by Grant Allen
VII
THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNOBTRUSIVE OASIS
I will not attempt to describe to you the minor episodes of our nexttwelve months--the manuscripts we type-wrote and the Manitous we sold.'Tis one of my aims in a world so rich in bores to avoid being tedious.I will merely say, therefore, that we spent the greater part of the yearin Florence, where we were building up a connection, but rode back forthe summer months to Switzerland, as being a livelier place for thetrade in bicycles. The net result was not only that we covered ourexpenses, but that, as chancellor of the exchequer, I found myself witha surplus in hand at the end of the season.
When we returned to Florence for the winter, however, I confess I beganto chafe. 'This is slow work, Elsie!' I said. 'I started out to go roundthe world; it has taken me eighteen months to travel no further thanItaly! At this rate, I shall reach New York a gray-haired old lady, in anice lace cap, and totter back into London a venerable crone on theverge of ninety.'
However, those invaluable doctors came to my rescue unexpectedly. I dolove doctors; they are always sending you off at a moment's notice todelightful places you never dreamt of. Elsie was better, but still farfrom strong. I took it upon me to consult our medical attendant; andhis verdict was decisive. He did just what a doctor ought to do. 'She isgetting on very well in Florence,' he said; 'but if you want to restoreher health completely, I should advise you to take her for a winter toEgypt. After six months of the dry, warm desert air, I don't doubt shemight return to her work in London.'
That last point I used as a lever with Elsie. She positively revels inteaching mathematics. At first, to be sure, she objected that we hadonly just money enough to pay our way to Cairo, and that when we gotthere we might starve--her favourite programme. I have not thisextraordinary taste for starving; _my_ idea is, to go where you like,and find something decent to eat when you get there. However, to humourher, I began to cast about me for a source of income. There is noabsolute harm in seeing your way clear before you for a twelvemonth,though of course it deprives you of the plot-interest of poverty.
'Elsie,' I said, in my best didactic style--I excel in didactics--'youdo not learn from the lessons that life sets before you. Look at thestage, for example; the stage is universally acknowledged at the presentday to be a great teacher of morals. Does not Irving say so?--and heought to know. There is that splendid model for imitation, for instance,the Clown in the pantomime. How does Clown regulate his life? Does hetake heed for the morrow? Not a bit of it! "I wish I had a goose," hesays, at some critical juncture; and just as he says it--pat--a superstrolls upon the stage with a property goose on a wooden tray; and Clowncries, "Oh, look here, Joey; _here's_ a goose!" and proceeds toappropriate it. Then he puts his fingers in his mouth and observes, "Iwish I had a few apples to make the sauce with"; and as the words escapehim--pat again--a small boy with a very squeaky voice runs on, carryinga basket of apples. Clown trips him up, and bolts with the basket._There's_ a model for imitation! The stage sets these great morallessons before you regularly every Christmas; yet you fail to profit bythem. Govern your life on the principles exemplified by Clown; expect tofind that whatever you want will turn up with punctuality and dispatchat the proper moment. Be adventurous and you will be happy. Take that asa new maxim to put in your copy-book!'
'I wish I could think so, dear,' Elsie answered. 'But your confidencestaggers me.'
That evening at our _table-d'hote_, however, it was amply justified. Asmooth-faced young man of ample girth and most prosperous exteriorhappened to sit next us. He had his wife with him, so I judged it safeto launch on conversation. We soon found out he was the millionaireeditor-proprietor of a great London daily, with many more strings to hisjournalistic bow; his honoured name was Elworthy. I mentioned casuallythat we thought of going for the winter to Egypt. He pricked his earsup. But at the time he said nothing. After dinner, we adjourned to thecosy _salon_. I talked to him and his wife; and somehow, that evening,the devil entered into me. I am subject to devils. I hasten to add, theyare mild ones. I had one of my reckless moods just then, however, and Ireeled off rattling stories of our various adventures. Mr. Elworthybelieved in youth and audacity; I could see I interested him. The morehe was amused, the more reckless I became. 'That's bright,' he said atlast, when I told him the tale of our amateur exploits in the sale ofManitous. 'That would make a good article!'
'Yes,' I answered, with bravado, determined to strike while the ironwas hot. 'What the _Daily Telephone_ lacks is just one enlivening touchof feminine brightness.'
He smiled. 'What is your forte?' he inquired.
'My forte,' I answered, 'is--to go where I choose, and write what I likeabout it.'
He smiled again. 'And a very good new departure in journalism, too! Aroving commission! Have you ever tried your hand at writing?'
