“Tell the great wise Hakim that our master’s slave is broken. We know not how, and he has not spoken since. But he waits upon the horses, and one must have kicked him in the side.”
It was hard work to be calm at such a time, the man’s words when interpreted by the Sheikh seeming to stab and give the hearers intense pain.
But the Hakim remained firm, and bending down he laid his left hand softly upon the sufferer’s eyes and the right upon the breast, remaining perfectly motionless for a minute; then raising himself he said in his deepest tones—
“Let the young man be taken within.”
The Hakim’s orders were interpreted again, and there was a little excitement for a few minutes, during which the doctor gravely walked back to the inner room, leaving the professor and Ibrahim to superintend the moving, and waiting till the bearers had passed out again and the window was closed.
A deep silence fell upon the group, while the Sheikh drew back respectfully, to stand on guard by the door of the partially darkened room.
Then the doctor spoke in his low, deep tones.
“There must be no emotion, no outburst of excitement, Hal. Our work is all to do yet, and our lives depend upon our being calm. Just a word or two in the lowest tone.”
“Morris, old friend,” was whispered, in faltering accents, and the thin, careworn object of their mission gazed up wildly in his old school-fellow’s eyes. “You have dared to come here—for me?”
“Yes, and please God we will take you back in safety.”
“We?” whispered the prisoner. “Who is that brave young black who ventured so much?”
“Your brother Frank,” said the doctor slowly, and he laid his hand quickly upon his new patient’s burning brow, for as he anticipated, there was a violent start.
But the prisoner with a great effort mastered his emotion, and said softly—
“I did not know him. And you two have risked your lives like this?”
“We and Fred Landon,” said the doctor softly.
“Fred Landon!” cried the patient, with a hysterical gasp. “Dear old Fred! How like him!—Tell him—”
“Tell me yourself, Hal,” whispered a voice at the back of his head. “Some time, but not now. I am the Hakim’s assistant; there, I may grip your hand, dear old lad. Anyone might see me do that.”
He reached over to seize the prisoner’s left hand, for the right was in the doctor’s, when in spite of a brave effort there was a violent start, the right hand contracted spasmodically upon the doctor’s, but the left lay inert, while they saw the great drops of agony gathering upon the thin, sunburnt face.
“Hal!” cried the doctor, dropping his practised calm. “Great heavens! you are not really hurt?”
“I could not help wincing,” was the faltering reply. “Not hurt? How was I to have been brought here without?”
“We expected some pretence.”
“Pretence!” said Harry Frere bitterly. “You do not know the Baggaras. They are keenness itself. It is real enough, but I am well paid for the pain.”
“But your hurt?” said the doctor eagerly.
“My left arm.”
“What, kicked?”
“No,” said the sufferer, perfectly calm now. “I broke it myself.”
A deep silence fell upon the group, save that the old Sheikh uttered a low groan, and then the doctor was himself again. This was real—real suffering to allay, and a word brought the professor to his side, just as Sam came hurriedly to the inner door, fresh from Frank’s angareb.
“Hush! Not a word,” said the doctor sternly; “only help me here. Quick! my case, lint, bandages, and splints.”
But Sam did not move. He stood as if turned to stone, gazing where the light shone upon Harry Frere’s thin, worn face, and reading recognition in the eyes fixed full upon his.
“Oh!” he cried, with a sob, and forgetting everything he sprang to the side of the litter and dropped upon his knees. “Mr Harry at last!”
The doctor could not speak, as he saw his old companion raise his right hand and lay it upon the servant’s shoulder, while the professor uttered a strange sound, which, if it had escaped a woman’s breast would have been termed a sob. Then the doctor spoke.
“That will do,” he said sternly. “Obey my orders at once. The rest must wait till we are safe.”
Sam sprang up to fetch what was required, and the professor made an effort to recover his composure, the demand made upon him by his old school-fellow’s condition rousing him to action.
“One word only,” said the prisoner faintly. “You said my brother—”
“He is yonder,” said the doctor quietly; “ill, but not seriously. You must not see him now. His ruse has succeeded, and we have you here. Now I must see to your arm.”
“No, no, not now,” said Harry excitedly; “we must make some plan or another about escaping. You must not stay here—you will be discovered.”
“Leave that to us,” said the doctor sternly.
“No, no,” cried his new patient. “I have nearly been driven mad during my long imprisonment, but if aught happens to you all I shall go quite out of my mind in my despair.”
