TREASURE TROVE
"Look here, men," said Colonel Killem, "I want to talk to you about
some interesting things, especially your conduct towards Mohammedans.
First of all, Doolan, tell me what a Mohammedan means?"
"Sure, sir, it manes a nigger who jabbers 'Allah' when yis put a
bayonet in his guts."
"Not exactly; but what would you shout if you got a bayonet in your
tummy."
"A gill of the best, sir."
"Well, now, a Mohammedan's a sort of eastern fanatic who thinks he'll
get a 'corner lot' in Paradise if he reads the Koran and dies on the
edge of your bayonets. Mecca is his holy shrine, and the old Sultan
acts as a sort of elder or high priest who takes up the collections.
We meet 'em ourselves--religious beggars who're always passing round
the hat for ninepence to make up another shilling. Religion is always
an expensive business, except in Scotland, where you get free seats to
support the Kirk and Government. Isn't that so, Brown?"
"Jist in the Auld Kirk, sir, but I belang tae the Wee Frees."
"Who are the Wee Frees?"
"The Wee Frees were started by a lot o' Hielan-men oot o' a job."
"What were they after?"
"Deevidends, sir."
The Colonel grinned. Continuing, he said, "Now, men, these Mohammedans
are very touchy. You've got to be careful how you treat them. For
example, their headgear is sacred. Don't touch it. And when you get a
little of home-brewed Scotch into you, don't knock their head-dress
off. They'll probably knife you. It isn't a pleasant thing to get a
rusty blade stuck into your kidneys. Bad for the health, I assure you.
"Tell me something else you must not do?" inquired the Colonel,
assuming the rôle of regimental schoolmaster.
"They hate pigs, sir," said Sandy Brown. "When I wis a stoker on a
ship gaun East I flung a bit o' fried pork at a coolie. He nearly
knocked ma lichts oot wi' a big hammer."
"Yes, pigs are regarded by these fellows as unclean beasts. To offer
them pork is, as Brown says, a great insult, so be careful of that.
Another important point is his carpet. This is sacred. He kneels on
that and offers up his prayers to Allah. When you walk into his house,
don't wipe your feet and spit on it. Give him a chance to remove it.
Can anyone tell me what those buildings in Cairo are with the big domes
on them?"
"Harems," piped Bill.
"Chapels," said Doolan.
"No, they are called mosques, or temples. Watch what you do there.
Mohammedans always take off their shoes before entering. Inside is
holy ground. If you go into them you must put a pair of shoes over
your boots. These are kept for the purpose. Of course, don't walk
away with the shoes, or there will be trouble. I have, also, a list
here of other things regarded as sacred either in the town or country.
"Trees with rags tied to them.
"Tombs.
"Graveyards.
"Deserted mosques.
"Stones with inscriptions on them.
"Fountains, and
"Isolated clumps of trees on hill tops.
"Be careful, now, of all these things. They look nothing to you, but
they are very important to them. You see, we are all Christians--or
supposed to be--and a Christian is regarded by them as an infidel and
son of a dog.
"Next thing is the ladies. We all love the ladies. What do you know
about them?" said the Colonel, suddenly pointing to a grinning youth.
"And very nice too, sir," replied this youngster.
"If it wasn't for their veils," said another.
"Sure, sor, they've always a big, fat nigger trotting after them,"
remarked Doolan.
"Yes, Doolan, and be very careful of the big fellow behind. He's what
is called a eunuch--a sort of guardian. If you give these ladies the
'glad eye,' or attempt to touch them, he'll probably slit your throat
with a razor. These women are veiled to all men except their husbands
and nearest relations. Many of them are harem women. Out here, a
native can have two or three wives and as many concubines as he likes.
For example, the late Khedive had about a hundred women in his harem,
and they say the Sultan of Turkey has over five hundred. Some of these
women are very beautiful, others are quite ugly. I heard of one man
who followed a veiled lady for about three miles, thinking she was some
wonderful Circassian beauty. He managed to talk to her too, but when
she lifted her veil he was dumbstruck. Instead of being young and
charming, she was old, haggard, toothless and revolting. All is not
gold that glitters, and beauty is not always found beneath the veil.
