A body of twenty Arab warriors mounted on camels was crossing the
desert, and as they rode in Indian file, and from ten to twenty paces
apart, the string was a long one. Probably they did not belong to a
tribe that had taken part in any of the numerous routs, assaults on
strong places, and massacres, which had supplied so large a portion of
the Mahdi's troops with modern arms of precision, for those of them who
carried guns had those long-barrelled, short-stocked weapons, which are
familiar to us in pictures, and which are so admirable from an artistic,
and so worthless from the Wimbledonian, point of view. But the majority
carried spears instead of guns, and they were all armed with swords and
pistols.
Whatever the actual number of days and hours which elapse between the
dates of an Arab's birth and death, his life seems a short one reckoned
by sensations and incidents, for he spends so very large a proportion of
it in sitting on the hump of a camel as it toils across a country of
maddening sameness. The distances he has to travel are so vast, and his
means of progression so limited!
Perhaps that is the reason why, when he does come across an occasion of
excitement, he is so terribly in earnest. He is months and months
without the chance of an emotion, accumulating explosive forces all the
while; and when he at last goes off, he does it like dynamite.
And yet, perhaps, the child of the desert, if he visited our shores,
might point to a ploughboy plodding up and down, with one foot in the
furrow, from dawn till dusk, and ask if _his_ task were lively. Or,
still more forcibly, he might take us into an office in a dingy city
street where copying clerks sat at their monotonous work, and put it to
us how many minutes in the week we supposed _they_ lived.
But still, though it might be difficult to deny that he had reason on
his side, there is a certain dreariness about the endless sandy plains
which renders it difficult to imagine it possible for a human being to
spend his days in traversing them without going mad.
But these present travellers did not seem to mind it. Some of them
solaced themselves with the chibouque, as they sat with the comfort
which can only be acquired after years of practice on the humps of their
camels; the others, though silent and quiescent, did not look bored.
Presently the one in front was attracted by an object a little out of
his path, and turned to examine it more closely. Then he spoke to his
hygeen, which knelt down, whereupon he dismounted, and went up to the
figure of a man lying on the sand. There had been a great deal of
fighting and carnage, beyond the ordinary blood-feuds between the
different tribes, going on for some months in the country, and the
bodies of men were as commonly found as those of camels used to be. So
it may seem surprising that the Arab should have taken the trouble to
dismount for such a trifle.
But this body was dressed, and had weapons--was worth despoiling, in
fact. This particular child of the desert was not more greedy than
others; he was a man in some authority, and rich according to his own
ideas and those of his people. But still, one does not like to see
articles of value unappropriated, and one might as well have them as any
one else. Such sentiments might animate you or me, let alone a
gentleman who had been brought up to regard all human beings who did not
belong to his own particular set much as we look upon beavers, foxes,
hares, grouse, pheasants, as creatures that are provided by Providence
for our sport or profit.
The body lay on its breast with the arms stretched out; the head a
little turned, so that the right cheek lay on the sand. And when the
Arab bent over it, it did not look, he thought, quite dead. Well, if he
were not, a man with such a good gun as that ought to be when a better
man wants it. But still, it has been shrewdly observed that there is a
deal that is human about human nature. The Arab might not improbably be
in the same position some day, and would he not then require aid
himself? And then the Koran enjoined true believers to succour the
distressed who fell fainting in the desert; and this was an educated
man, who read his Koran; and a religious man, according to his lights,
who obeyed its precepts when he happened to remember them, and
temptation to the contrary was not too strong. If he had known that the
property before him belonged to a pig who did not believe the Prophet,
it might have been different; but he could not tell that, and he turned
Harry Forsyth over to give him a drink of water.
As he did so he saw the ring on his finger, and his humane intention
vacillated. He had a fancy for a ring like that. Never mind; he would
compromise matters, he thought--take the ring, rifle, and cartridges
first, and give him a drink afterwards. But when he took the hand for
the purpose of drawing the ring off it, and saw the stone close, he
started back with the exclamation, "Allah is great!" and let the hand
drop.
"He bears the signet!" he said to his followers; "and he lives. We must
not leave him. We must take him on to El Obeid."
"The Fakir's Oasis is close at hand," said another; "let us bear him
there. The holy man will know best what to do with him, and the shorter
the journey the better for his life."
"You speak the words of wisdom, Meouf," said the leader; "let us lift
him on to your camel; it has the easiest pace."
A cynic might imagine that Meouf knew this, and that his claims to being
a good Samaritan were affected by the fact that he would have the
trouble of carrying the helpless man, and his wish to do so for as short
a distance as possible. But we won't be cynics, and we'll give him all
the credit for his forethought which we can.
The Fakir's Oasis was less than an hour's ride off for a good camel.