“Silence!” said the doctor sternly. “You are badly hurt, and your injury is telling upon your brain. I will not have you dwell upon our position. Look here, you can trust us. We have found our way here, found you, and had you brought to us. Give up to us at once, and trust to our doing what is best.”
“Yes, yes,” said the poor fellow passionately; “but you do not understand. Never mind my arm. I will keep still, and the fracture will mend of itself.”
“Will it?” said the doctor grimly.
“Yes, yes; but look here,” whispered the sufferer; “we must talk; we must decide upon some action.”
“No,” said the doctor, “not now. You do not understand our position.”
“I can guess it,” said the poor fellow wildly. “Think then of mine. I am brought here for you to set my arm; in half an hour at the outside I shall be taken back to my owner. We may not have another opportunity to speak—we may never meet again.”
“Now I insist,” said the doctor firmly. “You will have plenty of time to talk to us by and by.”
“No, no; you do not understand, Morris.”
“But the Hakim does,” said the doctor grimly. “Now I order you to trust to me and wait.”
The poor fellow’s head fell back, as he uttered a groan of despair, and the next minute, with eyes half-closed, he lay perfectly still, suffering acute pain, but making no sign, while the great surgeon’s deft fingers felt the injury, commenting upon it from time to time, so that Landon could hear, and while splint and bandage were handed to him as required, by the professor or Sam.
“A simple fracture of the ulna,” said the doctor calmly; “no splinters, and as far as I can make out, very little laceration of the muscle—easy to set, and it ought to be rapid in the healing. There!” he said at last, “the broken ends will begin to secrete fresh bone matter almost directly, and with care your arm will be as strong as the other. Cup, glass, and number four bottle, Frederick, my son.”
The professor hurried away to the doctor’s case, and the latter took hold of his patient’s hand to feel the pulse.
“A little feverish, Hal, old fellow,” he said calmly. “Did I hurt you very much?”
“Oh, no. But Rob, old lad!”
“Silence!” was the uncompromising command.—“Ah, that’s right, Fred. Bottle, glass, water! Now, Hal, drink that.”
“No,” said the patient angrily. “It is a narcotic. You want to send me to sleep so that I shall not know what you are planning. Is it fair to me after I have broken a limb so as to get myself brought here?”
“Perfectly fair. Listen; it is not a strong narcotic, only something to soothe the pain you must be in.—There, that’s better. Hal, my dear old boy, you always did trust me; trust me now.”
“Well, I will,” said the sufferer hoarsely.
“That’s right. Now I will set your mind at rest. The great Hakim has more power here than you think for.”
Harry Frere suppressed a groan, and his eyes wandered from one to the other, noting how the others present seemed waiting eagerly to obey their chiefs slightest gesture or word; while now at a sign he saw the Sheikh close up and stand waiting with bended head.
“Go to the officer who brought our friend, and tell him to come here.”
The Sheikh turned to go, but the professor interposed.
“One moment,” he said earnestly; “Frank is in there—you know how. Suppose he begins to speak as he did last night.”
“It is not probable,” said the doctor quietly. “Go, Ibrahim.”
The Sheikh passed out of the room and through the door, to where the two officers stood waiting patiently, with their men a short distance away; and as a curtain was drawn aside a burst of barbaric music and loud cries of “Allah! Allah!” were borne into the room.
As the curtain dropped back into its place the doctor took a cushion, and carefully raising the splinted and bandaged arm placed the soft pillow beneath.
“Now,” he said, “lie still and close your eyes. Don’t stir while these men are here. I need not tell you to try and look bad, for Nature is helping you there, my dear old fellow. Hal, lad, your arm will soon knit together, but make your mind easy: you are too bad to move.”
“No, no, Rob, you are wrong. I feel a little drowsy, but so free from pain. I could get up and walk.”
“The Hakim thinks differently. Silence! They are coming. Samuel, stand there! Fred, my son, bend over him with those bandages and that scalpel.—Hist! Close your eyes.”
His orders were obeyed, and as Harry Frere closed his sunken eyes, old cares and sufferings, combined with the mental and bodily agony he was passing through, gave his face, in the shadowy, dim, curtained room, a look that was absolutely ghastly.
Directly after the curtain was drawn aside by the Sheikh for the two officers to pass in, both looking awed as they gave a sharp look round at the strange scene.
The next moment the Baggara who had brought the injured man started forward a step to look down at his charge, and then recoiled, to say a few hurried words to the Sheikh, who turned gravely to the doctor and interpreted.
