"Don't call it a battle, sir--call it an execution."
And then a third, an Englishman, in the uniform of an Egyptian
Commandant of Police, had cried--
"If it had gone the other way, though--if the Mahdists had beaten us
that day at Omdurman, what would have happened to Egypt then?"
"Happened?" the first speaker had answered--he was the English Adviser
to one of the Egyptian Ministers--"What would have happened to Egypt,
you say? Why, there wouldn't have been a dog to howl for a lost master
by this time."
Lord Nuneham had heard the luckless words, and his square-hewn jaw had
grown harder and more grim. Unfortunately the Egyptian Ministers, the
Sheikhs, the Pashas, the Beys, and the Effendis had heard them also, and
by the mysterious law of nature that sends messages over a trackless
desert, the last biting phrase had seemed to go like an electric whisper
through the thick line of the red-capped Cairenes around the arena.
In the native mind it altered everything in an instant; transformed the
sham battle into a serious incident; made it an insult, an outrage, a
pre-arranged political innuendo, something got up by the British Army of
Occupation or perhaps by the Consul-General himself to rebuke the
Egyptians for the fires of disaffection that had smouldered in their
midst for years, and to say as by visible historiography---
"See, that's what England saved Egypt from--that horde of
Allah-intoxicated fanatics who would have cut off the heads of your
Khedives, tortured and pillaged your Pashas, flogged your Effendis, made
slaves of your fellaheen, or swept your whole nation into the Nile."
Every soldier on the field had distinguished himself that day--the
British by his bull-dog courage, the Soudanese by fighting as dervishes
like demons, the Egyptian by standing his ground like a man; but not
even when young Colonel Lord, the most popular Englishman in Egypt, the
one officer of English blood who was beloved by the Egyptians--not even
when he had come riding back to paddock after a masterly handling of his
men, sweating but smiling, his horse blowing and spent, the people on
the pavilion receiving him with shouts and cheers, the clapping of
hands, and the fluttering of handkerchiefs--not even then had the
Cairenes at the edge of the arena made the faintest demonstration.
Their opportunity came a few minutes later, and, sullen and grim under
the gall of their unfounded suspicion, they seized it in fierce and
rather ugly fashion.
Hardly had the last man left the field when a company of mounted police
came riding down the fringe of it, followed by a carriage drawn by two
high-stepping horses, between a body-guard of Egyptian soldiers. They
drew up in front of the box occupied by the kinsman of the Khedive, and
instantly the Cairenes made a rush for it, besieging the barrier on
either side, and even clambering on each other's shoulders as human
scaffolding from which to witness the departure of the Prince.
Then the Prince came out, a rather slack, feeble, ineffectual-looking
man, and there were the ordinary salutations prescribed by custom.
First the cry from the police in Turkish and in unison, "Long live our
Master!" being cheers for the Khedive whose representative the Prince
was, and then a cry in Arabic for the Prince himself. The Prince
touched his forehead, stepped into his carriage, and was about to drive
off when, without sign or premeditation, by one of those mischievous
impulses which the devil himself inspires, there came a third cry never
heard on that ground before. In a lusty, guttural voice, a young man
standing on the shoulders of another man, both apparently students of
law or medicine, shouted over the heads of the people, "Long live
Egypt!" and in an instant the cry was repeated in a deafening roar from
every side.
The Prince signalled to his body-guard and his carriage started, but all
the way down the line of the enclosure, where the red-capped Egyptians
were still standing in solid masses, the words cracked along like
fireworks set alight.
The people on the great pavilion watched and listened, and to the larger
part of them, who were British subjects, and to the Officers, Advisers,
and Under-Secretaries, who were British officials, the cry was like a
challenge which seemed to say, "Go home to England; we are a nation of
ourselves, and can do without you." For a moment the air tingled with
expectancy, and everybody knew that something else was going to happen.
It happened instantly, with that promptness which the devil alone
contrives.
