The war maker

WHEN I finally forsook Australia, near the close of 1889, accompanied by Leigh and Wilson, who had paid a penitentiary penalty for my revengeful ambition and their own carelessness, I was in no particular hurry to get anywhere, but had no thought of stopping off at any point short of London until we reached Alexandria. Immediately on our arrival there I was suddenly seized with a freak of fancy, as we nonchalantly speak of the immutable decrees of Fate when we wish to show an independence of action we do not feel, to visit Cairo, and without waste of time and energy in mental argument I sent my dunnage ashore by one of the thousand or more small boats which viciously assaulted the ship from all sides. My two companions, after their trying times in Melbourne, were anxious to get back among their own people, so they went on to London, which decision was reached without the slightest effort to conceal their comments on my erratic disposition, while I proceeded to the ancient capital of the Kings of Egypt—those glorious old marauding monarchs who made despotism a fine art and graft a religion. There I was projected into a most alluringly adventurous undertaking. Though failing utterly of its high purpose, it was by no means devoid of compensations, for it initiated me far enough into the mysteries of departed days so that I considered myself at least an entered apprentice, and, furthermore, it carried me into close relationship with an exquisitely beautiful woman, which, next to plotting against peace and fighting out the plan, is always the thing most to be desired. As a matter of fact it is the rule in the Orient, where man is less virile and more devious and discreet than in the newer world, that a handsome woman is a part of every properly promoted plot, and this one was no exception.

Under my British name of George MacFarlane I stopped at Shepheard’s Hotel, then the home of all pilgrims, and gave myself up to the enjoyment of new scenes while I waited, in no sense impatiently, for the development of the situation through whose coming I had been summoned. It was at the height of the tourist season, following the Christmas holidays, and there was an abundance of company, made up of cultured Europeans and a few Americans of gentle birth, for that was before Cairo was over-run with the over-rich. The time was delightfully whiled away for a month before anything happened to indicate the reason for my being there, but within less than half of that time I had renewed acquaintance with the man who was really the key to the situation, though I did not suspect it at the time. He and I had been strangely thrown together some years before, under conditions which provoked rather an intimate knowledge of each other, and when we met on the street one day the recognition was instant and mutual. He did not inquire into my business but simply asked what name I was travelling under, in order that he might not embarrass me. He stood in close and confidential relation to Tewfik Pasha, the Khedive, and on that account it is best that there should be no hint, even now, as to his name or nationality.

I wished to see the titular ruler of Egypt at close range, and through my old companion-in-arms I secured an invitation to the Khedive’s annual ball at the Abdin Palace. This function, which naturally was the event of the year, was rendered impressive by all the artistry of the East, and it was a most brilliant spectacle. At the ends of every step in the long stairway leading up to the palace stood immobile footmen, who suggested past glories despite their costume, which was decidedly English, save for the ever-present fez. Inside, there was an endless succession of long mirrors set in the walls, which multiplied the jewels of the women and the gay uniforms of the officers and diplomats into a flashing mass of colors; countless palms scattered profusely through the large rooms, and gorgeous chandeliers illuminated with candles, but there was not so much as a hint of furniture. Had there been any place where the guests could lounge or sit, beyond the floor, the chances are that some of them would have stayed there until the next day, at least, in the absence of physical violence as an aid to their departure. The only ladies present were Europeans and some few favored Americans, but from wide corridors behind the musharabiyeh, or fretwork around the frieze of the walls, the Khedivah and her women attendants had a good view of the proceedings without danger of being seen. They were equally secure from any possibility of intrusion, for every avenue that led in their direction was guarded by offensively haughty eunuchs.

I was purposely close to the end of the long line of people who were presented to the Khedive, for I wanted to study him. He was about five and a half feet tall, with straight black hair, black moustache, an olive complexion, brown eyes that were more than alert, and a rather Roman nose, giving a Jewish cast to his face, which always wore a very bored expression except when he was interested. His hand was small but firm—such a hand as would commit murder if the owner were sure it would not be found out. There was nothing of the brave man in his looks or actions. Polite and insinuating by nature, he was never born to lead. Rather, he suggested the favorite and tool of the Sultan, who would take some small chance of losing his head with a sufficiently large reward in the other side of the scale. He wore that night, and always, a single-breasted frock coat, like that of an Episcopal clergyman. He spoke English correctly but with an accent, and aversion as well; French he loved and spoke like a Parisian. I had been given advance information on this point, so when I was introduced, following a string of Englishmen and Americans, I addressed him in French. Instantly the weary look vanished and his face lighted up until he became almost handsome.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, as he gripped my hand with more force than I had previously seen him display, “you are a Frenchman. I am delighted.”