“The Emir’s servant says, Excellency, that the white slave is dead, and that he dare not go back with the tidings, lest his head should fall.”
The Hakim turned slowly to the officer and smiled, as he laid a hand upon his patient’s forehead.
“Tell him,” he said, “to bear the tidings to his master that the white slave will live, and his broken arm will soon be well.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the Baggara. “The Hakim is great. Then we may carry him back at once?”
The words were interpreted to the doctor, who made his reply.
“No; if the slave is taken away he may die. Bid him tell his master that the Hakim will keep the injured slave here and make him whole, as he has the Emirs, his master’s friends.”
The Baggara officer looked troubled and perplexed.
“Tell the great Hakim that his servant was bidden to bring the slave here and take him back. There is nothing for him but to obey.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, drawing himself up proudly and fixing the man with his eyes, pausing at times to give Ibrahim ample time to interpret his words, “it is his duty to obey till a greater man than his master bids him do this or that.”
The doctor’s words sounded loud and imperious, and he had got so far when an impatient voice was heard from the room where Frank was lying, calling first one and then another, and a cold chill ran through all present, for the voice sounded as it were the knell of all their hopes. Even the doctor was silenced for the moment, but recalling directly that only the Sheikh could understand his words, he called angrily in a voice of thunder, looking hard at the Sheikh the while.
“Lie still, Frank, till I come!” Then: “Tell thy master that the Hakim will keep the white slave here. Take him this from me as my pledge that I will cure his slave. Enough! Now go.”
As he spoke he raised his hand to his white turban, detached the large Egyptian jewel he wore, and then gave it to the Sheikh, who took it reverently, and as he interpreted humbly the Hakim’s words ended by placing the rare token in the officer’s hands.
The Baggara bowed his head over the pledge, as he wrapped it carefully in his fine linen scarf, and saying humbly, “The Hakim is great,” he gave a final glance at the patient and backed slowly out of the room, followed by the officer of the Emir’s guard, while the curtain was quivering still where it had fallen back when Frank appeared in the opening leading to his room.
“What does all this mean?” he said. Then, catching sight of the ghastly figure lying upon the couch, he uttered a cry of joy, and rushing forward fell upon his knees by his brother’s side.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Tightened Chains.
Those were minutes of agony to all concerned, for there was the trouble of Frank’s calls while the doctor was speaking. It was nothing that the strange officer had heard them, but the fact that they must have been heard by the guard, familiar with them all was startling, and the position was excitedly discussed. The Sheikh said that the officer had made no allusion to it since, and the doctor recalled to them the fact that the man could not have recognised the voice, for he had never heard Frank speak. Besides he did not know that Frank was lying there ill.
“Let him think that there was a mystery about it all, Excellencies,” said the Sheikh; “and when he sees Ben Eddin again going about his business as of old, making his desires known by signs, he will never think that it was he who spoke.”
“But who will he think it was then?” said the professor.
“Who can say, Excellency? They are superstitious children, these strong fighting men of the desert, and believe in demons, genii, and afreets. He will say to himself that it was the voice of the Hakim’s familiar, that he heard the invisible spirit by whose help he works his cures, and be glad of heart that the djin, or whatever it might be, did not strike him dead for being there.”
A couple of hours or so later they were startled by the appearance of the very man of whom the Sheikh had been speaking, and all fancied afterwards that he looked very hard at Frank, who was sufficiently recovered by the success of his plan to be able to keep about, and hence was present in the room.
The chief of the guard had come to announce the return of the Emir’s officer with a message to the Hakim, and when the Baggara was ushered in it was to announce that his master thankfully accepted the Hakim’s pledge, but felt that it was not right for so great a sage, mullah, and prophet, to be asked to waste his time over a dog of a white slave. In conclusion he prayed that the great Hakim, whose very touch bore healing to the sons of men, would deign to accept the gift he sent him by his servant—the offering being a costly emerald ring, roughly and clumsily set in gold.
One difficulty was at an end, for all felt that the doctor might insist upon the prisoner staying till such time as they could ripen their plans for escape, while in addition that night, the Sheikh learned from their guard that Harry Frere’s master had marched with all his force to join the Emir and his son, who were camping out waiting the arrival of other bands before joining forces with the Khalifa.
“Many have left the city, Excellency,” he said, “but more have come in, and the streets are filled with strangers who know us not.”
“Then now ought to be the time for us to escape.”
“Yes, Excellency,” said the old man sadly, “but we are watched and guarded here. I fear that our chief guard has begun to doubt us, and he will watch us more closely still.”
