Up in Omdurman Peter Macnamara knew naught of this. He ran behind his
master’s horse, he sat on his master’s mat, he stood in the sun before
his master’s door, barefooted and silent and vengeful in his heart,
but with a grin on his face. When Khartoum fell he and Slatin had been
thrown into the Saier loaded with irons. Then, when the Mahdi died
he had been made the slave of the Khalifa’s brother, whose vanity was
flattered by having a European servant. The Khalifa Abdullah being angry
one day with his brother, vented his spite by ordering Macnamara back
to prison again. Later the Khalifa gave him to a favourite Emir for
a servant; but that service was of short duration, for on a certain
morning Macnamara’s patience gave way under the brutality of his master,
and he refused to help him on his horse. This was in the presence of the
Khalifa, and Abdullah was so delighted at the discomfiture of the Emir
that he saved the Irishman’s life, and gave him to Osman Wad Adam, after
he had been in irons three months and looked no better than a dead man.
Henceforth things went better, for Osman Wad Adam was an Arab with a
sense of humour, very lazy and very licentious, and Macnamara’s Arabic
was a source of enjoyment to him in those hours when he did nothing but
smoke and drink bad coffee. Also Macnamara was an expert with horses,
and had taught the waler, which Osman Wad Adam had looted from Khartoum,
a number of admired tricks.
Macnamara wished many a time that he could take to the desert with the
waler; but the ride that he must ride to Wady Halfa was not for a horse.
None but a camel could do it. Besides, he must have guides, and how was
he to pay guides? More than once he had tried to get a word with Slatin,
but that was dangerous for them both--most dangerous for Slatin, who
was now the servant of the Khalifa Abdullah himself. Slatin was always
suspected, and was therefore watched carefully; but the Khalifa knew
that Macnamara had no chance to escape, for he had no friends in Cairo,
no money, and no more could have bought a camel than a kingdom. Escaping
from the city itself, he could but die in the desert.
He had only one Arab friend--little Mahommed Nafar the shoemaker. The
shoemaker was friendly to him for a great kindness done in the days when
they both lived in Khartoum and ere the Arab deserted to the camp of the
Mahdi. But what help could Mahommed Nafar give him unless he had money?
With plenty of money the shoemaker might be induced to negotiate with
Arab merchants coming from Dongola or Berber into Omdurman to get
camels, and arrange an escape down the desert to Wady Halfa; but where
was the money to come from?
One day, at a great review, when the roar of the drums rivalled the
hoarse shouts of the Mahdists, and the Baggaras, for a diversion, looted
one quarter of the town, Macnamara was told by his master that Slatin
had been given by the Khalifa to Mahommed Sherif, and was going to
Darfur. As a kind of farewell barbecue, whether or not intended by the
Khalifa as a warning to his departing general, ten prisoners had their
feet and hands cut off in the Beit-el-Mal, and five lost their heads as
well as their hands and feet.
“It makes my blood run cold,” said Slatin softly in English, as
Macnamara passed him, walking at his master’s stirrup.
“Mine’s boilin’, sir!” answered Macnamara.
Slatin’s eyes took on a more cheerful look than they usually carried,
for it was many a day since he had been addressed with respect, and the
“sir” touched a mellow chord within him--memory of the days when he
was Governor of Darfur. Suddenly he saw the Khalifa’s eyes fixed on
Macnamara, and the look, for a wonder, was not unfriendly. It came
to him that perhaps the Khalifa meant to take Macnamara for his own
servant, for it flattered his vanity to have a white man at his stirrup
and on his mat. He knew that the Khalifa was only sending himself to
Darfur that he might be a check upon Mahommed Sherif. He did not think
that Macnamara’s position would be greatly bettered, save perhaps in
bread and onions, by being taken into the employ of the Khalifa. His
life would certainly not be safer. But, if it was to be, perhaps he
could do a good turn to Macnamara by warning him, by planting deep in
the Khalifa’s mind the Irishman’s simple-minded trustworthiness. When,
therefore, the Khalifa suddenly turned and asked him about Macnamara
he chose his words discreetly. The Khalifa, ever suspicious, said that
Macnamara had been thrown into prison twice for insubordination. To this
Slatin replied:
“Sire, what greater proof could be had of the man’s simplicity? His life
is in your hands, sire. Would he have risked it, had he not been the
most simpleminded of men? But you who read men’s hearts, sire, as
others read a book, you know if I speak truth.” Slatin bent his head in
humility.
The flattery pleased the Khalifa.
“Summon Osman Wad Adam and the man to me,” he said.
In the questioning that followed, Macnamara’s Arabic and his
understanding of it was so bad that it was necessary for Slatin to ask
him questions in English. This was a test of Macnamara, for Slatin said
some things in English which were not for the Khalifa’s knowing. If
Macnamara’s face changed, if he started, Abdullah’s suspicions, ever
ready, would have taken form.