I made some polite reply and he went on, almost excitedly, “I love the French language, but I do not like the English. I speak it only because I have to. The Khedivah is more fortunate. She does not speak it at all, and she never will learn it.”

We exchanged commonplaces for a moment and I passed on, wondering to what extent England could trust this man, who hated her tongue and made no secret of it.

Cairo has been described so often and in so many ways by people who had nothing better to write about that I have no wish to add to the literature on that subject, but I cannot refrain from speaking, in passing, of one unusual scene which, so far as I have read, has for all of these years escaped the attention of literary loiterers. With my mind far back in centuries that are forgotten, in lands devoid of imperishable monuments like those around me, I had stayed on the summit of Cheops so long, one afternoon, that my dragoman declared I would have trouble in reaching the bottom before dark. Half-way down I paused for a glimpse at Cairo, with every minaret standing out boldly in the strong light. Then, suddenly, almost at my feet, the sinking sun created the shadow of the Great Pyramid, and it began to move. It advanced almost imperceptibly, at first, but gathered headway quickly and in a moment it was rushing across the twelve-mile plain toward the city with the speed of an express train, as it seemed to me; I am sure no race horse could have kept pace with it. When the shadow reached the Mokattam Hills it paused for an instant and then began, slowly and more slowly and with apparent difficulty, to climb the high side of the Citadel Mosque. When it was half-way up the wall the sun dropped out of sight like a shot and we were buried in Egyptian darkness, which, be it said, is no simple figure of speech. In a few minutes, however, we were able to complete our descent of the gigantic steps by the light of the brilliant afterglow, which spread its soft radiance over the land.

As I was enjoying my after-dinner cigar one evening in a quiet corner of the garden in front of the hotel, I was approached by three women pedlers, apparently of the fellah class. They wore the common blue kimono-like garment, held together seemingly by luck, and their small black veils were thrown over their heads, leaving their faces bare and thus placing them outside the pale of Egyptian respectability. I was about to walk away to avoid their pestering, when my eyes met those of the one who was in the lead, and instantly I was attracted in place of being repelled. Great, brilliant eyes they were; not fickle and flirtatious, like those of the thinly veiled beauties of the harem who were seen in their coupes on the Shoobra Road every afternoon, nor sullen or sensuous, like those of the class to which her garb gave her claim; but steady and sincere, wide-open and frank, and in them shone a light that converted into specks the lanterns with which the grounds were illuminated. Such eyes do not come in one generation, not even by chance, nor are they born of the soil. Her face was of the pure Egyptian type, gentle in its contour and refined in every line, with perfectly arched eyebrows and a mass of hair as black as her eyes, and her easy carriage emphasized the grace of her tall, lithe figure, the curves of which not even her coarse robe could entirely conceal.

Her sparkling eyes, turned full on me and ignoring all else, told me as plainly as words could have done that she had some message for me, and, suspecting that the moment for which I had been waiting for weeks had arrived, I walked slowly toward her, as though in a mood to barter. As we met, seemingly somewhat disconcerted by my steady gaze of profound and unconcealed admiration, she drew her uncouth veil across her face and held out her hands, like one trained to tourist trade, that I might examine her wonderful rings. Those hands could never have known work, they were so soft and small, and arms more perfectly rounded were never modelled in marble by a master. Plainly this woman was not of the servant class, to which her companions as clearly belonged. One of her hands was half-closed and as she laid it in mine it opened and a small piece of folded paper fell into my palm. Long accustomed to ways out of the ordinary, I gave no sign, beyond an involuntary start which she felt but no one else noticed, and proceeded with outward calmness, and assuredly with much deliberation, to select a ring, which I purchased as a souvenir of our first meeting. It was set with an uncut ruby in a band of gold so fine that it was removed from her tiny finger, which it encircled nearly twice, simply by pressing the ends outward. Not a word passed between us except as to the price of the ring, over which there was no haggling. The women who were with her made a pretence of showing me their wares, but it was only a show for the benefit of any inquisitive persons who might be watching, and without urging me to buy they passed on. I strolled after them and was interested in observing that as they approached other guests the woman who had slipped me the note remained in the background, with her face veiled, leaving commerce to her companions. They attempted to make only a few sales and then disappeared.

Curious to a degree that surprised me, as to the contents of the communication which had come to me so strangely, but fearful of being watched, by I knew not whom, it was some time before I went to my room to read the note by the light of a tallow candle. The mysterious missive read: “You are Captain Boynton. Are you willing to undertake a difficult and perhaps dangerous mission? Answer to-morrow night through the channel by which you receive this.”