Harry, when some water was poured down his throat, showed decided signs
of life, though not regaining consciousness. He was lifted on the
camel, and carried forward, his property being scrupulously respected
with one exception. The leader of the party considered that, as he was
an invalid, and therefore, for the time being, a non-combatant, he could
have no immediate use for a Remington rifle, or the cartridges belonging
to it, and these he therefore made free to borrow for an indefinite
period. It was a small fee for him to pay, after all, for his life.
The oasis they were taking him to was one not known to European
travellers, and indeed but few native merchants were aware of its
existence, for it was out of the usual caravan routes to El Obeid, from
which place it was not more than two hours' journey distant. It was a
little patch of fertility in the midst of a plain of undulating sand,
and appeared a hundred-fold more luxuriant from the contrast. There was
actual herbage on which some goats were feeding; a small patch was even
under cultivation, and corn grown there. Fine acacias lent a grateful
shade, but not equal to that afforded by a splendid fig-tree which
overhung a deep cool well.
The oasis received its name from its having long been the residence of a
fakir who was accounted a sort of prophet, and commanded great
reverence. His successor, Abdul Achmet, who now lived there, was also
in high esteem among the followers of the Mahdi, to whose cause he had
given his adherence.
There were three houses, all inhabited by priests or dervishes, of whom
Abdul was the chief, and a small mosque, all built of sun-dried bricks,
which, retaining the look of clay, are habitually termed by European
travellers _mud_. But this gives rather a false impression, as a mud
hut properly consists of wattles with mud plastered all over them, which
is a different thing from one regularly built, though the bricks are
sun-dried instead of being baked in a kiln. What is the use of having a
tropical sun if you do not make it do some fire-work for you beyond
nearly roasting you to death?
Abdul Achmet received the party, several of whom he knew, under the
shade of his fig-tree. Harry Forsyth was carefully handed down from the
camel and laid before the dervish, and the signet-ring was shown to him.
Whereupon he said that it was quite right to bring him on to him, and
that he would take care of him; and he had him carried into his house
and attended to.
The travellers watered themselves and their camels, and were then
treated to dates, pipes, and coffee. They rested thus in the oasis, and
benefited, it is to be hoped, by the companionship of their clerical
entertainers, till the hottest part of the day was passed, and then,
once more mounting their camels, went on their way to El Obeid--an easy
march for the evening.
Days passed before Harry Forsyth was conscious of anything; then for
weeks he had no sense of life but pain and weariness, with intervals of
blissful rest. He had no doctor but the first lady who ever practised--
Dame Nature, who sometimes, strange to say, pulls her patients through
almost as well as if she had a diploma. But he was well nursed, and
there is a great deal in that.
At length there came a time when he knew that people moved about and
talked, and that he took food and was very weak; but he did not know
where he was, nor cared. He had visions, and half knew they were
visions; sometimes these were rather pleasant but more often very much
the other way. What was the matter with him? As no medical man
diagnosed his case, it is impossible to say, though that he was for some
time in a high state of fever we may safely assume. He had gone through
a good deal, and had had a cut through the scalp of his head right down
to the skull. At last he woke one day after a long sleep and recognised
his nurse, whom he took to be a demon--a very nice, amiable one, with
gleaming white teeth, who grinned from ear to ear with pleasure to see
him better.
At last it dawned upon him that it was absurd to suppose an evil spirit
would sit there fanning the flies away, or would put cooling drinks to
his lips; and he jumped abruptly to the opposite conclusion, that there
were such things as black angels, and this was one of them. Though
perhaps nearer the mark, he was not quite right yet, for his kind and
careful nurse was but a negress--a slave from the interior. Black,
white, or brown, women are always more patient and tender when anything
is really the matter than men, bless them!
It was rather a shame to have called her Fatima, because that leads one
to expect rather prettier lips and a fairer complexion; not that this
incongruity ever struck Harry, even when he came to know it, which was
not for some time yet. For by that time he had come to associate his
nurse's homely features with all that was pleasant and solacing.
He did not know where he was, nor had he any clear perception of past
events. He had been very uncomfortable, and there was a dim impression
upon his mind of past misfortunes, but he had no care or curiosity with
regard to past or future; he was at ease for the present, and that was
all that he felt signified.
One day when he opened his eyes after a doze, expecting to see Fatima,
he found in her usual place a tall man, with a long white beard, and
shaggy white eyebrows, which contrasted curiously with his dark skin,
giving him something of an unearthly appearance.