But Macnamara’s wits were not wool-gathering, and when Slatin said to
him, “If I escape, I will try to arrange yours,” Macnamara replied,
with a respectful but placid stolidity: “Right, sir. Where does the old
sinner keep his spoof?”
It was now for Slatin to keep a hold on himself, for Macnamara’s reply
was unexpected. Ruling his face to composure, however, he turned to the
Khalifa and said that up to this moment Macnamara had not been willing
to become a Mahommedan, but his veneration for the Mahdi’s successor was
so great that he would embrace the true faith by the mercy of God and
the permission of the Khalifa. When the Khalifa replied that he would
accept the convert into the true faith at once, Slatin then said to
Macnamara:
“Come now, my man, I’ve promised that you will become a Mahommedan--it’s
your best chance of safety.”
“I’ll see him on the devil’s pitchfork first,” said Macnamara; but
he did not change countenance. “I’m a Protestant and I’ll stand be me
baptism.”
“You’ll lose your head, man,” answered Slatin. “Don’t be a fool.”
“I’m keepin’ to what me godfathers and godmothers swore for me,”
answered Macnamara stubbornly. “You must pretend for a while, or you’ll
be dead in an hour--and myself too.”
“You--that’s a different nose on me face,” answered Macnamara. “But
suppose I buck when I get into the mosque--no, begobs, I’ll not be doin’
it!”
“I’ll say to him that you’ll do it with tears of joy, if you can have a
month for preparation.”
“Make it two an’ I’m your man, seein’ as you’ve lied for me, sir. But on
wan condition--where does he keep his coin?”
“If you try that on, you’ll die bit by bit like the men in the
Beit-el-Mal to-day,” answered Slatin quickly. “I’m carvin’ me own
mutton, thank ye kindly, sir,” answered Macnamara.
“I’ve heard that part of his treasure is under his own room,” went
on Slatin quickly, for he saw that the Khalifa’s eyes had a sinister
look-the conversation had been too long.
“Speak no more!” said Abdullah sharply. “What is it you say, my son?” he
added to Slatin.
“He has been telling me that he is without education even in his
own faith, and that he cannot learn things quickly. Also he does not
understand what to do in the mosque, or how to pray, and needs to be
taught. He then asked what was impossible, and I had to argue with him,
sire.”
“What did he ask?” asked the Khalifa, his fierce gaze on Macnamara.
“He wished to be taught by yourself, sire. He said that if you taught
him he would understand. I said that you were the chosen Emperor of the
Faithful, the coming king of the world, but he replied that the prophets
of old taught their disciples with their own tongues.”
It was a bold lie, but the Khalifa was flattered, and made a motion of
assent. Slatin, seeing his advantage, added:
“I told him that you could not spare the time to teach him, sire; but
he said that if you would talk to him for a little while every day for a
month, after he had studied Arabic for two months, he would be ready to
follow your majesty through life and death.”
“Approach, my son,” said the Khalifa to Macnamara suddenly. Macnamara
came near. He understood Arabic better than he had admitted, and he saw
in this three months’ respite, if it were granted, the chance to carry
out a plan that was in his mind. The Khalifa held out a hand to him, and
Macnamara, boiling with rage inwardly and his face flushing--which the
Khalifa mistook for modesty--kissed it.
“You shall have two moons to learn Arabic of a good teacher every day,
and then for one moon I myself will instruct you in the truth,” said
Abdullah. “You shall wait at my door and walk by my stirrup and teach
my horse as you have taught the English horse of Osman Wad Adam. Thy
faithful service I will reward, and thy unfaithfulness I will punish
with torture and death.”
“I’ll cut the price of the kiss on those dirty fingers from a dervish
joint,” muttered Macnamara to himself, as he took his place that evening
at the Khalifa’s door.
One thing Macnamara was determined on. He would never pray in a
Mahommedan mosque, he would never turn Mahommedan even for a day. The
time had come when he must make a break for liberty. He must have money.
With money Mahommed Nafar, who was now his teacher--Slatin had managed
that--would move for him.
Under the spur of his purpose Macnamara rapidly acquired Arabic, and
steadfastly tried to make Mahommed Nafar his friend, for he liked the
little man, and this same little man was the only Arab, save one, from
first to last, whom he would not have spitted on a bayonet. At first
he chafed under the hourly duplicity necessary in his service to the
Khalifa, then he took an interest in it, and at last he wept tears of
joy over his dangerous proficiency. Day after day Macnamara waited, in
the hope of making sure that the Khalifa’s treasure was under the room
where he slept. Upon the chance of a successful haul, he had made fervid
promises, after the fashion of his race, to the shoemaker Mahommed
Nafar. At first the shoemaker would have nothing to do with it: helping
prisoners to escape meant torture and decapitation; but then he hated
the Khalifa, whose Baggaras had seized his property, and killed his wife
and children; and in the end Macnamara prevailed. Mahommed Nafar found
some friendly natives from the hills of Gilif, who hated the Khalifa
and his tyrannous governments, and at last they agreed to attempt the
escape.