Here was a romantic promise of something new and real in the way of excitement, for I could imagine nothing stereotyped growing out of such an unusual beginning, and I rejoiced. The answer to the inspiring invitation, which I promptly burned from discretion while sentiment told me to keep it, required no thought, and as I am not much given to the exertion of energy in seeking solutions for difficult problems that will soon supply their own answers, I did not greatly concern myself as to the purpose of the plot in which I was sought as a partner. Inasmuch as the only man in Cairo who knew me as Captain Boynton, and who was acquainted with my favorite occupation, was a confidant of the Khedive, it naturally occurred to me that the oily Tewfik Pasha was mixed up in it in some way, and I suspected that it involved another secret movement against British rule in Egypt. The latter suspicion was soon verified and there never has been any doubt in my own mind that I was equally correct in the conjecture as to the participation, or at least the silent approval, of Tewfik, but this could not be proved.

Knowing the mystery-loving nature of the Egyptians and feeling sure that if left wholly to their own ways they would entertain themselves with a long correspondence which could do no good and might arouse suspicion, I determined to bring matters to a head as quickly as possible. It was evident that those who sought my services knew much about me and it was quite as important to me that I should know them. The next evening, before going down to dinner, I wrote my answer. “Yes,” I replied to the encouraging query, “provided it is something a gentleman can do, and I am well paid for it. But I will conduct no negotiations in this way. I must see the people I am doing business with.”

After dinner I retired to the same out-of-the-way corner of the garden in which I had been found the night before, on the side farthest away from the hotel and the music, to await developments. It probably was not long, but it seemed hours, before the same three women came up the short flight of steps running down to the street. The one who was doing duty as a letter carrier, and who bore the imaginative name of Ialla, was the last to appear. On reaching the level of the garden her eyes roamed quickly around until they turned toward where I was sitting. Seeing me, she drew her veil across her face, as though she resented being classed with the unregenerate fellahin, and wished to show more discrimination in her love affairs than they could boast, and accompanied her companions in their ostensible bargaining tour among the guests. To one who paid them even casual attention they must have appeared as timid traders, so lacking were they in the customary insistence, and it was with small profits and no great loss of time that they found their way around to me. As on the night before, it was left to Ialla to barter with me. I again took both of her hands in mine, to examine her jewelry, of which she wore a wealth that, like her looks, belied her dress, and as I did so I slipped into one of them the tightly folded note which I had been gripping for an hour or more. Her jewels were much richer than those she had worn the previous evening and as I studied their barbaric beauty I softly pressed her childish hands, as the only means of conveying something of the impression she had made on me, for I did not know the extent to which the other women were in our secret or could be trusted. Her only response was one quick glance, which I interpreted as a mixture of pleasure, surprise, and interrogation; the one distinctly pleasant thing about it was that it contained nothing of indignation or hostility. Save for that electric flash her wonderful eyes looked modestly downward and her whole attitude was one of perfect propriety, which more than ever convinced me that she was not what she pretended to be. Finally she drew her hands away, hurriedly but gently, and with an impatient gesture, as though she had made up her mind that I had no idea of making a purchase, led her companions out of the garden.

There was no sign of either Ialla or her two friends the next evening, though I watched for them closely. On the second afternoon I received a call from my old friend, who undoubtedly had recommended me and vouched for me to the people who had opened up the exceedingly interesting correspondence. It was apparently a casual visit but its purpose was revealed when, in the course of a general conversation regarding the country and its ways, along which he had cleverly piloted me, he said: “These Egyptians are a remarkable people. I have lived among them long enough to know them and to admire, particularly, their sublime religious faith and their exalted sense of honor. With their enemies, and with the travellers on whom they prey, they are tricky and evasive to the last degree, but in their dealings with people whom they know and trust they are the most honorable men in the world. I don’t know whether you expect to have any dealings with them, but if you do, you can trust them absolutely.”

With that opening I was on the point of speaking to him about the note I had received and answered, but before I could say a word he had started off on another subject, leaving me to understand that he knew all about the matter but did not wish to talk of it, and that he had taken that method, learned from the diplomats, of endorsing the people with whom he had put me in communication. We gossiped on for some time, but though each knew what was uppermost in the other’s mind neither of us spoke of it, nor was the subject even indirectly referred to again.

This conversation indicated that the veiled proceedings were nearing the point of a personal interview with some one who knew something about the scheme, and when I took my seat in the garden that evening I was impatient for further unfoldings. Not knowing what might happen, and despite the afternoon’s guarantee of good faith from a man I had every reason to trust, I took the precaution to arm myself with two Tranter revolvers. I had not been waiting long when Ialla and her two companions appeared and came straight toward me, but without any sign of recognition. As she passed close beside me, walking slowly, Ialla whispered, almost in my ear: “Follow me at ten o’clock.”

