MASSOWAH ASSERTS ITSELF
Royson knew not one word of Arabic. His Italian was of a rudimentary
type, based on some acquaintance with Latin, eked out by a few phrases
gleaned from books of travel. The polite hotel manager's French was
only a shade more fluent. Consequently, the latter told Mulai Hamed,
deputy assistant hall-porter, that the Effendi wished to be conducted
to Government House with the utmost secrecy, thus twisting Dick's
simple request, that the guide should avoid the main streets into a
mysterious demand which an Eastern mind could not fail to embroider
with intrigue.
For Mulai Hamed was a negroid Arab, whose ruffianly aspect was rather
enhanced by the swaggering way he carried a broad shoulder-belt and
brass badge of office. He interpreted his orders literally, being eager
to display a certain skill in conducting to an artistic finish any
enterprise that savored of guile. As soon as the two quitted the hotel,
Royson saw that he was traversing by-paths seldom visited by Europeans.
He passed through evil-smelling alleys so shut in by lofty houses that
the sun hardly ever penetrated their depths. He caught glimpses of dun
interiors when forced aside by a panier-laden mule or lumbering camel,
and the knowledge was thrust upon him in many ways that his presence in
this minor artery of the bazaar was resented by its inhabitants.
The few females he met were swathed from head to foot in cotton
garments that had once been white. Dark eyes glanced curiously at him
over the yashmak, or veil, which covered nose, cheeks, and mouth from
the gaze of strangers. Orange-tinted nails and fingertips, visible
occasionally when the loose fold of a robe was snatched from the
contamination of touching him, suggested the talons of a bird of prey
rather than the slender well-shaped hand for which the Arab woman is
noteworthy. Every man, almost without exception, scowled at him. Naked
children, playing in the gutter, ran off, half frightened, yet stopped
to shriek words which he was quite sure were not kindly greetings.
Prowling dogs, the scavengers of the native quarter, shared the general
hostility, and scurried out of his path, but sullenly, and with bared
teeth. Through occasional sunlit vistas he peeped into main streets in
which loitered numbers of Italian soldiers and civilians. Even a few
carriages appeared, conveying ladies to the shops or public gardens,
now that the intense heat of the sun had subsided. Therefore he found
it scarcely credible that in the fetid slums there should be such
covert hatred of the white race which held undisputed sway in
thoroughfares distant not a stone's throw. And, in puzzling contrast to
the evidences of eye and ear, he was conscious of an uncanny sense of
familiarity with his surroundings. Before the _Aphrodite_ brought him
south by east he had never been nearer Egypt than Paris. Yet the
sights, the sounds, the nauseating smell of this dank bazaar appealed
to him with the breathless realism that the jingle of hansoms, the
steady crunch of omnibuses, the yelling of newsboys and the tar-laden
scent of the wood-paved road might convey when next he entered the
Strand.
This entirely novel and disquieting conceit recalled his strange
obsession when, first he looked out over the desert at night from the
bows of the yacht, and the memory brought with it the legend of his
house--that the Roysons were descendants of Coeur-de-Lion. He saw now
that which he had never realized from the glowing pages of written
romance, that the Crusaders must have mixed with people nearly
identical in manner and speech with the strange human miscellany of
Massowah. During those medieval campaigns in an arid and
poverty-stricken land, feudal pomp and regal glitter would yield
perforce to the demands of existence. Richard of England and Philip of
France, with many another noble warrior of high repute, had doubtless
been glad enough, times without number, to seek the shelter and meager
fare of just such a jumble of darkened tenements as that through which
his guide was leading him.
But why should he, Richard Royson, acknowledge an occult acquaintance
with this unknown scene? And what was the fascination which the squalid
life of the bazaar had exercised occasionally on men of exalted rank at
different periods of the world's history? The mere notion that he might
succumb to it--that he should even feel its glamour by the operation of
some subtle trait of heredity--was so grotesque that he laughed aloud.
He happened to be crossing a tiny square at the moment, and a bearded
moullah was entering a mosque which filled one whole side of it. The
unbeliever's mirth doubtless disturbed a pious meditation, and the
moullah turned and muttered something. The words might be a verse of
the Koran, but they had the ring of a malediction.