"Oh, long-expected one," he said, when he saw that Harry noticed him,
"to whom Allah hath at length restored some degree of understanding,
know that you are welcome and among friends. This writing found upon
you tells me that you are he of whom the Sheikh Burrachee has often
spoken, the Feringhee destined to bring his benighted and hitherto
accursed race to the acceptance of the true faith. The sheikh is beyond
Om Delgal, far away up the Bahr el Abiad, amongst the heathen whom the
All-bountiful One has given to the True Believer for bondsmen. But he
will return when the Mahdi--his name be revered--shall need his
services. Then shall you join him with renewed health and strength. In
the meantime, I, a humble servant of Allah and his Prophet, and one
whose eyes have been opened to the divine mission of the Mahdi, which
the Turks--may their tongues swell--are slow to receive, even I will
expound to you the mysteries of the only True Faith, and from this day
forth consider my house, and what poor goods I may possess, as your
own."
Harry Forsyth quite followed this speech, and knew that the Sheikh
Burrachee alluded to was a relative whom he had seen at some time, and
was to rejoin. For anything recalled to him by words he remembered at
the time, though it passed from his brain the moment afterwards, neither
pleasing him nor distressing him. His mind was like a lake, and ideas
suggested in any way resembled clouds passing rapidly above it,
reflected for a minute on the surface, and then gone. It was rather a
curious thing that what Arabic he had picked up had not passed from him;
on the contrary, it sounded more familiar to him than it had done
before. Probably that was because of his surroundings at the time of
recovering consciousness, and of Arabic being the first sound which fell
on his ears.
He replied coherently enough to his fakir host, though his voice was
very feeble. He thanked him for his present hospitality, and for the
care he had taken of him during his illness, and he expressed the
pleasure it would give him to see the Sheikh Burrachee when he came back
from the Equator.
And then Fatima brought him food, which he turned to like a baby to its
bottle.
From that day Abdul Achmet paid him constant and long visits, reading
long passages from the Koran, and expounding to him that, as Mahomet had
been sent to convert idolaters, and had accomplished his task, so now
the Mahdi had been appointed to teach the truth to Europeans and other
civilised races. The means to be employed were the same in both cases,
and were simple, consisting merely of the extermination of all who would
not be convinced.
"The great and indeed only object is the overthrow of infidelity," he
explained; "and if all infidels are killed there will no longer be such
a thing."
"QED," replied Harry Forsyth, in a tone of assent which pleased the
fakir mightily.
"QED" was not intelligible to him, but it sounded very well indeed, he
thought.
Sometimes Harry listened to these long tirades, and sometimes he did
not, the latter reception of them being very much more frequent than the
former. But he looked politely attentive, and that was sufficient. He
was the best listener when Abdul Achmet entered into personal details
concerning his heroes, in which he occasionally indulged; as when he
told how the Mahdi was brought up as a carpenter at Dongola; how he
first came to know of his mission; of the holy men who had taken up his
cause; and of his residence and education amongst them. And then he
described his miraculous success, and what a boon even in the present
life the spread of his authority would be. In proof of which he
recounted the extortions and cruelties of the Turks, and how the
taxation of the Soudanese was so excessive as to ruin the country
itself, while the bribes exacted by the officials who were appointed to
rule the country made it impossible to obtain justice. He also waxed
very indignant over the unnatural folly and wickedness of those Powers
who sought to interfere with the slave trade, which he looked upon as a
perquisite provided by Providence for the Arab race. Indeed the fakir
showed himself to be a man of some thought and shrewdness, and some
people to hear him speak might have fancied that secular interests, such
as improving their condition in life by throwing off a burdensome yoke,
and maintaining the considerable profits which they derived from
imposing such yokes on other people, who happened to be black and to
have thick lips, and woolly hair, had something to do with the aptitude
shown by the Soudanese to accept the new religion. But Abdul Achmet was
an honest fanatic, and neither intended to insinuate this nor thought
it.
On the whole, Harry much preferred to hear his black nurse Fatima talk.
She told him about her childhood, when she remembered playing about
among trees and in long grass with other little darkies; and their
fright when they heard the lions roar; and how once, when she had
wandered away alone, she saw two fiery eyes glaring at her from a bush,
and ran home, expecting to be pounced upon and eaten all the way. And
she described her parents' hut, with a low entrance, into which the
family had to crawl on their hands and knees. Then, while she was still
quite little, her tribe declared war against another tribe, and all the
young men went out to battle, and were defeated, and fled back to their
village to make a last stand in defence of their wives and children.
And she described a night attack, and the horrors of a massacre, the
burning of the huts, and the carrying off of the younger women, the
youths, and children; how they were sold to Arab merchants, and
underwent a fearful desert march; and how she cried for her mother at
first, but was bought by a man who treated her kindly, and was happy,
and forgot her native language and habits. All this she told in a
simple, artless way, and when she found that it amused her invalid she
repeated it again and again. But his interest did not flag for the
repetition. He was like a little child who has a favourite story, and
cries, "Again!" when told it, preferring it to risking a new one, which
might not prove so good.