It was then about nine-thirty. The inharmonious trio moved on into the throng of guests and, as the time passed, gradually worked their way around toward the stairway leading down to the street. A few minutes before ten I descended into the street to wait for them, so it could not be seen from the hotel that I was following them. Promptly on the hour Ialla and her attendants came down the steps and set off toward Old Cairo, which, however much it may have been spoiled since, was then just the same as when Haroun-al-Raschid used to take his midnight rambles. At the corner of the hotel two men dressed as servants stepped out of a shadow and fell in close behind them, apparently to prevent me from engaging them in conversation, which, but for this barrier, I assuredly would have done. With all amorous advances thus discouraged I remained far enough behind so that it would not appear that I was one of the party. They led me almost the full length of the Mooshka, the main street of the old town and the only one wide enough to permit the passing of two carriages; turned into one of the narrow side streets, then into another and another until they stopped at last in front of a door at the side of one of the little shops. When I was within perhaps fifty feet of them Ialla entered the door, after looking back at me, while her four companions walked rapidly on down the street. I pushed open the door, which was immediately closed by a servant who dropped a bar across it, and found Ialla waiting for me in a dimly lighted hallway. She led me nearly to the end of the long hall, opened a door and motioned to me to enter and closed the door from the outside. I found myself in a large room, which, after my eyes had become accustomed to the half light, I saw was magnificently furnished. A fine-looking old Arab, with gray hair and beard, was seated on an ottoman, smoking a bubble pipe. His bearing was majestic and for the purpose of easy identification he will be known here as Regal, though that was not his name.

“I am glad to see you, Pasha Boynton,” was his greeting, in a deep, strong voice. He proved himself a man of action, and advanced himself greatly in my esteem by giving no time to idle chatter. “We know you well,” he said, “through trustworthy information, as a soldier and a sailor, and we believe you are peculiarly well equipped for the work we wish you to undertake. It is a sea-going expedition, involving danger of disaster on one hand and the cause of liberty and a substantial reward on the other. Are you willing to attempt it?”

“If you are open to reasonable terms and I am given full command of the expedition, I will gladly undertake it,” I replied. “If it furnishes real adventure I will be quite willing to accept that in part payment for my services.”

“Then we should be able to agree without difficulty,” he answered with a grim smile. “But,” he added, as his keen face took on a stern expression and his eyes looked through mine into my brain, “whether or not we do reach an agreement, we can rely on you to keep our secret and to drop no hint or word through which it might be revealed?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, and my gaze was as steady as his. He studied me intently for a full minute and then said decisively, in the Arabic fashion: “It is good.”

Without further ceremony he let me into the whole plot. At the bottom of it was the old cry of “Egypt for the Egyptians,” which is not yet dead and probably will not die for centuries, if ever. It was Arabi Pasha who made the last desperate fight under this slogan and it was his release from exile that was sought by the plotters, in order that he might renew the war for native liberty. As a military genius Arabi ranked almost with the great Ibrahim Pasha, who died a few years after Arabi was born, and he was fanatical in his love of country. From a Colonel in the army he became Under Secretary of War and then Minister of War, in which position he was practically the Dictator of Egypt. With the aid of a secret society which he organized among the native officers of the army, and the carefully concealed support of the Sultan, who had protested vainly against the assumption of authority by the British and French over this part of Turkish territory, he planned and executed a revolt through which it was hoped to restore native control of Egypt. The French, more sentimental than selfish, and reluctant to take extreme measures, withdrew at the last moment, leaving it to the British to prosecute the war, which they did with characteristic vigor. The bombardment of Alexandria, on July 11 and 12, 1882, and the rout of his army at Tel-el-Kebir two months later, dissipated Arabi’s dream and, so far as surface indications were concerned, established British rule in Egypt, exclusively and permanently. The movement which Arabi had fostered apparently collapsed with that battle, and he was exiled to Ceylon for life.

Briefly and bitterly this bit of history was reviewed by the old Arab. Then he became more animated. He said the loyal Egyptians had been planning a new movement against the British, with great secrecy, for a long time, and that the natives and a large part of the army were ready to rise in revolt whenever the signal was given. The butchery of the gallant “Chinese” Gordon at Khartoum—a stain on England’s fame which never can be blotted out—had checked the British advance in the Soudan and to some extent paralyzed the officials who, from the safe haven of the War Office in London, were drawing up plans of conquest, and the conspirators believed the time had come for what they were confident would prove a successful and final blow for freedom. But, to make this ardently desired result more certain, they needed the inspiring leadership of Arabi Pasha, in whose talent for conflict they still had great faith, which doubtless was intensified by his enforced absence. Furthermore, Regal explained, the superstitious natives would hail his unexpected return from exile as a sign that they could not be defeated and would fight more desperately and determinedly than before. Through spies it had been learned that Arabi was confined at a point near the coast, only a short distance from Colombo, the capital of Ceylon. He was allowed considerable freedom, within certain prescribed limits, and was in the custody of only a small guard. His escape was regarded as impossible and the idea that an attempt might be made to rescue him seemingly had not entered the minds of those responsible for his safe-keeping.