Mulai Hamed was abashed and angry. He spoke apologetically to the holy
man, alluded to the "giaour" more than once, and proceeded to give Dick
a voluble lecture, enlightening him, most probably, as to the exceeding
importance of politeness where a Mahomedan priest was concerned.
Royson was unable to explain that his hilarity was not intended as a
slight on the follower of the Prophet. Yet dignity demanded he should
not remain dumb, so he pointed ahead, and vociferated, with a fairly
accurate assumption of his skipper's voice and manner:
"Lead on, you swab, and keep silent, or I'll alter the shape of your
face."
It sufficed, nor was he wholly mistaken in his rough-and-ready
philosophy, for it is thus that the West dominates the East. The
incident had the further effect of arousing Royson to actualities. He
dismissed his day-dream, and bent his wits to consideration of the
queer message which Mrs. Haxton had asked him to deliver. Would the
Austrian obey her, he wondered? A man's point of view and a woman's
differ materially when the graver crises of life have to be faced. If
it were merely a question of physical courage, Dick imagined that the
Baron would refuse to play the coward's part by skulking on board the
yacht. In that event, von Kerber and Alfieri could hardly fail to meet
within the hour, for Massowah was a small place. Nor was it altogether
probable that bloodshed would be the outcome. The affray at Marseilles
had given the Italian an excellent opportunity for settling old scores
in that fashion if he were so minded. At any rate, the position was
rife with dramatic possibilities, and each that presented itself to
Dick's judgment seemed to favor his own projects, which now demanded a
speedy return to England. Yet he hoped to arrange his departure in such
wise that Irene Fenshawe might not have it in her heart that he had
deserted her.
Dick did not admit, even to himself, that he had any well-defined
motive, other than the fulfilment of a promise, for wishing to stand
well in the girl's esteem.
"I may be a potential baronet," he communed, "but I am not such a fool
as to fall in love with the heiress of a man like Fenshawe. A baronet,
indeed! Hardly a month ago I was tramping the streets of London looking
for work. One does not, under those conditions, include in the list of
prospective occupations marriage with a young lady worth a million or
two."
It was surprising how bitter this very sensible reflection could be. It
disturbed his placid temper. He felt like railing at fate for
ill-usage. Fortunately, Mulai Hamed had no further cause to chide the
Effendi on account of his seeming irreverence, or Dick's copying of
Stump's methods might not have been confined to speech.
But it was a remarkable fact, worthy of high relief in the fresco of
weird and startling events then vaguely grouping themselves, that
Royson first dreamed of love, even as a fantastic idyll where Irene
Fenshawe was concerned, while he was hurrying through the native
quarter of Massowah on a mission destined to change the whole course of
his life.
For the hour was at hand when he would be tried by tests that few men
might endure. Treading close on the heels of his guide, he emerged from
a cramped arch into a spacious parade-ground. A regiment of
_bersaglieri_ was assembling for drill during the comparatively cool
interval before sunset, and, on the seaward side of the plain, a squat
fort pointed its guns at town and harbor.
Mulai Hamed hastened towards the nearest gate. He did not enter, but
his gestures showed that the Governor's residence stood inside the
fortifications. Royson went on alone, and was stopped by a sentry, who
called a corporal; the latter conducted him to a lieutenant, and
thenceforth Dick's progress was simplified, because the officer not
only spoke English but was ready to display his erudition, though, not
exactly in the manner desired by his questioner.
When Royson said he wanted to communicate with two gentlemen who had
called on the Governor some two hours earlier, the Italian smiled
darkly.
"They landed from the English yacht out there?" he asked, with a
hand-flourish that indicated the Red Sea generally and the _Aphrodite_
in particular.
"Yes."
"And you are one of the ship's officers?"
"Yes," said Dick again.
"Well, I have no orders. I advise you to go on board, and await his
Excellency's decision."
"It will be most gratifying to learn his Excellency's decision," said
Royson, "but just at this moment I must ascertain the whereabouts of
Mr. Fenshawe and Baron von Kerber."
The lieutenant spread both hands deprecatingly.
"What is one to say?" he shrugged, arching his eyebrows and pursing his
lips, "I repeat, I have no orders."
"But you have seen them?"
"Oh, yes. They are here."
"Then will you oblige me by sending in my name to Baron von Kerber, and
saying--"
"It is impossible. Go to your ship. I speak as a friend."
"I am sure you wish to help me," persisted Dick, "but I am carrying a
message of some importance--"
"Ah, from whom?"