"Yes, that reminds me, I've been hearing of one or two queer things
which they say our fellows have been doing. In a certain part of Cairo
the ladies of the harems frequently ride in carriages, taking the
evening air. They often drive alone and use their eyes in the most
inviting way. Some of our boys have jumped into the carriages and had
a most pleasant and interesting drive with these ladies. That's risky,
men; don't do it. It may come off ninety-nine times out of a hundred,
but on the hundredth occasion it may end in a knife and a bullet. And
quite right too. We have no right to interfere with the preserves of
an Egyptian Pasha. Now I think that is all I have to say to you just
now. Fall out, please."
When the Colonel had departed, the men formed up into little groups and
discussed some of the points that had been raised.
"Old Sam's pulling our leg a bit about these holy places. I ain't had
any bother, and I've found it quite a paying game digging up these old
niggers' bones. Look here, boys, this is what I've found," said Sambo,
a big-boned bushman from Queensland, showing Bill and his cronies a
handful of old coins, rings and a bracelet.
"Some curios!" said Bill.
"Worth money, too," remarked Sandy.
"Where did you get them?" asked Claud, his interest roused in these
wonderful old jewels of the East.
"Down in the Dead City on the other side of Cairo--behind the Citadel.
I dig them up at nights. I can give you a cargo of shin bones and
skulls if you want them."
"Is it safe?"
"I reckon so. You see, a lot of these are ancient graves. Nobody has
a claim on them, so we can jump them."
"Do you want some partners?" asked Claud.
"Yes, a few of us could get something. I've had my eye on an old tomb
there for some time."
"What about to-night?"
"That will do. Bring your entrenching tools in a parcel, nobody sees
them. We can get an old cab or motor to go in."
"Right-ho!" agreed Claud, who also arranged with Paddy, Bill and Sandy
to form part of the exploring squad. This digging for ancient
treasures in the graves of the dead is an old game in Egypt. It is
comparatively safe where there are no natives with an interest in the
business. And it is really remarkable what interesting finds are made.
Rings, bangles, necklaces, brassware, beads, and jewels are often found
in these old graveyards.
The route to this particular place lay through Cairo. It was already
dark when they started on a rattling old motor-car. Down the Mena Road
they were whirled into the dazzling streets. The traffic sent the car
slower through a long, narrow native quarter. This was lined with
dirty shops, selling everything, from mouldy Turkish delight to
poisonous-looking firewater called native wine. At the door of these
places the proud owners lounged on chairs or squatted on the ground,
haggling and dealing with the _fellah_ (the peasant Egyptian, and the
finest type in Egypt). In Egypt everybody is in business. You can
find merchants dealing in broken bottles, merchants in discarded
"fags," merchants in the manure from the streets, merchants in rags and
bones, egg shells and cabbage stalks. They'll do anything but work.
Work to an Easterner is designed for women and oxen.
Leaving the lighted streets behind, the motor at length turned round
into a long, darkened road.
"This is the show," said Sambo, pointing to a wide field of little
domes, tombs, and broken-down buildings just visible in the murky light.
"It's a gey queer place," said Sandy, with a tremor in his voice.
"It is, and there's sure to be ghosts in this ould world?" muttered
Mick, crossing himself.
"There's diamonds, too--and tons of gold," remarked Claud.
"Paddy, you'll be a rich man after to-night," laughed Sambo.
"If I'm not a dead wan," said the Irishman, who, for the moment had
become seized with a dread of the supernatural.
"Well, boys, here we are!" exclaimed the leader of the party as they
neared a dark bend of the road. "Jump out!" The car was backed out of
sight, and the driver told to wait.
"This way," and into the darkness plunged the Queenslander. They
followed close at his heels, stumbling over graves, stones and old
enclosures.
"What's that?" screamed Paddy, as he kicked a white-looking thing at
his feet.
"It's a skull, man," said Sandy, picking up the bleached headpiece of
an ancient.