Had I ever tried! It was the ambition of my life to see myself in print;though, hitherto, it had been ineffectual. 'I have written a fewsketches,' I answered, with becoming modesty. As a matter of fact, ouroffice bulged with my unpublished manuscripts.
'Could you let me see them?' he asked.
I assented, with inner joy, but outer reluctance. 'If you wish it,' Imurmured; 'but--you must be _very_ lenient!'
HE READ THEM, CRUEL MAN, BEFORE MY VERY EYES.]
Though I had not told Elsie, the truth of the matter was, I had justthen conceived an idea for a novel--my _magnum opus_--the setting ofwhich compelled Egyptian local colour; and I was therefore dying to getto Egypt, if chance so willed it. I submitted a few of my pickedmanuscripts accordingly to Mr. Elworthy, in fear and trembling. He readthem, cruel man, before my very eyes; I sat and waited, twiddling mythumbs, demure but apprehensive.
When he had finished, he laid them down.
'Racy!' he said. 'Racy! You're quite right, Miss Cayley. That's justwhat we want on the _Daily Telephone_. I should like to print thesethree,' selecting them out, 'at our usual rate of pay per thousand.'
'You are very kind.' But the room reeled with me.
'Not at all. I am a man of business. And these are good copy. Now, aboutthis Egypt. I will put the matter in the shape of a businessproposition. Will you undertake, if I pay your passage, and yourfriend's, with all travelling expenses, to let me have three descriptivearticles a week, on Cairo, the Nile, Syria, and India, running to abouttwo thousand words apiece, at three guineas a thousand?'
My breath came and went. It was positive opulence. The super with thegoose couldn't approach it for patness. My editor had brought me theapple sauce as well, without even giving me the trouble of cooking it.
The very next day everything was arranged. Elsie tried to protest, onthe foolish ground that she had no money: but the faculty had orderedthe apex of her right lung to go to Egypt, and I couldn't let her fly inthe face of the faculty. We secured our berths in a P. and O. steamerfrom Brindisi; and within a week we were tossing upon the bosom of theblue Mediterranean.
People who haven't crossed the blue Mediterranean cherish an absurd ideathat it is always calm and warm and sunny. I am sorry to take away anysea's character; but I speak of it as I find it (to borrow a phrase frommy old gyp at Girton); and I am bound to admit that the Mediterraneandid not treat me as a lady expects to be treated. It behaveddisgracefully. People may rhapsodize as long as they choose about a lifeon the ocean wave; for my own part, I wouldn't give a pin forsea-sickness. We glided down the Adriatic from Brindisi to Corfu with areckless profusion of lateral motion which suggested the idea that theship must have been drinking.
I tried to rouse Elsie when we came abreast of the Ionian Islands, andto remind her that 'Here was the home of Nausicaa in the Odyssey.' Elsiefailed to respond; she was otherwise occupied. At last, I succumbed andgave it up. I remember nothing further till a day and a half later, whenwe got under lee of Crete, and the ship showed a tendency to resume theperpendicular. Then I began once more to take a languid interest in thedinner question.
I may add parenthetically that the Mediterranean is a mere bi
t of a sea,when you look at it on the map--a pocket sea, to be regarded withmingled contempt and affection; but you learn to respect it when youfind that it takes four clear days and nights of abject misery merely torun across its eastern basin from Brindisi to Alexandria. I respectedthe Mediterranean immensely while we lay off the Peloponnesus in thetrough of the waves with a north wind blowing; I only began to temper myrespect with a distant liking when we passed under the welcome shelterof Crete on a calm, star-lit evening.
It was deadly cold. We had not counted upon such weather in the sunnysouth. I recollected now that the Greeks were wont to represent Boreasas a chilly deity, and spoke of the Thracian breeze with the samedeferentially deprecating adjectives which we ourselves apply to theeast wind of our fatherland; but that apt classical memory somehowfailed to console or warm me. A good-natured male passenger, however,volunteered to ask us, 'Will I get ye a rug, ladies?' The form of hiscourteous question suggested the probability of his Irish origin.
'You are very kind,' I answered. 'If you don't want it for yourself, I'msure my friend would be glad to have the use of it.'
'Is it meself? Sure I've got me big ulsther, and I'm as warrum as atoast in it. But ye're not provided for this weather. Ye've thrusted toomuch to those rascals the po-uts. 'Where breaks the blue Sicilian say,'the rogues write. _I'd_ like to set them down in it, wid a nor'-easterblowing!'
He fetched up his rug. It was ample and soft, a smooth brown camel-hair.He wrapped us both up in it. We sat late on deck that night, as warm asa toast ourselves, thanks to our genial Irishman.