"From a lady."
"Who is she?"
"One of the ladies of our party."
"_Ahi, crudo Amor_! You have ladies on board, then?"
"Yes, Mr. Fenshawe's granddaughter, and--a friend of hers."
Something in the Italian's manner warned Royson that he was treading on
unsafe ground. It occurred to him that if Mrs. Haxton had good reason
for her display of fear at the sight of Alfieri it was advisable not to
spread the tidings of her presence in Massowah by revealing it to an
inquisitive official. And the warning given in one of the letters in
his pocket suddenly assumed a sinister significance. He strove against
any outward exhibition of concern, and the lieutenant was manifestly
anxious to help him.
"I am sorry," was the unsatisfying statement. "I can do nothing without
his Excellency's instructions, and he has gone out for a drive."
"Gone out for a drive!" repeated Royson, quite taken aback by this
rather bewildering explanation. "Am I to understand that my friends are
kept here--"
"You are to understand nothing but what I have told you, and you will
remember that I have contented myself with advising you to return to
your yacht."
It was evident that no good end could be achieved by striving to saddle
the courteous officer with any responsibility for his admissions. Dick
took the cue thus offered, and tried another line.
"Will you kindly tell me at what hour the Governor returns?" he asked.
"Certainly. He will be here in twenty minutes."
"May I wait until he arrives?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."
The lieutenant clapped his hands, and an orderly appeared.
"Some wine, ice, and cigarettes," he commanded. He engaged Dick
instantly in conversation as to the prospects of war in South Africa,
and was obviously desirous not to discuss personal matters. He was a
decent fellow, and an enthusiastic admirer of the British soldier, of
whom he had seen a good deal during a visit to Aden, so the talk did
not flag till the clatter of hoofs through the vaulted gateway
announced the advent of a carriage.
The Governor, a fat, unhealthy-looking man, whose seamed brow and puffy
eyelids suggested that negotiations with King Menelek did not
constitute the highest form of diplomatic happiness, was pleased to be
explicit when Dick was introduced to him, and he found that the
Englishman spoke French.
"After consultation with the Government advocate," he said, "I have
decided to release Mr. Fenshawe, whose arrest was due to his persistent
defense of Baron Franz von Kerber's undertaking. The latter must remain
in custody, and I warn you, and intend to give the same warning to all
persons on board your vessel, that a gunboat is patrolling the coast
with the most positive instructions to sink the _Aphrodite_ if any
attempt be made to land on Italian territory, elsewhere than at a
recognized port."
His Excellency had cultivated the habit of plain speaking, which is an
essential part of all dealings with Abyssinians. Royson did not attempt
to answer him. He asked if Mr. Fenshawe would be set at liberty
forthwith, and was assured that the Governor's own carriage would
convey both Mr. Fenshawe and himself to the hotel within a few minutes.
The big little man then vanished, and Dick soon had the satisfaction of
seeing Irene's grandfather escorted to the inner courtyard by a file of
soldiers.
It was a singular meeting between the two. Though the yacht-owner was
white with anger, he was manifestly pleased at finding Royson there.
"Ah," he said, extending his hand, "I am glad to see you. Does Miss
Fenshawe know of this outrage?"
"No, sir. I think not. Indeed, I am almost positive she has not heard
of it."
"Then why are you here?"
"Mrs. Haxton sent me with a message to Baron von Kerber."
"Mrs. Haxton probably guessed what would happen. Some scoundrel named
Alfieri, who has tried more than once to steal my poor friend's secret,
has gained the ear of the Italian foreign minister. Trumped-up
allegations have led to cabled orders for von Kerber's arrest, and
these wretched organ-grinders in uniform would have lodged every one of
us in prison if they dared. Unhappily, the Baron is an Austrian
subject, and there will be considerable delay before I can secure his
freedom. We must make for Aden at once. I will not trust the cable from
Massowah. By Jove, I have been a supporter of peace all my life, Mr.
Royson, but it is a lucky thing for this thieves' den that I have not
an armed ship now at my disposal, or I would blow their fort out of its
foundations."
The older man little knew how this outburst affected Royson. The
reference to Alfieri was absolutely staggering. No up-to-date
battleship could have demolished the Massowah fortress so effectually
as Mr. Fenshawe's outspoken wrath crumbled the edifice of doubt built
by circumstances in Royson's mind.