“That is awkward,” said the professor.
“Yes, Excellency, and it is impossible to journey now with all these strangers here ready to stop us, to plunder if not to slay.”
“More awkward still, Ibrahim.”
“Yes, Excellency, for if we started some night, instead of all being of good courage, light and rejoicing in our strength and in having saved the young Excellency’s brother, we have two sick men.”
“Most awkward of all, Ibrahim,” said the professor. “But never mind; we have mastered all difficulties so far, and it will go hard if we do not conquer after all.”
“Yes, Excellency, and we will try.”
The professor went and talked over all he had heard with the Hakim, and as he did so he felt that there was a compensation for it all in the sight of Harry Frere lying upon the angareb, peaceful and at rest, with his brother grasping his uninjured hand.
“The sight of Harry did more good,” he muttered, “than all the doctor’s stuff.”
During the next few days the dread of the guard’s suspicions died out and was pretty well forgotten in the wild excitements which followed one upon another. For the Khalifa’s troops came pouring into the place and camping around in all directions, till the poorer inhabitants, and those who lived by trade, began to long for a deliverance from their so-called friends, feeling truthfully that the occupation of the place by the enemy—British and Egyptian—from the north, would be a welcome blessing.
Meanwhile fresh news was always being brought in by spies and scouts. The enemy was approaching fast; he was devastating all before him and covering the banks of the river with the slain, who were being swept down the rapid streams by thousands.
The enemy had come by boat, by camel, by horse, and by means of the strange litters which ran on rails of iron. They had advanced in all their proud strength, with standards flying and their men playing savage, barbarous strains upon hideous instruments; and as they came on they shouted in their pride and folly, little thinking what was to come. For the new Mahdi had come down from Khartoum mounted upon a jet black horse whose eyes blazed fire, whose mane and tail streamed out like the wind-swept sand in a storm; and he had with his chosen joined all his Emirs and wisest generals—a mighty host greater than the desert sands—and then with standards flying and drums beating he had, in the name of the Prophet, joined battle with the infidel. He had opened out the fore-front of his host as the Christian dogs cowered back in fear, forming his attack in the shape of the crescent moon, and then to the war-cry of “Allah il Allah!” they had swept down upon their enemies as the sand of the desert sweeps down in a storm. The spears and swords flashed as they drank the infidels’ blood and rode on, crushing them into the sand, till the Mahdi’s conquering host stood breathless upon the banks of the river Nile, into which the Christian and the Egyptian armies had been driven, and not one was left to tell the tale.
The Emir’s chief of the guard bore the first account to Ibrahim, and told it stolidly, his forehead in lines; but within two hours he came again and told him the second tale.
But his face bore no trace of elation. He merely told the tale as it had been brought to him, finishing by saying—
“If the battle is won, my master, the Emir, will soon be back.”
“Then he did not believe the account?” said the professor coolly.
“I thought not at the time, Excellency. Perhaps he knows what his people can say. But what does his Excellency think? The camels are all healthy and strong; my young men are ready; and the great Hakim has but to give the word. Then we could lift the two brothers upon the swiftest camels, taking nothing but the few poor things we need, and fly as soon as it is dark, for there is no moon now.”
“Let us hear what my brother says,” said Frank, who was listening to all that had been said. “What do you think, Hal—could we escape?”
“No,” was the decisive answer. “The country round swarms with armed men—bloodthirsty savages, panting like the jackal and hyaena for blood and spoil. We could not go a mile without being stopped, and if we were the next hour we should all be slaves, or the camels would be driven off while the sand was soaking up our blood.”
“You hear, Ibrahim?” said Frank.
“Yes, Excellency, I hear, and the Excellency your brother speaks the words of truth. The risk would be too great unless the Khalifa’s army had been put to flight.”
“But you have heard these two accounts.”
“Yes, Excellency. What does your brother think?”
“I think,” said Harry Frere, “that the first was invented by some Emir, jealous of the Khalifa; the second by the Khalifa himself. All false as the people themselves. We shall have more such tales.”
“Then you think you would still defer our start, Hal?” said the Hakim, who had sat listening in silence.
“Certainly, for we should only be riding to our death. We must accept our position of prisoners until the Khalifa’s men have suffered some real reverse. Then strike off at once for the desert and make a long détour upon the camels before trying to reach one of the British positions on the river.”
“Not make for our army at once?” said the Hakim quietly.
“No, for we should come upon them in the first flush of victory, and the chances are that we should encounter Egyptian regiments, who would take us for—what do we look like, Frank?”