'TIS DOCTOR MACLOGHLEN, HE ANSWERED.]
We asked his name. ''Tis Dr. Macloghlen,' he answered. 'I'm from CountyClare, ye see; and I'm on me way to Egypt for thravel and exploration.Me fader whisht me to see the worruld a bit before I'd settle down topractise me profession at Liscannor. Have ye ever been in County Clare?Sure, 'tis the pick of Oireland.'
'We have that pleasure still in store,' I answered, smiling. 'It spreadsgold-leaf over the future, as George Meredith puts it.'
'Is it Meredith? Ah, there's the foine writer! 'Tis jaynius the man has:I can't undtherstand a word of him. But he's half Oirish, ye know. Whatproof have I got of it? An' would he write like that if there wasn't adhrop of the blood of the Celt in him?'
Next day and next night, Mr. Macloghlen was our devoted slave. I had wonhis heart by admitting frankly that his countrywomen had the finest andliveliest eyes in Europe--eyes with a deep twinkle, half fun, halfpassion. He took to us at once, and talked to us incessantly. He was ared-haired, raw-boned Munster-man, but a real good fellow. We forgot theaggressive inequalities of the Mediterranean while he talked to us of'the pizzantry.' Late the second evening he propounded a confidence. Itwas a lovely night; Orion overhead, and the plashing phosphorescence onthe water below conspired with the hour to make him speciallyconfidential. 'Now, Miss Cayley,' he said, leaning forward on his deckchair, and gazing earnestly into my eyes, 'there's wan question I'd liketo ask ye. The ambition of me life is to get into Parlimint. And I wantto know from ye, as a frind--if I accomplish me heart's wish--is thereannything, in me apparence, ar in me voice, ar in me accent, ar in memanner, that would lade annybody to suppose I was an Oirishman?'
I succeeded, by good luck, in avoiding Elsie's eye. What on earth couldI answer? Then a happy thought struck me. 'Dr. Macloghlen,' I said, 'itwould not be the slightest use your trying to conceal it; for even ifnobody ever detected a faint Irish intonation in your words orphrases--how could your eloquence fail to betray you for a countryman ofSheridan and Burke and Grattan?'
He seized my hand with such warmth that I thought it best to hurry downto my state-room at once, under cover of my compliment.
At Alexandria and Cairo we found him invaluable. He looked after ourluggage, which he gallantly rescued from the lean hands of fifteen Arabporters, all eagerly struggling to gain possession of our effects; hesaw us safe into the train; and he never quitted us till he had safelyensconced us in our rooms at Shepheard's. For himself, he said, withsubdued melancholy, 'twas to some cheaper hotel he must go; Shepheard'swasn't for the likes of him; though if land in County Clare was wort'what it ought to be, there wasn't a finer estate in all Oireland thanhis fader's.
Our Mr. Elworthy was a modern proprietor, who knew how to do things onthe lordly scale. Having commissioned me to write this series ofarticles, he intended them to be written in the first style of art, andhe had instructed me accordingly to hire one of Cook's little steamdahabeeahs, where I could work at leisure. Dr. Macloghlen was in hiselement arranging for the trip. 'Sure the only thing I mind,' he said,'is--that I'll not be going wid ye.' I think he was half inclined toinvite himself; but there again I drew a line. I will not sell saltfish; and I will not go up the Nile, unchaperoned, with a casual manacquaintance.
He did the next best thing, however: he took a place in a sailingdahabeeah; and as we steamed up slowly, stopping often on the way, togive me time to write my articles, he managed to arrive almost always atevery town or ruin exactly when we did.
I will not describe the voyage. The Nile is the Nile. Just at first,before we got used to it, we conscientiously looked up the name of everyvillage we passed on the bank in our Murray and our Baedeker. After acouple of days' Niling, however, we found that formality quiteunnecessary. They were all the same village, under a number of aliases.They did not even take the trouble to disguise themselves anew, like Dr.Fortescue-Langley, on each fresh appearance. They had every one of thema small whitewashed mosque, with a couple of tall minarets; and aroundit spread a number of mud-built cottages, looking more like bee-hivesthan human habitations. They had also every one of them a group ofdate-palms, overhanging a cluster of mean bare houses; and they allalike had a picturesque and even imposing air from a distance, but fadedaway into indescribable squalor as one got abreast of them. Our progresswas monotonous. At twelve, noon, we would pass Aboo-Teeg, with itsmosque, its palms, its mud-huts, and its camels; then for a couple ofhours we would go on through the midst of a green field on either side,studded by more mud-huts, and backed up by a range of gray desertmountains; only to come at 2 P.M., twenty miles higher up, uponAboo-Teeg once more, with the same mosque, the same mud-huts, and thesame haughty camels, placidly chewing the same aristocratic cud, butunder the alias of Koos-kam. After a wild hubbub at the quay, we wouldleave Koos-kam behind, with its camels still serenely munchingday-before-yesterday's dinner; and twenty miles further on, again,having passed through the same green plain, backed by the same graymountains, we would stop once more at the identical Koos-kam, which thistime absurdly described itself as Tahtah. But whether it was Aboo-Teegor Koos-kam or Tahtah or anything else, only the name differed: it wasalways the same town, and had always the same camels at precisely thesame stage of the digestive process. It seemed to us immaterial whetheryou saw all the Nile or only five miles of it. It was just likewall-paper. A sample sufficed; the whole was the sample infinitelyrepeated.