And time flew by, and Harry Forsyth remained in this state of semi-
imbecility, free from anxiety about his mother and sister at home,
forgetful of all but his animal comforts and the superficial interest he
felt in such prattle as this. His bodily health improved before his
mental activity; perhaps it was owing to the freedom from worry
consequent upon this lethargic state of mind that he was able to pick up
some strength.
But he became able to move about and help himself, and wander out to the
fig-tree over the well, which the delighted Fatima thought extremely
clever of him.
One day, as he sat in his favourite spot, thinking of nothing in
particular, a body of horsemen rode up to the oasis, and the leader of
it dismounting came up to him, and held out his hand English fashion,
though he spoke in Arabic.
"Harry," he said, using the English accent for the name, however, "you
remember me?"
Harry looked at him in a troubled way, and pressed his hand on his
forehead.
"I told you that you would come to me, for the inward voice, which never
errs, declared it to me," he went on. "Struggle as you might, you could
not avert your destiny. Our family is called to do a great work. I
have commenced it, and it will be yours to complete it. I am growing
old, but I can still strike a blow for the cause. May Allah grant me to
die when my right arm is powerless: to die on the field of battle, in
the moment of victory, with my face to the foe! Yes, you are clearly
destined to lead the hosts of Islam. Have you not come out to me alone,
leaving home and friends? Have you not traversed the desert without
guide, still alone; and though struck down by an unknown hand, have we
not met? Have you not miraculously learned the language of the country
to which destiny called you? Were you not brought when found, to all
appearance dead, to the fakir, Abdul Achmet, the one man of all others I
would have directed you to? And the blind fools of Europe would call
this chance, as they do everything which they cannot attribute to their
own forethought or cunning."
"Yes, I know you," said Harry, at length; "you are my uncle Ralph, the
Sheikh Burrachee. But I think I have been ill, and everything is like a
dream to me. Were there not a signet-ring, and a paper in a silver
case, and jewels of value which you gave me?"
At that instant Abdul Achmet came out of the mosque, and the Sheikh
Burrachee advanced to meet him, leaving Harry more bewildered and
disturbed in mind than he had been since he was brought to the oasis;
and that night he had a relapse of fever. It did not prove serious,
however, and when it passed away his mind was clearer than before,
though he still seemed like one in a dream, and the past events of his
life appeared to him as having happened to some one else.
On the morning after his arrival the Sheikh Burrachee left, but some
weeks afterwards he returned with an escort and an easy-paced hygeen to
take Harry away with him. He took the announcement of the journey with
the placid indifference which now characterised him, only at the moment
of starting he showed reluctance to part from his black nurse, Fatima.
But whether the sheikh bought her, or only borrowed her, it was arranged
that she should go too, and Harry was perfectly reconciled. The
hygeen's motions were wonderfully smooth for a camel, and the journey
was made easy to him; but still it was trying in his weak state and
after so long a confinement.
But it did not last long, and then they reached a town of flat-roofed
houses, and entered a spacious courtyard with a portico round it,
through which were the living-rooms. There were soldiers here and there
under this portico, some of them wearing the turban, but the majority
having a skull-cap of blue and white on their heads, and a sentry over
the gate had one of them too. Those who wore the bernouse, and most of
them did, had similar blue and white patches sewn on different parts of
it. These were the Mahdi's colours; I don't know why, for he was never
a Third Trinity man, and had no right to their blazer. Like his
impudence! It is true that the colours were generally in dice, not
regularly striped. Some of the soldiers did not show the colours, but
that was because they had nothing to put them on unless they painted
their bodies. Passing through a large room with a divan round it, and
pushing aside a curtain at the farther end, you came upon another and
smaller court, which was a garden with a fountain in the middle, well
filled with date and other palms. There was a portico round this too,
and this was destined to be the place where Harry Forsyth was to pass
the greater part of his life for some time, for it was the dwelling or
private part of his uncle's establishment.
Crazy renegade as he was, the Sheikh Burrachee had some old ideas of
comfort which the wild life he had led had not dissipated, and being a
rich man for the country where he was and the people he had adopted, he
could indulge any little fancies he had; and he had made his house both
handsome and comfortable.
According to the simple ideas of the natives, indeed, he was possessed
of enormous wealth, and this reputation went some way towards the
superstitious regard in which he was held. This was the place which
Harry now entered, and reposing on a divan, low, with soft cushions on
it, and close to the portico, he looked upon the green leaves and
listened to the trickle of the fountain, while Fatima brought him a
glass of delicious lemonade, squeezed from the fresh-plucked fruit; and
the fatigues of the journey were forgotten, and he fell into a long and
refreshing sleep. His curiosity, however, had not been one whit
aroused; he took everything as a matter of course. Perhaps he was a
character in the "Arabian Nights," and not Harry Forsyth at all--who
could tell?--all seemed so strange and unreal.