"Mother of Jasus, preserve us," murmured the Irishman, crossing himself
again.
"Now, boys, here we are. Get out your tools and start digging. Here's
a little torch to use, now and again, to see what you've got. You
fellows can pan out this show here, I'm going over a bit to do some
prospecting."
"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business," said Claud, as the
Queenslander went off into the darkness. For a long time they picked
and shovelled out the soft brown earth.
"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand. Claud
switched the light on.
"It's a shin bone."
"Here's the goods," shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted with
earth and mildew.
"It's gold, too," said Claud, fingering it.
"And here's some quids," Paddy said, spreading some coins out in his
hand.
"Coppers, you mean."
Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thigh
bones, some old brassware, a ring, some coppers, and many other things
of an Eastern kind.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionally
surveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp. But the
greatest find was a large brass urn of beautiful workmanship.
"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar," said Bill, turning the urn round
under the light of the lamp.
Things were really going well till the Irishman happened to look up.
His eyes at once caught a moving spectre of white advancing slowly
towards them.
"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping
Claud by the arm. They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was
something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead.
Their eyes riveted on it. Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently
wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up
the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket.
He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get
them."
"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglass
to see the dread apparition more clearly.
"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye. My ould father has seen them when he
lived in Kerry. Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himself
for about the fiftieth time.
"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said.
Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white
thing still advancing. He reached it, then turned with it towards the
crouching grave wreckers. Halting about ten yards from them, Bill
shouted, "Paddy Doolan."
"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.
"It's an Irish ghost--a Kerry one."
"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear
which had held him for a moment.
"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into
laughter. Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the
admiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts.
After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible
bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.
They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with
their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some
chattering natives. These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them
when Bill whispered, "Keep still--lie down." They obeyed, and lying
flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by. They could just see their
figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.
"On the same game," whispered Bill.
"Yes," said Claud, "I believe they make a speciality of digging up
these dead folks. Glad they weren't Kerry ghosts, anyway."
"Be aisy, boys, you'll meet a ghost yet before ye die."
The work was resumed once more. About 2 A.M., when all thought they
had had enough of this body-snatching, they were startled with the cry
of, "Help, boys! Help! They're killing me."
"By Jove! That's the Queenslander. These niggers are at him. Come
on, boys," shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and running
towards the place from whence came the cry for help.
"Help! Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more muffled
and weak.
"Where are you, Sambo?"
"In here," came a faint reply.
The sound came from a square building, the door of which was open.
Claud dashed in, flashing his light as he went. Turning a corner, he
was amazed by a strange and striking spectacle.
Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulking
Arabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furious
struggle. The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood was
splashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear. To the
left of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb. Inside he could just see a kind
of coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most varied
collection of brass and other beautiful Eastern wares. This was the
cause of the bother.
Crack! went Claud's fist into the eyes of the nearest Arab.
"Take that, ye son of a sea cook," chimed in Bill, giving another the
knock-out blow.
"Here's one from Paddy Doolan," shouted the Hibernian as he, too, hit
his man. The fourth one was dealt with by Claud. With shrieks and
yells of "Allah, Allah!" the Arabs turned, and, jumping a low wall,
fled off into the night. Sambo was at once released. Meantime, Sandy,
as the unofficial cashier of the expedition, made an inventory of the
treasure trove. It appears that Sambo had scented out in a strange way
a very ancient and dilapidated tomb, which these Arab robbers had
intended to despoil at the same time.
"Here, boys," said Sandy, "it's time we were hame. I've had enough o'
skulls, shin banes and brass beer bottles."
"An' I've had enough of ghosts," growled Paddy, as they staggered down
the road with their load of curios. The car whisked them back to Mena
Camp again. Stealthily creeping through the lines, they arrived at
their tents. All crept to bed, weary and wiser men. Claud was the
last one to fall asleep. He was thinking of Sybil, the girl from the
Bush. At last Morpheus claimed him. As he was slipping away into the
dreamy unknown he heard Doolan muttering, "Ghosts! Be Jasus! Ghosts!"