Yet that was precisely what I was asked to accomplish. After Regal had stated the conditions of Arabi’s captivity he dramatically declared, with flashing eyes: “The fires which the British foolishly thought they had stamped out, were not, and could never be, extinguished. They have been smouldering ever since and are now ready to burst into a flame that will consume everything before it. We need only the presence of the great Arabi. You can bring him to us. With a ship, whose true mission is concealed by methods of which we know you to be a master, you can sail to a point close to his place of confinement. As soon as it is dark and quiet forty or fifty of our brave men, who will accompany you, will be landed. They will steal upon his guards and silence them and return with the General to your ship. There will be none left to give the alarm and by the time it is discovered that he has been snatched away from their cursed hands you will be far out of sight, and with your knowledge of the ways of those who sail the sea it should not be difficult for you to avoid capture. You will land Arabi at some point to be decided on, from which he can make his way to Cairo. With his coming our banners will be unfurled and Egypt will be restored to the Egyptians. It is a mission in the cause of freedom and humanity. Are you willing to undertake it?”

Long before he reached it, I saw his objective point, and ran the whole scheme over in my mind while he was laying down its principles. It did not strike me as being at all foolhardy. As I have said before, it is the so-called impossibilities which, when they are not really impossible, as few of them are, can be most easily accomplished, for the reason that they are not guarded against. Under the conditions described, the rescue of Arabi would be comparatively a simple matter. The chief danger would come from the British warships which would swarm the seas as soon as his disappearance was discovered, for it would be a natural conclusion that he was on some vessel on his way back to Egypt. This danger appealed to me, for it augured well for adventure. It would be a game of hide-and-seek, such as I intensely enjoyed, with my wits pitted against those of the British Navy, and with my varied experiences in deep-sea deception, I did not consider that the odds against me would be overwhelming. Therefore I promptly assured the old patriot, whose anxiety and excitement were shown in his blazing eyes, that I would cheerfully assume responsibility for Arabi’s rescue and his safe delivery at almost any point that might be designated.

“It is good,” he replied, slowly and impressively. “Egypt will be free.”

Profoundly wishing that the noble little “Leckwith” was at my service instead of at the bottom of the sea, I added that I had no ship and it would be necessary to purchase one, as it would be impracticable to charter a vessel for such a purpose. This meant that the expedition would require some financing, in addition to the charge for my services. With a gesture which indicated that everything was settled in his mind and that it was only necessary for me to name my terms to have them agreed to, Regal said he anticipated no difficulty on that point and suggested that I return the next afternoon or evening to meet his associates, who comprised the inner circle of the revolutionary party. I told him I would be glad to come at any hour but I doubted that I could find my way through the labyrinth of narrow streets.

“How has the person who guided you here conducted herself?” he asked.

“Irreproachably.”

“She will signal you to-morrow afternoon or evening. Follow her.”

With that he arose, terminating the interview; we solemnly shook hands and he escorted me to the door. I was wondering how I should find the way back to my hotel when I descried Ialla and her four shadows waiting for me a short distance down the street. Without a word they showed me the course until I made out the hotel, when they disappeared down a side street.

I was lounging in the garden early the next afternoon, for there was no telling when the summons might come and I would take no chance of missing it. It was about four o’clock, at which hour all Cairo was on parade and the crowd was thickest around the hotel, that Ialla and her faithful female guards entered the lively scene. Her face was almost entirely hidden by her veil but there was no mistaking her eyes. They caught mine and a quick little beckoning motion, which no one else would have noticed, told me to follow her. She soon left, walking slowly, and I took up the trail, restraining myself with an effort from approaching her more closely than wisdom dictated. Avoiding the crowded Mooshka they led me, by a more circuitous route, back to the house where I had been so agreeably entertained the night before, and which was entered in the same way. Regal was waiting for me and with him were five of his countrymen, to whom I was introduced en bloc. They were dignified and reserved but sharp-eyed and vigorous and they looked like fighters of the first water. They were much younger than Regal and evidently, from the deference shown him, he was the chief conspirator.