Almost as soon as the Prince's company had cleared away, a second
carriage, that of the British Consul-General, came down the line to the
pavilion, with a posse of native police on either side and a sais
running in front. Then from his seat in the centre Lord Nuneham rose
and stepped down to the arena, shaking hands with people as he passed,
gallant to the ladies as befits an English gentleman, but bearing
himself with a certain brusque condescension towards the men, all trying
to attract his attention--a medium-sized yet massive person, with a
stern jaw and steady grey eyes, behind which the cool brain was plainly
packed in ice--a man of iron who had clearly passed through the pathway
of life with a firm, high step.
The posse of native police cleared a way for him, and under the orders
of an officer rendered military honours, but that was not enough for the
British contingent in the fever of their present excitement. They
called for three cheers for the King, whose representative the
Consul-General was in Egypt, and then three more for Lord Nuneham,
giving not three but six, with a fierceness that grew more frantic at
every shout, and seemed to say, as plainly as words could speak, "Here
we are, and here we stay."
The Egyptians listened in silence, some of them spitting as a sign of
contempt, until the last cheer was dying down, and then the lusty
guttural voice cried again, "Long live Egypt!" and once more the words
rang like a rip-rap down the line.
It was noticed that the stern expression of Lord Nuneham's face assumed
a death-like rigidity, that he took out a pocket-book, wrote some words,
tore away a leaf, handed it to a native servant, and then, with an icy
smile, stepped into his carriage. Meantime the British contingent were
cheering again with yet more deafening clamour, and the rolling sound
followed the Consul-General as he drove away. But the shout of the
Egyptians followed him too, and when he reached the high road the one
was like muffled drums at a funeral far behind, while the other was like
the sharp crack of Maxim guns that were always firing by his side.
The sea of muslin, ribbons, flowers, and feathers in the pavilion had
broken up by this time, the light was striking level in people's eyes,
the west was crimsoning with sunset tints, the city was red on the tips
of its minarets and ablaze on the bare face of its insurgent hills, and
the Nile itself, taking the colouring of the sky, was lying like an old
serpent of immense size which had stretched itself along the sand to
sleep.
*CHAPTER II*
General Graves's daughter had been at the sports that day, sitting in
the chair immediately behind Lord Nuneham's. Her name was Helena, and
she was a fine, handsome girl in the early twenties, with coal-black
hair, very dark eyes, a speaking face, and a smile like eternal
sunshine, well grown, splendidly developed, and carrying herself in
perfect equipoise with natural grace and a certain swing when she
walked.
Helena Graves was to marry Lord Nuneham's son, Colonel Gordon Lord, and
during the progress of the sham fight she had had eyes for nobody else.
She had watched him when he had entered the field, sitting solid on his
Irish horse, which was stepping high and snorting audibly; when at the
"Fire" he had stood behind the firing line and at the "Cease fire"
galloped in front; when he had threaded his forces round and round,
north, south, and west, in and out as in a dance, so that they faced the
enemy on every side; when somebody had blundered and his cavalry had
been caught in a trap and he had had to ride without sword or revolver
through a cloud of dark heads that had sprung up as if out of the
ground; and above all, when his horse had stumbled and he had fallen,
and the dervishes, forgetting that the battle was not a real one, had
hurled their spears like shafts of forked lightning over his head. At
that moment she had forgotten all about the high society gathered in a
brilliant throng around her, and had clutched the Consul-General's chair
convulsively, breathing so audibly that he had heard her, and lowering
the glasses through which he had watched the distant scene, had patted
her arm and said--
"He's safe--don't be afraid, my child."
When the fight was over her eyes were radiant, her cheeks were like a
conflagration, and, notwithstanding the ugly incident attending the
departure of the Prince and Lord Nuneham, her face was full of a
triumphant joy as she stepped down to the green, where Colonel Lord, who
was waiting for her, put on her motor cloak--she had come in her
automobile--and helped her to fix the light veil which in her excitement
had fallen back from her hat and showed that she was still blushing up
to the roots of her black hair.