“So much like the enemy that we have deceived them so far. Look at us, Morris, Hal and I are as if we were native born; Landon is little better; then there are Ibrahim and his men; while there is not enough of the Englishman about you now to save our lives.”
“You are right,” said the doctor. “Ibrahim, we must wait.”
“I think you are right, Excellency; but you bade me be quite prepared, and I am ready to start at a moment’s notice.”
“We will wait,” said the doctor; “and meantime go on bringing us news.”
The old Sheikh bowed and left the place, to return in an hour with another completely different account of the state of affairs, and by nightfall he had brought in eight more circumstantial reports, every one of which was a tissue of fables, invented to support or weaken the new Mahdi’s power.
And so the days wore on in a continuous state of excitement, the prisoners—for such they were now more than ever, with the exception of Ibrahim—being fully prepared to start upon their return journey at any moment when the opportunity should offer, the madness of any attempt as matters were being only too evident; and finding that the Emir’s officer and the guards were rigorously faithful to the trust placed in their hands by their master. For as soon as Frank had recovered from his attack, he determined to have a ride round the city and its suburbs to judge for himself how matters stood, and gave orders through the Sheikh for his horse to be brought round; but upon their guardian being summoned they were met by a point-blank, though respectful, refusal.
“I am answerable with my head for the safety of the Hakim and his people,” said the guard; “and for the Hakim’s friend, Ben Eddin, to ride out now means an attack by some one or other of the wandering bands. I and my men will defend him to the last, but what are we against so many? I have been left with the twenty men to defend the Emir’s house and those he has left behind, and if the Hakim’s friend rides out I and half my men must go with him; then what are ten to protect all that is here from danger?”
Frank angrily bade Ibrahim to tell the man he exaggerated matters, and that he was sure that both the Emir and his son desired that their friend should be free to go about the city.
The officer bowed respectfully, but he was immovable.
The Hakim and his people must stay within, he said. If the Emir or the young Emir were angry when they returned he must bear it, but they could not blame him much, for he had done his duty, and that he felt he would neglect if he let the Hakim’s young friend go into danger.
Frank, feeling how much there was at stake, became more importunate, and then the officer turned to Ibrahim, after listening to the Sheikh’s interpretation of Frank’s signs, most of which took the form of angry pointings towards the camels.
“Speak for yourself,” said the officer, “and make the Hakim’s friend know the truth. Tell him whether you think it is safe for him to go out of this place, and whether it is just for him to order me to neglect my charge by leaving the house unguarded.”
“The man is right, Excellencies,” said Ibrahim at once. “It would be like riding out to tempt death for us all.”
There was nothing for it but to resign themselves to circumstances, and the expedition was given up, the party being now the closest of prisoners; but as if to make up for it their guards were more respectful than ever, and their head was indefatigable in his endeavours to forestall all their wants.
As Frank said when they were alone, it seemed as if they were neglecting their opportunities by not making their attempt while the Emirs were absent, for at any moment they might return and Harry’s owner be sending a party of his men to fetch the injured slave back to his duties.
But this did not happen, and though much of the information which Ibrahim brought in was simply rumour, he was able to supply facts, and among these were the announcements that the house of Harry’s master was closely shut up and guarded by a few men, and that the whole city was thronged with savage-looking dervishes who plundered as they chose slaying and destroying where there was any resistance, while the whole place was in a state of siege.
“The time has not come yet, Excellencies,” the old man said, “but it may arrive at any moment, and we will be ready to start.”
“Where for?” said the doctor sternly.
“Who can say, Excellency? That must depend on fate. If we can, our place of refuge must be with the British troops; if we cannot reach them there is the desert.”
“But why not try for the desert now, striking right away for the open parts, far away from the ordinary caravan routes?” said the professor.
“Because we should be cut off by some of the wandering bands before we could reach those distant parts, Excellency; and yonder there are other enemies: the sun to strike us down, and the dry sand. How can we journey on through the burning desert where there are not springs or wells?”
“Could we not keep to the river?” said the doctor.
“If there were none of the dervishes there we could, Excellency,” said the Sheikh; “but it is certain now that the British force is steadily coming on to reach Khartoum, and the Khalifa’s men are gathered all along the river banks, increasing daily like the desert sands. There is nothing open to us but to wait.”
“And the Emir and his friends will return, and we shall be worse off than ever.”