However, I had my letters to write, and I wrote them valiantly. Idescribed the various episodes of the complicated digestive process inthe camel in the minutest detail. I gloated over the date-palms, which Iknew in three days as if I had been brought up upon dates. I gaveword-pictures of every individual child, veiled woman, Arab sheikh, andCoptic priest whom we encountered on the voyage. And I am open toreprint those conscientious studies of mud-huts and minarets with anyenterprising publisher who will make me an offer.
TOO MUCH NILE.]
Another disillusion weighed upon my soul. Before I went up the Nile, Ihad a fancy of my own that the bank was studded with endless ruinedtemples, whose vast red colonnades were reflected in the water at everyturn. I think Macaulay's Lays were primarily answerable for thatparticular misapprehension. As a matter of fact, it surprised me to findthat we often went for two whole days' hard steaming without ever atemple breaking the monotony of those eternal date-palms, those calm andsuperciliously irresponsive camels. In my humble opinion, Egypt is afraud; there is too much Nile--
very dirty Nile at that--and not nearlyenough temple. Besides, the temples, when you _do_ come up with them,are just like the villages; they are the same temple over again, under adifferent name each time, and they have the same gods, the same kings,the same wearisome bas-reliefs, except that the gentleman in a chariot,ten feet high, who is mowing down enemies a quarter his own size, withunsportsmanslike recklessness, is called Rameses in this place, andSethi in that, and Amen-hotep in the other. With this triflingvariation, when you have seen one temple, one obelisk, one hieroglyphictable, you have seen the whole of Ancient Egypt.
At last, after many days' voyage through the same scenery daily--risingin the morning off a village with a mosque, ten palms, and two minarets,and retiring late at night off the same village once more, with mosque,palms, and minarets, as before, _da capo_--we arrived one evening at aplace called Geergeh. In itself, I believe, Geergeh did not differmaterially from all the other places we had passed on our voyage: it hadits mosque, its ten palms, and its two minarets as usual. But I rememberits name, because something mysterious went wrong there with ourmachinery; and the engineer informed us we must wait at least three daysto mend it. Dr. Macloghlen's dahabeeah happened opportunely to arriveat the same spot on the same day; and he declared with fervour he would'see us through our throubles.' But what on earth were we to do withourselves through three long days and nights at Geergeh? There were theruins of Abydus close at hand, to be sure; though I defy anybody not aprofessed Egyptologist to give more than one day to the ruins of Abydus.In this emergency, Dr. Macloghlen came gallantly to our aid. Hediscovered by inquiring from an English-speaking guide that there was anunobtrusive oasis, never visited by Europeans, one long day's journeyoff, across the desert. As a rule, it takes at least three days to getcamels and guides together for such an expedition: for Egypt is not aland to hurry in. But the indefatigable Doctor further unearthed thefact that a sheikh had just come in, who (for a consideration) wouldlend us camels for a two days' trip; and we seized the chance to do ourduty by Mr. Elworthy and the world-wide circulation. An unvisitedoasis--and two Christian ladies to be the first to explore it: there'sjournalistic enterprise for you! If we happened to be killed, so muchthe better for the _Daily Telephone_. I pictured the excitement atPiccadilly Circus. 'Extra Special, Our Own Correspondent brutallymurdered!' I rejoiced at the opportunity.
I cannot honestly say that Elsie rejoiced with me. She cherished aprejudice against camels, massacres, and the new journalism. She didn'tlike being murdered: though this was premature, for she had never triedit. She objected that the fanatical Mohammedans of the Senoosi sect, whowere said to inhabit the oasis in question, might cut our throats fordogs of infidels. I pointed out to her at some length that it was justthat chance which added zest to our expedition as a journalisticventure: fancy the glory of being the first lady journalists martyred inthe cause! But she failed to grasp this aspect of the question.However, if I went, she would go too, she said, like a dear girl thatshe is: she would not desert me when I was getting my throat cut.