Splendid creature as she was, Colonel Lord was a match for her. He was
one of the youngest Colonels in the British Army, being four-and-thirty,
of more than medium height, with crisp brown hair, and eyes of the
flickering, steel-like blue that is common among enthusiastic natures,
especially when they are soldiers--a man of unmistakable masculinity,
yet with that vague suggestion of the woman about him which, sometimes
seen in a manly face, makes one say, without knowing any of the
circumstances, "That man is like his mother, and whatever her ruling
passion is, his own will be, only stronger, more daring, and perhaps
more dangerous."
"They're a lovely pair," the women were saying of them as they stood
together, and soon they were surrounded by a group of people, some
complimenting Helena, others congratulating Gordon, all condemning the
demonstration which had cast a certain gloom over the concluding scene.
"It was too exciting, too fascinating; but how shameful--that conduct of
the natives. It was just like a premeditated insult," said a
fashionable lady, a visitor to Cairo; and then an Englishman--it was the
Adviser who had spoken the first unlucky words--said promptly--
"So it was--it must have been. Didn't you see how it was all done at a
pre-concerted signal?"
"I'm not surprised. I've always said we English in Egypt are living on
the top of a volcano," said a small, slack, grey-headed man, a Judge in
the native courts; and then the Commandant of Police, a somewhat pompous
person, said bitterly--
"We saved their country from bankruptcy, their backs from the lash, and
their stomachs from starvation, and now listen: 'Long live Egypt!'"
At that moment a rather effusive American lady came up to Helena and
said--
"Don't you ever recognise your friends, dear? I tried to catch your eye
during the fight, but a certain officer had fallen, and of course nobody
else existed in the world."
"Let us make up our minds to it--we are not _liked_," the Judge was
saying. "Naturally we were popular as long as we were plastering the
wounds made by tyrannical masters, but the masters are dead and the
patient is better, so the doctor is found to be a bore."
At that moment an Egyptian Princess, famous for her wit and daring, came
down the pavilion steps. She was one of the few Egyptian women who
frequented mixed society and went about with uncovered face--a large
person, with plump, pallid cheeks, very voluble, outspoken, and
quick-tempered, a friend and admirer of the Consul-General and a
champion of the English rule. Making straight for Helena, she said--
"Goodness, child, is it your face I see or the light of the moon? The
battle? Oh yes, it was beautiful, but it was terrible, and thank the
Lord it is over. But tell me about yourself, dear. You are desperately
in love, they say, and no wonder. I'm in love with him myself, I really
am, and if ... Oh, you're there, are you? Well, I'm telling Helena I'm
in love with you. Such strength, such courage--_pluck_, you call it,
don't you?"
Helena had turned to answer the American lady, and Gordon, whose eyes
had been on her as if waiting for her to speak, whispered to the
Princess--
"Isn't she looking lovely to-day, Princess?"
"Then why don't you tell her so?" said the Princess.
"Hush!" said Gordon, whereupon the Princess said--
"My goodness, what ridiculous creatures men are! What cowards, too! As
brave as lions before a horde of savages, but before a woman--_mon
Dieu_!"
"Yes," said the Judge in his slow, shrill voice, "they are fond of
talking of the old book of Egypt, yet the valley of the Nile is strewn
with the tombs of Egyptians who have perished under their hard
taskmasters from the Pharaohs to the Pashas. Can't they hear the murmur
of the past about them? Have they no memory if they have no gratitude?"
At the last words General Graves came up to the group, looking hot and
excited, and he said--
"Memory! Gratitude! They're a nation of ingrates and fools."
"What's that?" asked the Princess.
"Pardon me, Princess. I say the demonstration of your countrymen to-day
is an example of the grossest ingratitude."
"You're quite right, General. But _Ma'aleysh_! (No matter!) The
barking of dogs doesn't hurt the clouds."
"And who are the dogs in this instance, Princess?" said a thin-faced
Turco-Egyptian, with a heavy moustache, who had been congratulating
Colonel Lord.