“Can the young Excellency say for certain that the Emir and his friends will return?” continued the Sheikh. “Surely it is more likely that the dervish army will be scattered like dust before the desert wind. Think of the long preparations that have been made, of the steady, slow advance of the English army. Every step of the way has been made sure with road and station, where are supplies for the fighting men. This will be the great blow struck at the new Mahdi’s power, to put an end for ever to the bloodshed, pillage, and outrage of his savage bands, and I dare prophesy that this time he and his will be driven back into the desert from whence they came—a plague of locusts that they are; while if this great blow is struck—”
“It will be here in this city first, and at Khartoum later on?”
“No, Excellency,” replied the Sheikh; “the men of the desert are men of tents. They do not, like you of the West, make great cities with walls and cannon; they come from the desert, and they will fight in the desert. When the time comes they will advance from the city, to strike their blow in the plain. We must try and make our effort then, for Omdurman will be deserted whichever way the fight may go. Till the time comes be watchful; help the Excellency Harry to grow strong; it will make the journey easier for us all.”
“I am ready now, Sheikh,” said Harry gravely; “the strength is coming fast, and as to my arm, it grows less painful day by day. You need not stop for me.”
“That is good news, Excellency,” said the old man, smiling. “We have only to be patient, for I have great hopes. We have conquered in everything up to now, in spite of all, and we shall go on to the end. Only have faith, and trust to me.”
Chapter Forty.
In Suspense.
It was one bright evening after an exciting day, during which the prisoners, shut up as they were within the walls of the Emir’s so-called palace, had gone through hours of feverish impatience, listening to the trumpeting and drumming outside accompanying the marching of the troops, but knowing nothing of what was going on save that the Egyptian army was approaching. That they had learned through Ibrahim, and it was endorsed by the officer of the guard.
From him, too, they learned that the new Mahdi had reached the neighbourhood with a force of the finest fighting men led by Emirs of great repute; and he added through Ibrahim that there could be no doubt of the result, for the Egyptian army, the scouts declared, were weak and trembling, ready to desert or throw down their arms, while the white men had half perished by disease, and the other half were unfit to fight.
“But,” said the Hakim through his interpreter, “we have had such reports as these before, and they were not true.”
“No, they were lies—all lies; but these words are true.”
“And you think the Khalifa will conquer?”
“Oh, yes,” said the man, with a look of calm satisfaction; “he cannot fail.”
“How do you know all this?”
“From the Emir my master,” said the man proudly.
“Ah! You have seen him?”
“Yes: he rode in last night to see if all was well.”
“What! The Emir came here?”
“Yes, and praised thy servant for all that he had done. He gave him, too, other commands. That the Hakim and his people were to be protected at all costs, for they were friends; and that if there was danger from the wild and fierce dervishes who might attack the palace because it was not strongly enough guarded, the Hakim and his people were to be mounted upon camels and were to be taken away.”
“Where to?” said the doctor.
“To Khartoum, with the Emir’s wives and slaves.”
The officer returned to his duties, and soon after Ibrahim announced that he was making preparations, two score of camels being got in readiness for instant flight if the danger should come.
“Can we escape in the confusion?” said the professor.
“We will try, Excellency. I have, as you know, everything ready, and now I will go and learn all I can about the Egyptian army’s advance up the river, for there is no doubt about its being near. Whether sick or not I cannot say.”
“Sick or well, they will fight,” said Harry, with a warlike flash of the eyes.
“I pray so, Excellency,” said the Sheikh, and he too left.
But the day glided by and the night had come, a day and night of wild turmoil and anxiety; and in this great emergency the Sheikh did not return.
His absence at this extremely critical time came upon the party like a shock, for it was only now that they fully realised the full value of the services he had rendered, and surmises as to the cause of his absence were discussed one after the other.
One of the first things proposed when night closed in was to consult the officer of the guard. But here a difficulty arose at once—their interpreter was missing. The professor’s knowledge of Arabic was extensive and he had picked up a few words of the dialect used by the Baggara; but he got on with the guard with the greatest difficulty, and the Sheikh’s young men were completely wanting in the lingual powers of their chief.
“You must let me question him,” said Harry. “He seems to have no suspicion of our having been friends.”
“I don’t know that,” said Frank and the professor, almost in a breath.
“But we have been most careful over keeping up my character of the Hakim’s patient.”
“Yes,” said Frank, “but this man is wonderfully quiet and observant. I half fancy that he is suspicious, after all.”
“He cannot be,” said Harry. “He knows that I was sent here, and can by no means have the most remote idea of why you came.”