"Things have taken an extraordinary turn, sir," said he, feeling it
incumbent on him to say something.
"They will turn an Italian Governor out of his position before I have
done with them," was the determined answer. "Come, Mr. Royson, let us
leave this man-trap. I came here in good faith, and I quit the place
with the resolution that never again shall I entrust myself to the
vagaries of any Jack-in-office who thinks he can browbeat a man of my
repute like one of the wretched natives whom he misrules."
Royson had some difficulty in persuading his irate employer to enter
the Governor's carriage. Mr. Fenshawe only yielded to the plea that it
was a stiff walk to the hotel, and his granddaughter would be consumed
with anxiety if any alarming news had reached her meanwhile.
The coachman took them by an open road facing the harbor. The sight of
the _Aphrodite_ lying at anchor, trimly elegant in white paint and
neatly-furled sails, and sporting the ensign of a famous yacht club,
led Dick to ask if his companion knew that an Italian gunboat was on
the lookout for her.
"Oh, yes. His Excellency spared me no details," said Mr. Fenshawe,
smiling sarcastically. "If I were a few years younger, and we had no
women on board, I would not allow any threats of that sort to hinder
me, and I am much mistaken in my officers and men if they refused to
back me up. But, as it is, we can do nothing. That is what galls me, my
complete helplessness."
"We have no heavy guns, I admit," said Dick, casting to the winds all
thought of leaving the ship under present conditions, "but we have arms
and ammunition in plenty to make it hot work for any one in Massowah to
stop us once we are ashore."
The other sighed, whether on account of his vanished youth or the
impracticable nature of the scheme, it is hard to say.
"Our weapons are meant only for defense," he said. "Von Kerber wished
to guard against Arab hostility--that is all. But I do not despair of
obtaining redress from Rome. Surely it cannot be known there that I am
the leader of this expedition. It is so wildly absurd to treat _me_ as
a filibuster. Why, Mr. Royson, the Italian Archeological Society
elected me an honorary vice-president ten years ago."
Dick had his own views as to the extent of the Aphrodite's armament,
but the present was no time to air them. Moreover, he was beginning to
see features of the affair that were hard to reconcile with Mr.
Fenshawe's statements. In the first instance, the Governor had acted on
specific instructions, and the Roman authorities must have been well
aware of the identity of the yacht's owner. Again, the person really
aimed at in these high-handed proceedings was von Kerber. The Governor
made no secret of the fact that the millionaire was detained solely
because he declared himself a principal in the Austrian's enterprise,
and it was no small token of official regret at an unpleasant incident
that they were now driving to the hotel in His Excellency's private
carriage. Finally, none but a man angry and humiliated would deny the
right of Italy to forbid the passage through her colonial territory of
a foreign force such as von Kerber had provided, a force equipped to an
extent and in a manner that Mr. Fenshawe, in all likelihood, had slight
knowledge of.
So Dick listened in silence to his companion's vows of diplomatic
vengeance. He was resolved to talk matters over with Miss Fenshawe
before he said a word about Alfieri or the news he had received from
London. In fact, he had little doubt that a night's reflection would
render her grandfather amenable to reason. If there were charges
against von Kerber, let them be brought to light. If they were true,
the Italian Foreign Office was justified in its action: if false, there
would be such a hubbub that the resultant apologies would certainly be
accompanied by the offer of every assistance to the objects of the
expedition.
When they drew near the hotel, Royson saw Irene watching the main
street anxiously from the balcony. It was rather remarkable that she
should be alone, but all other thoughts were swept aside by the sight
of the joy which lit her face when the carriage stopped at the portico
and she learned that her grandfather had arrived from an opposite
direction.
They heard her glad cry of surprise, and she hastened to meet them.
"Good gracious, grandad," she said, "where have you been? I have waited
here for you ever so long, wondering what had become of you."
"The Governor was such an affable person that he refused to let me go,"
said Mr. Fenshawe grimly. "He has detained the Baron altogether. But
let us go up-stairs. I am pining for that long-deferred tea. Where is
Mrs. Haxton?"
"She is ill, I am afraid. She found the heat and noise too much for
her. Half an hour ago she asked Captain Stump to take her to the yacht.
Of course I told her I didn't mind being left here until some one came.