EMPHASIS.]
Dr. Macloghlen made the bargain for us, and insisted on accompanying usacross the desert. He told us his method of negotiation with the Arabswith extreme gusto. '"Is it pay in advance ye want?" says I to the dirtybeggars: "divvil a penny will ye get till ye bring these ladies safeback to Geergeh. And remimber, Mr. Sheikh," says I, fingering me pistol,so, by way of emphasis, "we take no money wid us; so if yer friends atWadi Bou choose to cut our throats, 'tis for the pleasure of it they'llbe cutting them, not for anything they'll gain by it." "Provisions,effendi?" says he, salaaming. "Provisions, is it?" says I. "Takeeverything ye'll want wid you; I suppose ye can buy food fit for aCrischun in the bazaar in Geergeh; and never wan penny do ye touch forit all till ye've landed us on the bank again, as safe as ye took us. Soif the religious sintiments of the faithful at Wadi Bou should lade themto hack us to pieces," says I, just waving me revolver, "thin 'tisyerself that will be out of pocket by it." And the ould divvil cringedas if he took me for the Prince of Wales. Faix, 'tis the purse that'sthe best argumint to catch these haythen Arabs upon.'
When we set out for the desert in the early dawn next day, it looked asif we were starting for a few months' voyage. We had a company of camelsthat might have befitted a caravan. We had two large tents, one forourselves, and one for Dr. Macloghlen, with a third to dine in. We hadbedding, and cushions, and drinking water tied up in swollen pig-skins,which were really goat-skins, looking far from tempting. We had breadand meat, and a supply of presents to soften the hearts and weaken thereligious scruples of the sheikhs at Wadi Bou. 'We thravel _en prince_,'said the Doctor. When all was ready we got under way solemnly, ourcamels rising and sniffing the breeze with a superior air, as who shouldsay, 'I happen to be going where you happen to be going; but don't for amoment suppose I do it to please you. It is mere coincidence. You arebound for Wadi Bou: I have business of my own which chances to take methere.'
RIDING A CAMEL DOES NOT GREATLY DIFFER PROMSEA-SICKNESS.]
Over the incidents of the journey I draw a veil. Riding a camel, I find,does not greatly differ from sea-sickness. They are the same phenomenonunder altered circumstances. We had been assured beforehand onexcellent authority that 'much of the comfort on a desert journeydepends upon having a good camel.' On this matter, I am no authority. Ido not set up as a judge of camel-flesh. But I did not notice _any_ ofthe comfort; so I venture to believe my camel must have been anexceptionally bad one.
We expected trouble from the fanatical natives; I am bound to admit, wehad most trouble with Elsie. She was not insubordinate, but she did notcare for camel-riding. And her beast took advantage of her youth andinnocence. A well-behaved camel should go almost as fast as a child canwalk, and should not sit down plump on the burning sand without duereason. Elsie's brute crawled, and called halts for prayer at frequentintervals; it tried to kneel like a good Mussulman many times a day; andit showed an intolerant disposition to crush the infidel by rolling overon top of Elsie. Dr. Macloghlen admonished it with Irish eloquence, notalways in language intended for publication; but it only turned up itssupercilious lip and inquired in its own unspoken tongue what _he_ knewabout the desert.
'I feel like a wurrum before the baste,' the Doctor said, nonplussed.
If the Nile was monotonous, the road to Wadi Bou was nothing short ofdreary. We crossed a great ridge of bare, gray rock, and followed arolling valley of sand, scored by dry ravines, and baking in the sun. Itwas ghastly to look upon. All day long, save at the midday rest by somebrackish wells, we rode on and on, the brutes stepping forward withslow, outstretched legs; though sometimes we walked by the camels' sidesto vary the monotony; but ever through that dreary upland plain, sand inthe centre, rocky mountain at the edge, and not a thing to look at. Wewere relieved towards evening to stumble against stunted tamarisks,half buried in sand, and to feel we were approaching the edge of theoasis.
When at last our arrogant beasts condescended to stop, in theirpatronising way, we saw by the dim light of the moon a sort of unevenbasin or hollow, studded with date-palms, and in the midst of thedepression a crumbling walled town, with a whitewashed mosque, twominarets by its side, and a crowd of mud-houses. It was strangelyfamiliar. We had come all this way just to see Aboo-Teeg or Koos-kamover again!
We camped outside the fortified town that night. Next morning we essayedto make our entry.