“I don’t know,” said the professor, shaking his head.
“I feel satisfied,” said the doctor. “We did not come here of our own accord, but were brought. We had better have him in, and as if by our orders Hal can question him.”
There was no opposition to this, and one of the camel-drivers was fetched and sent down to the gate, while Harry lay down with his bandaged arm exposed, on an angareb close to the door, where he lay looking ghastly and feeble by the light of the lamp.
The officer came at once, and the professor made him understand what was required, when he turned to the injured prisoner, who soon proved that he could speak the desert Arabic tongue pretty well.
“The great doctor,” he said, “is thinking about his servant the Sheikh. Where is he?”
“I fear that he is dead,” was the reply. “I told him when he went out that he carried his life in his hand.”
“But why should he be slain?” asked Harry. “He was no fighting man.”
“Because no man’s life is safe,” was the reply. “He went out upon one of the Hakim’s camels, and any dervish who wanted one of the beasts would have followed him. Hundreds in the town want camels and horses now, and if the Sheikh gave his up quietly to the man who asked, it would be well. If he refused, a thrust from a spear or a blow from a knife would be sufficient.”
“Then I am to tell the Hakim he will not return?”
“No. Tell him that he may return, but that I fear he will not. Tell him, too, that he is to be ready, for we may have to leave here soon after it is light.”
Harry signified that he would, and then started, for the officer said suddenly—
“How is it that you can speak the Hakim’s tongue?”
“Because I was once among the Franks. It is a tongue that is known far and wide. He is a great man, and my arm will soon be well. Is it not time that my master fetched me back?”
“Thy master has gone to fight the enemies of Allah,” said the officer scornfully, “and has no time to think of thee.”
There was no more information to be obtained of the man, whose whole manner seemed to have changed, and the sound of the tapping of a war-drum drew him away directly after, leaving the party undecided what to do.
One thing was evident, that with the strict guard kept over the place any attempt at evasion would have been useless, and it was decided that if they were to escape it must be during their journey to Khartoum.
“But we must not give up all hope of seeing Ibrahim return,” said the doctor. “Go to the men, Landon, and find out what they think about their chief.”
The professor left the room at once, leaving his friends listening to every sound that came through the open windows of the soft night; and there were many, all going to prove that something extraordinary was afloat, the little party having no difficulty in making out that a large body of men were on the move, while when this had ceased and a peculiar stillness began to reign, the distant tap, tap, tap of another drum was heard, followed in due time by the dull tramp of men.
“I had no idea,” said the doctor, “that these Baggara were in such a state of discipline. Why, they seem to march like European troops.”
“You have not seen so much of them as I have,” said Harry sadly. “During my imprisonment I have had plenty of time to study them, and have seen pretty well why this is. Of course their leader’s position depends upon his army more than upon his reputation of being the prophet upon whom the last Mahdi’s garment has fallen.”
“I suppose so,” said Frank. “Mahomet’s great power came from the sword.”
“Of course,” replied Harry. “No wonder that, with an army to back him, he made so many converts. It was, ‘Which will you have, the Koran or the sword?’ And it is so now with this man, only it is worse. Brutal violence of the most horrible description wherever he and his followers go, and there is more stress laid upon the sword than upon the Koran.”
“And the spear added,” said Frank.
“Exactly. I don’t want to harrow you with the horrors I have been compelled to witness, and what I have seen and known to occur is but a drop of blood in an ocean. The country has been laid waste for the gratification of this human fiend and his vile followers.”
As he spoke the tramp, tramp of men came through the window once more, and Harry nodded.
“As so much depends upon the army’s efficiency, this Mahdi, like his predecessor, whose paltry tomb you have seen, has done his best to bring the tribes up into as perfect a state of discipline as can be managed with such wild beasts. They have plenty of modern rifles, and they know how to use them, and they have been drilled sufficiently to make them dangerous. Of course you know how.”
“By imitating what they have seen in the troops sent against them,” said the doctor, as he sat listening intently to the sounds from without.
“By the help of renegades,” said Harry bitterly. “I might have been one of the Mahdi’s generals—an Emir, by now, if I would have taken some of the troops in hand. I had offers enough, and of course it meant becoming a follower of Mahomet.”
“But you resisted the temptations,” said Frank proudly.
“And became a groom,” said Harry, smiling bitterly. “I suppose if it had not been for my love for horses and camels I should have lost my head like my poor leader. Oh, if it is only true, and the British forces are close up! Surely the day of retribution has come at last.”