“These,” he said, with a courtly wave of his hand toward the others, “are the relatives and companions-in-arms of Arabi Pasha and the men who, with me, are directing our operations. They are perfectly responsible, as you will see, and in every way entitled to your confidence, as you are worthy of theirs.”

With this formal assurance we sat down to a detailed discussion of the project. They told me of their plans, as Regal had previously explained them in a general way, and professed confidence that with Arabi in personal command of their forces, and with the active coöperation of the Soudanese, which was assured, they would drive the hated British out of Egypt, and keep them out. Their knowledge of the surroundings at Arabi’s place of confinement and their plan for overpowering his guards and securing his release, which was complete to the slaughter of the last man, showed an intimate acquaintance with conditions that surprised me. From all they told me on this point I gained the idea that they were working in harmony with their brother Mohammedans in India, and that the latter were planning a similar uprising when the conditions were judged to be opportune. Developments since then have strengthened this belief into a conviction. It is never wise to predict, but when England some day becomes involved in a war with a first-class power, like Germany for instance, which will tax her fighting forces to the limit, there need be no surprise if the natives of Egypt and India rise simultaneously and become their own masters.

It was urged by them and agreed that I should take no part in the actual rescue of Arabi but remain on the ship, to guard against any surprise by water and to be ready to steam westward as soon as the party returned. I was to stand in close to the shore just after dark, with all lights doused, and it was thought that Arabi would be safe on board long enough before sunrise so that we could be well clear of the land by daylight. The point at which Arabi was to be landed caused considerable discussion. As the British were certain to promptly patrol the Red Sea, with all of the warships that could be hurried into it, and closely guard the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, it was tentatively decided that the safest and wisest course would be to put him ashore near Jibuti, on friendly French soil, from which point he could pick a pathway through Abyssinia and down the Nile, with little danger of detection and with the advantage of being able to arouse the enthusiasm of the Soudanese and other tribes through which he passed. I was in favor of running the gantlet of the Strait and landing him two or three hundred miles south of the Gulf of Suez, which would expedite the revolt and also make things more exciting, but the others feared this would expose him too much to the danger of recapture. They were for the surest way and said that more reckless methods could wait until he was at the head of his troops. This conclusion as to the landing place, however, was not final. It was understood that I would receive definite instructions when I put in at Saukin, on the way out, to take on the fifty proud and trusted warriors who were to effect the release of their revered leader.

The fact that consideration of terms was the last question brought up was a delicate compliment to my supposed fairness which I appreciated. Instead of asking them for fifty thousand pounds, as I had intended to, I stipulated only forty thousand, one-half of which was to be advanced to me for the purchase of a suitable ship. The ship was, of course, to be turned over to them at the conclusion of the expedition. I was to pay all expenses and collect the remaining twenty thousand pounds after Arabi had been landed. If they had fixed the terms themselves they could not have agreed to them more readily, and I was asked to return at ten o’clock the next evening for the initial payment.

Our negotiations thus rapidly concluded, I was invited to remain to dinner, which is the crowning honor of Egyptian confidence and hospitality. I needed no urging and never have I enjoyed a meal more. The table-talk was general, but running all through it was the love of freedom and the plan through which they hoped to realize their passion. Their interest in American affairs was only that called for by courtesy, but they made me tell many stories of our wars with England, from which they derived much satisfaction.

“We are as much entitled to our freedom as you are,” declared one of my hosts, whose green turban indicated that he could trace his ancestry back to Mahomet, “and we will win ours in the end, just as your people won theirs. We may be a strange people,” he added, reflectively, “but we are not so bad as we have been painted. The howadji [strangers] condemn our religion without understanding it and preach to us another, which, so far as we can observe from its practices, falls far short of our own. Mohammedanism needs no defence from me, but I will tell you just one thing about it. If you were now to murder my brother I could not lay hands on you or harm you, for you have eaten of my salt, but not even Mahomet could make me cease to hate you in my heart. Does the Christian religion, of which the British are so proud, teach you that?”

I confessed that it didn’t, so far as I had information or belief, and made my sincere salaams to his faith. If I am ever to become afflicted with any religious beliefs, I hope they will be those taught by Mahomet.

When I finally started back to my hotel Ialla and her attendants were waiting for me in the alley, for it was not wide enough to be called a street. They started on ahead, but we had gone only a few short blocks when her four companions walked briskly away and she waited for me, in a shadow so deep that I at first thought she had entered one of the queer houses and my spirits fell, to be revivified a moment later when I almost ran into her.

“How did your business turn out?” she inquired anxiously, as I bowed low before her. Her voice, which I had been longing to hear, was soft and clear, as well became her, and her radiant beauty shone forth through the darkness.

“Thanks to your cleverness,” I replied, “it has turned out well.”