At first, the servants of the Prophet on watch at the gate raisedserious objections. No infidel might enter. But we had a pass fromCairo, exhorting the faithful in the name of the Khedive to give us foodand shelter; and after much examination and many loud discussions, thegatemen passed us. We entered the town, and stood alone, three ChristianEuropeans, in the midst of three thousand fanatical Mohammedans.
I confess it was weird. Elsie shrank by my side. 'Suppose they were toattack us, Brownie?'
'Thin the sheikh here would never get paid,' Dr. Macloghlen put in withtrue Irish recklessness. 'Faix, he'll whistle for his mone
y on thewhistle I gave him.' That touch of humour saved us. We laughed; and thepeople about saw we could laugh. They left off scowling, and pressedaround trying to sell us pottery and native brooches. In the intervalsof fanaticism, the Arab has an eye to business.
We passed up the chief street of the bazaar. The inhabitants told us inpantomime the chief of the town was away at Asioot, whither he had gonetwo days ago on business. If he were here, our interpreter gave us tounderstand, things might have been different; for the chief haddetermined that, whatever came, no infidel dog should settle in _his_oasis.
HER AGITATION WAS EVIDENT.]
The women with their veiled faces attracted us strangely. They werewilder than on the river. They ran when one looked at them. Suddenly,as we passed one, we saw her give a little start. She was veiled likethe rest, but her agitation was evident even through her thick covering.
'She is afraid of Christians,' Elsie cried, nestling towards me.
The woman passed close to us. She never looked in our direction, but ina very low voice she murmured, as she passed, 'Then you are English!'
I had presence of mind enough to conceal my surprise at this unexpectedutterance. 'Don't seem to notice her, Elsie,' I said, looking away.'Yes, we are English.'
She stopped and pretended to examine some jewellery on a stall. 'So amI,' she went on, in the same suppressed low voice. 'For Heaven's sake,help me!'
'What are you doing here?'
'I live here--married. I was with Gordon's force at Khartoum. Theycarried me off. A mere girl then. Now I am thirty.'
'And you have been here ever since?'
She turned away and walked off, but kept whispering behind her veil. Wefollowed, unobtrusively. 'Yes; I was sold to a man at Dongola. He passedme on again to the chief of this oasis. I don't know where it is; but Ihave been here ever since. I hate this life. Is there any chance of arescue?'
'Anny chance of a rescue, is it?' the Doctor broke in, a trifle tooostensibly. 'If it costs us a whole British Army, me dear lady, we'llfetch you away and save you.'
'But now--to-day? You won't go away and leave me? You are the firstEuropeans I have seen since Khartoum fell. They may sell me again. Youwill not desert me?'
'No,' I said. 'We will not.' Then I reflected a moment.
What on earth could we do? This was a painful dilemma. If we once lostsight of her, we might not see her again. Yet if we walked with heropenly, and talked like friends, we would betray ourselves, and her, tothose fanatical Senoosis.
I made my mind up promptly. I may not have much of a mind; but, such asit is, I flatter myself I can make it up at a moment's notice.
'Can you come to us outside the gate at sunset?' I asked, as if speakingto Elsie.
The woman hesitated. 'I think so.'
'Then keep us in sight all day, and when evening comes, stroll outbehind us.'
She turned over some embroidered slippers on a booth, and seemed to beinspecting them. 'But my children?' she murmured anxiously.
The Doctor interposed. 'Is it childern she has?' he asked. 'Thin they'llbe the Mohammedan gintleman's. We mustn't interfere wid _them_. We cantake away the lady--she's English, and detained against her will: but wecan't deprive anny man of his own childern'.
I was firm, and categorical. 'Yes, we can,' I said, stoutly; 'if he hasforced a woman to bear them to him whether she would or not. That'scommon justice. I have no respect for the Mohammedan gentleman's rights.Let her bring them with her. How many are there?'
'Two--a boy and girl; not very old; the eldest is seven.' She spokewistfully. A mother is a mother.
'Then say no more now, but keep us always in sight, and we will keep_you_. Come to us at the gate about sundown. We will carry you off withus.'
She clasped her hands and moved off with the peculiar gliding air of theveiled Mohammedan woman. Our eyes followed her. We walked on throughthe bazaar, thinking of nothing else now. It was strange how thisepisode made us forget our selfish fears for our own safety. Even deartimid Elsie remembered only that an Englishwoman's life and liberty wereat stake. We kept her more or less in view all day. She glided in andout among the people in the alleys. When we went back to the camels atlunch-time, she followed us unobtrusively through the open gate, and satwatching us from a little way off, among a crowd of gazers; for all WadiBou was of course agog at this unwonted invasion.