“I want the day of escape for us to have come, Hal,” said the doctor, reaching over to lay his hand upon his old school-fellow’s arm. “Our work is done when we have got you away. Let’s leave the punishment of the dervishes to— Ah, here’s Landon back. Well, have they any news for us?”
“None of Ibrahim, and the men want to know what they are to do.”
“Nothing,” said the doctor sadly. “We are prisoners, and resistance to the Emir’s guard would be madness.”
“So I have told them, but they don’t want to go in search of him.”
“What, then?” said Frank impatiently. “You mean something else?”
“Yes,” said the professor sadly; “we are to shift our quarters. Our guard has given them orders to load up their camels with fodder, provisions, and water, in case we have to take to the desert, and to fill the water-skins so as to have an ample supply. They are to be ready to start at a moment’s notice, and asked me if they are to obey.”
“And you told them yes, of course?” said Frank eagerly.
“I told them yes, of course,” said the professor sadly; “but I don’t like going. It is leaving poor old Ibrahim in the lurch.”
“But I suppose we have no option?” said the doctor.
“None unless we make up our minds to resist.”
“And that would be throwing away our lives,” said Harry gloomily. “This chief of the guard has his orders, and he is evidently a man who will serve his master faithfully and well. I suppose he will be taking the Emir’s household with us?”
“Yes; the other part of the palace is in a busy state of preparation, and the court next to the garden here is full of horses and camels.”
“It is our opportunity,” said Frank, “and if we start before daylight we may be able to separate from the rest of the party. What are we going to take with us?”
“I should go away as we came. The Hakim’s cures have helped us well, and they may do so again, for who knows how far we may have to travel through the desert, or what tribes we may encounter? So let’s be prepared.”
Their baggage was so light and so well arranged that there was little to do beyond strapping up a few cases, and at the end of a busy hour they were quite prepared, while they had hardly finished before the officer came in, cast an eye over the leathern cases lying ready, and then gave a nod of satisfaction.
“Tell the Hakim,” he said, turning to Harry and speaking sharply, “that there are no tidings of his Arab servant and guide. He must have been cut down by some robber for the sake of his camel. Tell him, too, that he has done wisely in being prepared. I cannot say how soon we start; it may be in an hour, it may be after sunrise, or not at all. But when I give the order, what he wishes to take must be placed upon the camels directly. You will stay here.”
“No,” said Harry coldly; “the Hakim has not done with me yet.”
“Well,” said the guard, with a grim laugh, “it will be better for you than staying here. Your white skin may be an invitation to the sword if the Khalifa does not win the day.”
The man turned sharply and left the room without another word.
“Poor old Ibrahim!” said the professor sadly. “I’d give something to see him walk in safe and sound.”
“And I,”—“And I,” said Frank and the doctor.
“And I say the same. Heaven help him!” said Harry, “for I owe it to him that I am with you, and I would say let us hold out here if I thought it was of any use. But it would be utter folly to resist, and I should not like to fight against a man who is doing his duty and has proved himself our friend.”
Frank rose and went into the next room, where Sam had been in pretty good spirits so long as the packing up took his attention, for he was eager to get away; but now everything was done and he was left alone, waiting and watchful, his spirits had sunk below zero.
He jumped up from where he was seated upon a portmanteau as Frank entered.
“Orders to start, sir?” he said eagerly.
“No, Sam, not yet. We must wait.”
“Oh dear!” groaned the man. “I did think we were going at last, sir. Got Mr Harry, the camels all waiting, and the town empty of fighting men. I say, sir, hadn’t we better start, and chance it? Mr Abrams has got a camel, and he’ll find out which way we’re gone. This waiting is the worst of all.”
Frank explained to him the position, and the man shook his head dismally.
“Then we’re only going to chop one prison for another, Ben Eddin? But you surely don’t think Mr Abrams has been killed?”
“I only know he has not returned, Sam.”
“Oh, but look at him. Such a fine, long-bearded old Arab as he is. Oh, they wouldn’t kill him. He’s gone a bit further, sir, to get some news. There, I’ve been red-hot to start and get away from here, but I don’t want to go now. I say, let’s stop till he comes back. We can’t go and leave him behind.”
Frank sighed.
“We are under the Emir’s guard,” he said, “and when the order to start is given we shall have to obey.”
“And about now, sir. It’s of no use to pretend to lie down and sleep,” said Sam; “I couldn’t get a wink.”
“No, nor anyone else,” replied Frank; “there is nothing to be done but watch and wait.”