“Then you are going to rescue my uncle,” she exclaimed delightedly. Her sparkling eyes flamed with excitement and, as if to seal the compact, she extended her hand, which I first pressed and then kissed. Then I slipped it through my arm and started to walk out of the shadow into the moonlight, and she accompanied me without protest.

She had exchanged her cotton robe for one of silk, which was much more fitting, and as I looked down on her I thought her the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. If I had held the same opinion as to others of her sex I was not reminded of it then, and there was no manner of doubt that I was deeply in love with her. We walked long and talked much, and some of it was interesting. She told me, though it did not need the telling, that she was a lady and that she had risked her reputation and exposed herself to coarsest insult by appearing in public unveiled and dressed as a servant, out of love for her uncle and devotion to his cause. To prevent suspicion it had been determined that communication should be opened with me through a woman, and she had volunteered for the service. She said she had seen me at the Khedive’s reception, which she had witnessed through the fretwork from the apartments of the Khedivah—from which it appeared that I had been under consideration by the revolutionary leaders for several weeks before I was approached—and so she knew the man to whom the introductory note was to be delivered. The two women servants, who could not be trusted with such confidential correspondence, accompanied her for the double purpose of protecting her as much as possible and carrying out the peddling pretence. This explained why she had kept in the background and covered her face with her scraggly veil most of the time. On her first visit, she said, she had fully exposed her face so that I might see she was not of the class of her companions and be the more willing to hold commercial converse with her; in her heart she knew her beauty would attract me, wherein she displayed an abundantly justifiable confidence in her charms, but she expressed it without the words or style of vanity. Except for that brief period when she was altogether unveiled she said she really did not have great fear of being discovered, for it was unlikely that any of her friends would be around the hotel at the hours when she went there, and, even if they did see her, it was improbable that they would recognize her in fellahin attire. As a matter of fact, she confessed, as we became better acquainted, she had entered into the plot not only through love for her distinguished uncle, to whom she was devoted, but from a liking for doing things that were out of the ordinary.

It was this same spirit which induced her, on the night of my first opportunity to tell her of her beauty and my fervid love for her, to bribe her servants to disappear for a time. By the light of the Egyptian moon, which would inspire even a lout of a lover, I told her, in words that burned, of the passion she had implanted within me by the first glance of her wonderful eyes, and I was encouraged by the fact that she seemed more sympathetic than otherwise. We walked for hours through deserted streets that were far from lonely until at last we came to a corner near the hotel where her attendants were waiting for her, patiently, I presumed, from their natures, but whether patiently or not was of no concern to me.

The next night I found my way alone to Regal’s abode and received the first payment of twenty thousand pounds, in Paris exchange. There was a final conference, at which all of the details were gone over again as a precaution against any misunderstanding, and I took my departure with many good wishes. Ialla and her two women attendants were waiting for me, as had been arranged, and my love-making was resumed where I had left off on the preceding night. Ialla was more responsive than before, but when I urged her to go with me to France or marry me at once in Cairo she would not listen. Finally she said: “After you have rescued my uncle I will go with you anywhere, but not until then will I think of marriage.”

Nothing could move her from that decision. I arranged to meet her the next night and the one following, and several others, which she accomplished by the popular method of bribing her attendants, but, though it was a joy to her to be told of my love there was no way by which she could be induced to yield to it until her uncle was free. Finally she regretfully insisted that I must leave, for her relatives, she said, were becoming seriously disturbed over the fact that I had remained so long in Cairo, instead of going about the important business at hand. In my infatuation I had forgotten discretion and my promise to conduct the expedition with all possible speed. Even when this was brought home to me it required all of my will power to say au revoir to the beauteous Ialla, though I expected to see her soon again and hold her to her promise.

I went to Marseilles and called on a huissier d’marine, or ship broker, named Oliviera, to whom I had been recommended. After looking over several ships that were for sale I bought “L’Hirondelle” (The Swallow), a coasting steamer of eight hundred tons that had been running between Marseilles and Citta Vecchia, the port of Rome. She was old but in good condition and could do seventeen knots or better. I took command of the ship and my first and second officers were Leigh and Wilson, who came down from London in response to a telegram, bringing with them half a dozen men whom I knew could be trusted. The crew was filled out with Frenchmen and we headed for Suakin, far down on the Egyptian side of the Red Sea. There I was to receive final instructions and pick up the Arabs who were to do the manual labor, and whatever assassination was necessary, in connection with Arabi’s restoration to his countrymen. As soon as we were in the Red Sea I stripped off the ship’s French name, rechristened her the “Adventure,” hoisted the British flag over her, and gave her a forged set of papers in keeping with her name and nationality.