We discussed the circumstance loudly, so that she might hear our plans.Dr. Macloghlen advised that we should tell our sheikh we meant to returnpart of the way to Geergeh that evening by moonlight. I quite agreedwith him. It was the only way out. Besides, I didn't like the looks ofthe people. They eyed us askance. This was getting exciting now. I felta professional journalistic interest. Whether we escaped or got killed,what splendid business for the _Daily Telephone_!
The sheikh, of course, declared it was impossible to start that evening.The men wouldn't move--the camels needed rest. But Dr. Macloghlen wasinexorable. 'Very well, thin, Mr. Sheikh,' he answered, philosophically.'Ye'll plaze yerself about whether ye come on wid us or whether yeshtop. That's yer own business. But _we_ set out at sundown; and whin yereturn by yerself on foot to Geergeh, ye can ask for yer camels at theBritish Consulate.'
All through that anxious afternoon we sat in our tents, under the shadeof the mud-wall, wondering whether we could carry out our plan or not.About an hour before sunset the veiled woman strolled out of the gatewith her two children. She joined the crowd of sight-seers once more,for never through the day were we left alone for a second. Theexcitement grew intense. Elsie and I moved up carelessly towards thegroup, talking as if to one another. I looked hard at Elsie: then Isaid, as though I were speaking about one of the children, 'Go straightalong the road to Geergeh till you are past the big clump of palms atthe edge of the oasis. Just beyond it comes a sharp ridge of rock. Waitbehind the ridge where no one can see you. When we get there,' I pattedthe little girl's head, 'don't say a word, but jump on my camel. My twofriends will each take one of the children. If you understand andconsent, stroke your boy's curls. We will accept that for a signal.'
She stroked the child's head at once without the least hesitation. Eventhrough her veil and behind her dress, I could somehow feel and see hertrembling nerves, her beating heart. But she gave no overt token. Shemerely turned and muttered something carelessly in Arabic to a womanbeside her.
We waited once more, in long-drawn suspense. Would she manage to escapethem? Would they suspect her motives?
After ten minutes, when we had returned to our crouching-place under theshadow of the wall, the woman detached herself slowly from the group,and began strolling with almost overdone nonchalance along the road toGeergeh. We could see the little girl was frightened and seemed toexpostulate with her mother: fortunately, the Arabs about were too muchoccupied in watching the suspicious strangers to notice this episode oftheir own people. Presently, our new friend disappeared; and, withbeating hearts, we awaited the sunset.
CROUCHING BY THE ROCKS SAT OUR MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.]
Then came the usual scene of hubbub with the sheikh, the camels, theporters, and the drivers. It was eagerness against apathy. Withdifficulty we made them understand we meant to get under way at allhazards. I stormed in bad Arabic. The Doctor inveighed in very choiceIrish. At last they yielded, and set out. One by one the camels rose,bent their slow knees, and began to stalk in their lordly way withoutstretched necks along the road to the river. We moved through thepalm groves, a crowd of boys following us and shouting for backsheesh.We began to be afraid they would accompany us too far and discover ourfugitive; but fortunately they all turned back with one accord at alittle whitewashed shrine near the edge of the oasis. We reached theclump of palms; we turned the corner of the ridge. Had we missed oneanother? No! There, crouching by the rocks, with her children by herside, sat our mysterious stranger.
The Doctor was equal to the emergency. 'Make those bastes kneel!' hecried authoritatively to the sheikh.
The sheikh was taken aback. Th
is was a new exploit burst upon him. Heflung his arms up, gesticulating wildly. The Doctor, unmoved, made thedrivers understand by some strange pantomime what he wanted. Theynodded, half terrified. In a second, the stranger was by my side, Elsiehad taken the girl, the Doctor the boy, and the camels were passivelybeginning to rise again. That is the best of your camel. Once set him onhis road, and he goes mechanically.
The sheikh broke out with several loud remarks in Arabic, which we didnot understand, but whose hostile character could not easily escape us.He was beside himself with anger. Then I was suddenly aware of thesplendid advantage of having an Irishman on our side. Dr. Macloghlendrew his revolver, like one well used to such episodes, and pointed itfull at the angry Arab. 'Look here, Mr. Sheikh,' he said, calmly, yetwith a fine touch of bravado; 'do ye see this revolver? Well, unless yemake yer camels thravel sthraight to Geergeh widout wan other wurrud,'tis yer own brains will be spattered, sor, on the sand of this desert!And if ye touch wan hair of our heads, ye'll answer for it wid yer lifeto the British Government.'