"Your Turco-Egyptian beauties who would set the country ablaze to light
their cigarettes," said the Princess. "Children, I call them.
Children, and they deserve the rod. Yes, the rod--and serve them right.
Excuse the word. I know! I tell you plainly, Pasha."
"And the clouds are the Consul-General, I suppose?"
"Certainly, and he's so much above them that they can't even see he's
the sun in their sky, the stupids."
Whereupon the Pasha, who was the Egyptian Prime Minister under a British
Adviser, said with a shrug and a dubious smile--
"Your sentiments are beautiful, but your similes are a little broken,
Princess."
"Not half so much broken as your treasury would have been if the English
hadn't helped it," said the Princess, and when the Pasha had gone off
with a rather halting laugh, she said--
"_Ma'aleysh_! When angels come the devils take their leave. I don't
care. I say what I think. I tell the Egyptians the English are the
best friends Egypt ever had, and Nuneham is their greatest ruler since
the days of Joseph. But Adam himself wasn't satisfied with Paradise,
and it's no use talking. 'Don't throw stones into the well you drink
from,' I say. But serve you right, you English. You shouldn't have
come. He who builds on another's land brings up another's child.
Everybody is excited about this sedition, and even the harem are asking
what the Government is going to do. Nuneham knows best, though. Leave
him alone. He'll deal with these half-educated upstarts.
Upstarts--that's what I call them. Oh, I know! I speak plainly!"
"I agree with the Princess," chimed the Judge. "What is this unrest
among the Egyptians due to? The education we ourselves have given them."
"Yes, teach your dog to snap and he'll soon bite you."
"These are the tares in the harvest we are reaping, and perhaps our
Western grain doesn't suit this Eastern desert."
"Should think it doesn't, indeed. 'Liberty,' 'Equality,' 'Fraternity,'
'representative Institutions'! If you English come talking this nonsense
to the Egyptians what can you expect? Socialism, is it? Well, if I am
to be Prince, and you are to be Prince, who is to drive the donkey?
Excuse the word! I know! I tell you plainly. Good-bye, my dear! You
are looking perfect to-day. But then you are so happy. I can see when
young people are in love by their eyes, and yours are shining like
moons. After all, your Western ways are best. We choose the husbands
for our girls, thinking the silly things don't know what is good for
them, and the chicken isn't wiser than the hen; but it's the young
people, not the old ones, who have to live together, so why shouldn't
they choose for themselves?"
At that instant there passed from some remote corner of the grounds a
brougham containing two shrouded figures in close white veils, and the
Princess said--
"Look at that, now--that relic of barbarism! Shutting our women up like
canaries in a cage, while their men are enjoying the sunshine. Life is
a dancing girl--let her dance a little for all of us."
The Princess was about to go when General Graves appealed to her. The
Judge had been saying--
"I should call it a religious rather than a political unrest. You may
do what you will for the Moslem, but he never forgets that the hand
which bestows his benefits is that of an infidel."
"Yes, we're aliens here, there's no getting over it," said the Adviser.
And the General said, "Especially when professional fanatics are always
reminding the Egyptians that we are not Mohammedans. By the way,
Princess, have you heard of the new preacher, the new prophet, the new
Mahdi, as they say?"
"Prophet! Mahdi! Another of them?"
"Yes, the comet that has just appeared in the firmament of Alexandria."
"Some holy man, I suppose. Oh, I know. Holy man indeed! Shake hands
with him and count your rings, General! Another impostor riding on the
people's backs, and they can't see it, the stupids! But the camel never
can see his hump--not he! Good-bye, girl. Get married soon and keep
together as long as you can. Stretch your legs to the length of your
bed, my dear--why shouldn't you? Say good-bye to Gordon? ... Certainly,
where is he?"
At that moment Gordon was listening with head down to something the
General was saying with intense feeling.