At Suakin one of the great surprises of my life awaited me. We had scarcely tied up when the man from whom I was to receive the warriors came aboard with a letter from Regal directing me to turn the ship over to him and discharge the crew. The agent could not understand the change of plan any more than I could, and I could not even guess as to the cause, but he was there to obey orders and there was nothing else for me to do. I could not make any kind of a formal protest without revealing something concerning my mission, which I would not do, and, besides that, the ship did not belong to me. Feeling sure there would be a satisfactory explanation waiting for me at Cairo I returned there, after paying off the crew and sending them back to Marseilles and London in charge of Leigh and Wilson.

I was still more mystified when, on reaching Cairo, I was unable to find Regal, Ialla, or any one else connected with the undertaking, nor could I get the slightest trace of them. I located the house in which I had been so charmingly admitted into the conspiracy, but the people living there were strangers, so far as I was permitted to observe or could ascertain, and they insisted they knew nothing at all concerning the previous occupants. If I could have searched the house I might have found out differently, but that was out of the question. Here was Egyptian mystery beyond what I had bargained for. It was as though I had been roughly awakened from a delightfully realistic dream. The only theory on which I could explain the puzzle was that the government had in some way learned of the plot, in consequence of which every one identified with it had disappeared, leaving it to me to take the hint and do likewise. In the hope of seeing Ialla again and determined to secure some definite clue as to just what had happened in my absence, I waited around for two weeks or more, until I encountered the old friend who, I knew, was responsible for my connection with the conspiracy. I did not dissemble, as I had before, but took him to my room, told him the riddle, and asked him the answer. I did not expect him to admit anything and was not disappointed. What he said, in substance, was this: “Of course I know nothing about the plot of which you have told me. If what you say is true I should say that you have been making something of a fool of yourself over this Ialla and that you have only yourself to blame for the abrupt ending which seems to have been reached. You are very shrewd and far-sighted and I will admit that ordinarily you are not much moved by sentiment, but this black-eyed beauty seems to have carried you off your feet. These women are the greatest flirts in the world. There is nothing they enjoy so much as clandestine meetings at which they can listen to passionate protestations of love, and when these come from a foreigner their cup of happiness is full. You thought Ialla was in love with you, but she was only having a good time with you, and she has taken a lot of pride in telling her friends about your meetings at their afternoon gatherings in the old cemetery for the exchange of gossip. She had no idea of marrying you, an unbeliever, you may be sure of that. It may be that she thought she was stimulating you to deeds of heroism in the rescue of her uncle, but, if she considered that at all, it was a secondary matter. The men you were dealing with have the contempt of their race for all women. They cannot understand how any man can become so enamoured of a woman, no matter how beautiful, as to let it interfere with his business. When a man who, for the time being, has the leading role in a prospective revolution, so far forgets himself as to waste a week of valuable time in running after a flirtatious female they are quite likely to conclude that he is too foolish and reckless to be trusted with such an important matter. They would argue that no man who could be relied on to carry out their plan would display such lack of judgment. It is possible that there may be some other reason for the situation in which you find yourself, but I doubt it. The wisest course for you is to tell me how you can be reached, and leave Cairo, for you can gain nothing by staying here. It is known to many persons that I know you and if any one should want to get in communication with you, I will be able to tell him how to do it.”

Possessing all the pride of a full-blooded man, I resented the calm assertion that I had been ensnared by a flirt, and a somewhat acrimonious argument followed, but, in looking back at it now, I am willing to admit that probably my friend was right about it. Perhaps Ialla was not, after all, the perfect woman that, under the magic spell of her marvellous beauty, I imagined her to be, and possibly if I had not surrendered so suddenly to her charms Arabi Pasha might have been freed and Egypt might now be an Empire. Whether or not that is true, I have no regrets on the subject, except that I never saw Ialla again. My moonlight meetings with her were, at least, a diversion, and they gave me great enjoyment while they lasted.

Though it went against the grain I was compelled to admit that my friend’s advice was the best I could get, and I reluctantly followed it. Feeling that for once my destiny had played it a bit low down on me I crossed the Mediterranean and took a French liner for New York. I had spent four months and much money in studying the Sphinx, but I did not count them as lost. Ialla’s loveliness was in my mind for a long time and while it remained I cherished the hope that I would be recalled to carry out the plan for the rescue of her uncle, but the summons never came. Eleven years later Arabi was pardoned and returned to Egypt, but his influence among his own people was gone; the fact that he had accepted a pardon implied, to their astute minds, a secret agreement with their enemies and caused him to be regarded as a tool of the British. But, as very recent events have demonstrated, the fires of freedom are still burning, and now and again signal smoke is seen rising over India.