But the funny part of it is that, although I was looking from the
veranda, I failed to see either her or the captain leave the hotel."
By this time they were free from inquisitive eyes or ears, and Mr.
Fenshawe proceeded to amaze the girl with a full recital of his
disagreeable adventure. Royson noticed that she gave no heed whatever
to his share in it. Her attitude was tinged with a slight disdain, and
he began to feel miserably depressed until it occurred to him that she
probably resented his departure on Mrs. Haxton's errand without letting
her know. That was consoling, to an extent. He was sure she would
forgive him when he had an opportunity of telling her exactly what had
happened.
They were so engrossed in their conclave that a servant entered with
lamps before they realized that daylight had waned and night was
falling with the rapidity of the tropics. Mr. Fenshawe leaped up from
his chair with an alertness that belied his years.
"I must break my resolution and send at least one cablegram from
Massowah," he cried. "It will be harmless enough to escape mutilation,
as it is to my London office directing that all correspondence must be
addressed to Aden in future. You will take it for me, Royson, and pay
the cost?"
Dick went off as soon as the message was ready. Irene avoided him
ostentatiously while her grandfather was writing, and thereby laid
herself open to the unjust suspicion that she was flirting with him. In
very truth, she was torn with misgiving, and Royson's share in her
thoughts was even less than he imagined. Her quick brain divined that
the arrest of von Kerber had only strengthened the Austrian's claim on
Mr. Fenshawe's sympathies. Like all generous-souled men, her
grandfather ran to extremes, and she felt that it was hopeless now to
try and shake his faith in one whom he regarded as the victim of
persecution.
"Will Captain Stump come back for dinner?" inquired Mr. Fenshawe, after
he had glanced through the letters which Irene brought to him.
"I hope so. Mrs. Haxton went off in such a hurry that I forgot to
mention it."
"Was it illness, or anxiety, that sent her to the yacht?"
"A little of both, I fancy. But why should she be anxious? She did not
know that matters had gone wrong at the fort."
"I think she made a shrewd guess, but was unwilling to alarm you. That
is why she sent Mr. Royson after us. By the way, what, did she tell him
to do?"
"I have no idea," said Irene coldly.
"That is odd, distinctly odd. I meant to ask him, but forgot it in my
excitement."
"He will be here in a few minutes," said she, with a livelier interest.
There was a knock at the door. A negro waiter had something to say, and
she gathered from a jumble of Italian and Arabic that a native wished
to see the Signora Haxton. The man pronounced the name plainly, so
there could be no mistake as to his meaning, and Irene answered:
"The Signora is not here."
Mr. Fenshawe was immersed in his letters again, but he looked up.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Some man is asking for Mrs. Haxton," she told him.
"Better go and interview him. If he can tell us anything, bring him
here."
She went down-stairs with the attendant. He pointed to a muffled Arab
near the door, who salaamed deeply the instant she appeared.
"What do you want?" she said, in Italian, and the Arab silently
indicated a closed vehicle drawn up close to the curb in front of the
hotel. Thinking there was some visitor inside who did not wish to
alight, she went forward without hesitation. The dim, smoke-laden
street was unusually crowded, she thought, but she gave no attention to
the passers-by, as the Arab had opened the door of the dingy-looking
vehicle, and she expected to find an occupant peering out at her.
The conveyance was empty!
"There is some mistake," she said, glancing from the dark interior to a
Somali driver, and then back to the silent messenger. Suddenly she had
an unnerving consciousness that several other white-sheeted figures had
crept stealthily between her and the doorway. With a little cry of
alarm, she turned and strove to re-enter the hotel. Instantly she was
swept off her feet, a coarse hand closed on her mouth, and she was
dragged with brutal force into the carriage. She saw spring into
existence what seemed to be a murderous _fracas_ among a dozen men. The
street was filled with clamor, and the pavement was blocked with
struggling forms. Knives flashed, brawny-armed Arabs closed in deadly
combat, and cursed each other with all the rich repertory of Islam. Of
course, people tried to rush from the vestibule of the hotel to
ascertain what was causing the tumult. But the fighters filled the
doorway so that none could enter or leave the building, and, in the
midst of the alarm and confusion, the pair of Somali ponies attached to
the ramshackle vehicle were whipped into a fast gallop. Then the riot
subsided as quickly as it arose, and, were it not that Irene was gone,
no one appeared to be much the worse.