"The only way to deal with religious impostors who sow disaffection
among the people is to suppress them with a strong hand. Why not? Fear
of their followers? They're fit for nothing but to pray in their
mosques, 'Away with the English, O Lord, but give us water in due
measure!' Fight? Not for an instant! There isn't an ounce of courage
in a hundred of them, and a score of good soldiers would sweep all the
native Egyptians of Alexandria into the sea."
Then Gordon, who had not yet spoken, lifted his head and answered, in a
rather nervous voice--
"No, no, no, sir! Ill usage may have made these people cowards in the
old days, but proper treatment since has made them men, and there wasn't
an Egyptian fellah on the field to-day who wouldn't have followed me
into the jaws of death if I had told him to. As for our being aliens in
religion"--the nervous voice became louder and at the same time more
tremulous--"that isn't everything. We're aliens in sympathy and
brotherhood and even in common courtesy as well. What is the honest
truth about us? Here we are to help the Egyptians to regenerate their
country, yet we neither eat nor drink nor associate with them. How can
we hope to win their hearts while we hold them at arm's length? We've
given them water, yes, water in abundance, but have we given
them--love?"
The woman in Gordon had leapt out before he knew it, and he had swung a
little aside as if ashamed, while the men cleared their throats, and the
Princess, notwithstanding that she had been abusing her own people,
suddenly melted in the eyes, and muttered to herself, "Oh, our God!" and
then, reaching over to kiss Helena, whispered in her ear--
"You've got the best of the bunch, my dear, and if England would only
send us a few more of his sort we should hear less of 'Long live Egypt.'
Now, General, you can see me to my carriage if you would like to.
By-bye, young people!"
At that moment the native servant to whom the Consul-General had given
the note came up and gave it to Gordon, who read it and then handed it
to Helena. It ran--
"Come to me immediately. Have something to say to you.--N."
"We'll drive you to the Agency in the car," said Helena, and they moved
away together.
In a crowded lane at the back of the pavilion people were clamouring for
their carriages and complaining of the idleness and even rudeness of the
Arab runners, but Helena's automobile was brought up instantly, and when
it was moving off, with the General inside, Helena at the wheel, and
Gordon by her side, the natives touched their foreheads to the Colonel
and said, "_Bismillah!_"
As soon as the car was clear away, and Gordon was alone with Helena for
the first time, there was one of those privateering passages of love
between them which lovers know how to smuggle through even in public and
the eye of day.
"Well!"
"Well!"
"Everybody has been saying the sweetest things to me and you've never
yet uttered a word."
"Did you really expect me to speak--there--before all those people? But
it was splendid, glorious, magnificent!" And then, the steering-wheel
notwithstanding, her gauntletted left hand went down to where his right
hand was waiting for it.
Crossing the iron bridge over the river, they drew up at the British
Agency, a large, ponderous, uninspired edifice, with its ambuscaded back
to the city and its defiant front to the Nile, and there, as Gordon got
down, the General, who still looked hot and excited, said--
"You'll dine with us to-night, my boy--usual hour, you know?"
"With pleasure, sir," said Gordon, and then Helena leaned over and
whispered--
"May I guess what your father is going to talk about?"
"The demonstration?"
"Oh no!"
"What then?"
"The new prophet at Alexandria."
"I wonder," said Gordon, and with a wave of the hand he disappeared
behind a screen of purple blossom, as Helena and the General faced home.
Their way lay up through the old city, where groups of aggressive young
students, at sight of the General's gold-laced cap, started afresh the
Kentish fire of their "Long live Egypt," up and up until they reached
the threatening old fortress on the spur of the Mokattani Hills, and
then through the iron-clamped gates to the wide courtyard where the
mosque of Mohammed Ali, with its spikey minarets, stands on the edge of
the ramparts like a cock getting ready to crow, and drew up at the gate
of a heavy-lidded house which looks sleepily down on the city, the
sinuous Nile, the sweeping desert, the preponderating Pyramids, and the
last saluting of the sun. Then as Helena rose from her seat she saw
that the General's head had fallen back and his face was scarlet.
"Father, you are ill."
"Only a little faint--I'll be better presently."