I do not feel sure that the sheikh comprehended the exact nature of eachword in this comprehensive threat, but I am certain he took in itsgeneral meaning, punctuated as it was with some flourishes of therevolver. He turned to the drivers and made a gesture of despair. Itmeant, apparently, that this infidel was too much for him. Then hecalled out a few sharp directions in Arabic. Next minute, our camels'legs were stepping out briskly along the road to Geergeh with apromptitude which I'm sure must have astonished their owners. We rode onand on through the gloom in a fever of suspense. Had any of the Senoosisnoticed our presence? Would they miss the chief's wife before long, andfollow us under arms? Would our own sheikh betray us? I am no coward, aswomen go, but I confess, if it had not been for our fiery Irishman, Ishould have felt my heart sink. We were grateful to him for the recklessand good-humoured courage of the untamed Celt. It kept us from givingway. 'Ye'll take notice, Mr. Sheikh,' he said, as we threaded our wayamong the moon-lit rocks, 'that I have twinty-wan cartridges in me casefor me revolver; and that if there's throuble to-night, 'tis twinty ofthem there'll be for your frinds the Senoosis, and wan for yerself; butfor fear of disappointing a gintleman, 'tis yer own special bullet I'lldisthribute first, if it comes to fighting.'
The sheikh's English was a vanishing quantity, but to judge by the wayhe nodded and salaamed at this playful remark, I am convinced heunderstood the Doctor's Irish quite as well as I did.
We spoke little by the way; we were all far too frightened, except theDoctor, who kept our hearts up by a running fire of wild Celtic humour.But I found time meanwhile to learn by a few questions from our veiledfriend something of her captivity. She had seen her father massacredbefore her eyes at Khartoum, and had then been sold away to a merchant,who conveyed her by degrees and by various exchanges across the desertthrough lonely spots to the Senoosi oasis. There she had lived all thoseyears with the chief to whom her last purchaser had trafficked her. Shedid not even know that her husband's village was an integral part of theKhedive's territory; far less that the English were now in practicaloccupation of Egypt. She had heard nothing and learnt nothing since thatfateful day; she had waited in vain for the off-chance of a deliverer.
'But did you never try to run away to the Nile?' I cried, astonished.
'Run away? How could I? I did not even know which way the river lay; andwas it possible for me to cross the desert on foot, or find the chanceof a camel? The Senoosis would have killed me. Even with you to help me,see what dangers surround me; alone, I should have perished, like Hagarin the wilderness, with no angel to save me.'
'An' ye've got the angel now,' Dr. Macloghlen exclaimed, glancing at me.'Steady, there, Mr. Sheikh. What's this that's coming?'
It was another caravan, going the opposite way, on its road to theoasis! A voice halloaed from it.
Our new friend clung tight to me. 'My husband!' she whispered, gasping.
They were still far off on the desert, and the moon shone bright. A fewhurried words to the Doctor, and with a wild resolve we faced theemergency. He made the camels halt, and all of us, springing off,crouched down behind their shadows in such a way that the coming caravanmust pass on the far side of us. At the same moment the Doctor turnedresolutely to the sheikh. 'Look here, Mr. Arab,' he said in a quietvoice, with one more appeal to the simple Volapuk of the pointedrevolver; 'I cover ye wid this. Let these frinds of yours go by. Ifthere's anny unnecessary talking betwixt ye, or anny throuble of annykind, remimber, the first bullet goes sthraight as an arrow t'rough thathaythen head of yours!'
The sheikh salaamed more submissively than ever.
The caravan drew abreast of us. We could hear them cry aloud on eitherside the customary salutes: 'In Allah's name, peace!' answered by 'Allahis great; there is no god but Allah.'
Would anything more happen? Would our sheikh play us false? It was amoment of breathlessness. We crouched and cowered in the shade, holdingour hearts with fear, while the Arab drivers pretended to be unsaddlingthe camels. A minute or two of anxious suspense; then, peering over ourbeasts' backs, we saw their long line filing off towards the oasis. Wewatched their turbaned heads, silhouetted against the sky, disappearslowly. One by one they faded away. The danger was past. With beatinghearts we rose up again.
The Doctor sprang into his place and seated himself on his camel. 'Nowride on, Mr. Sheikh,' he said, 'wid all yer men, as if grim death wasafther ye. Camels or no camels, ye've got to march all night, for ye'llnever draw rein till we're safe back at Geergeh!'
And sure enough we never halted, under the persuasive influence of thatloaded revolver, till we dismounted once more in the early dawn upon theNile bank, under British protection.
Then Elsie and I and our rescued country-woman broke down together in anorgy of relief. We hugged one another and cried like so many children.