BEHIND PRISON BARS
On his arrival at Damanhour George was conducted by his guards
straight to the prison where he was to be confined. The gaol was one
of the many ramshackle buildings which the village was comprised of.
As the little party slowly made their way through the unpaved streets,
they were intently watched by crowds of men, women, and children; the
men were principally rebel soldiers, mixed with a smattering of
insurgent townspeople, the women and children--creatures of all
sorts--from the village folk to the common ruck which follows a native
army. Many were picturesque, but others looked like the drainings of
the slums of larger cities. There was no doubt as to the sentiments
they entertained for the white people, for, as they caught sight of
Helmar's face, under escort of rebel soldiers, unmistakable signs of
rejoicing were shown, and more than once the threatening attitude of
the mob made Helmar wonder if he would reach his destination alive.
As they neared the centre of the town, Hakesh drew his companion's
attention to a building surrounded by high walls.
"That, I expect, is where they will imprison us. It is the town
gaol, and since Arabi has been here they have used it for military
purposes. It is a filthy den."
"I expect so," replied George. "From what little I know of these
people, I should hardly expect cleanliness to be amongst their
virtues. What do you think they will do to us?"
"That, my son, I cannot say," he replied, with his eyes fixed on the
mud walls of the prison. "Arabi is not likely to kill us, I think;
but should he be away we may be at the mercy of some subordinate
officer who, as likely as not, may wish to get rid of us to curry
favour with his chief. It is as well to be prepared for the worst."
Helmar remained silent, he was thinking of Naoum and the letter
which the man, Belbeis, was carrying to him. Belbeis had told him
that Naoum was here. Well, if that were the case, all might yet be
well; but, on the other hand, if Arabi should have left, possibly
Naoum had done the same. The predicament in which he found himself
was one of great danger. He did not mind facing death, but he felt
that he would like to outwit Arden.
The gaol was at last reached in safety, although not without some
trouble. Abdu, with villainous intent, made known along the road the
fact that his prisoner was a spy, with the result that stones were
frequently thrown, and in many instances George narrowly missed
being struck; it was with a sigh of relief that he passed through
the crazy old gateway of the prison-yard.
Abdu, with his wicked eyes shining triumphantly, ordered him to
dismount, and, as he reached the ground, George, with solicitous
care, helped his companion from his uncomfortable position.
Primitive and unsafe as the outer wall had looked, the gaol itself
appeared to be strong enough. All the windows were heavily barred,
and the doors looked as if they were capable of withstanding a
siege. The place was constructed largely of wood, and, thinking of
Hakesh's words, George felt sure that a place so constructed was
more than likely to be decidedly unclean.
He was not given much time to view his surroundings, for Abdu had
him hustled into the building with as little delay as possible. Two
of the soldiers seized him by the shoulders and pushed him in with
scant ceremony. Just as he passed through the door of the room where
he was to be confined, one of the men had to drop back to let him
pass, and he entered with only one of his guards holding him.
"Naoum not here, I go find him," whispered the man as he released
his hold.
Turning, George noticed what he had not seen before--Belbeis was the
man who had come in with him. There was no time for conversation,
but the man's words had a reassuring effect.
"Beware of Abdu!" whispered Belbeis, as he turned to leave, and
then, exchanging a look of intelligence with his prisoner, he joined
the other guard and the two men went out. The door was closed and
securely bolted.
Left to himself, Helmar surveyed his prison. There was not a
particle of furniture in the place, and the only means of light and
fresh air entering was through a small, narrow, heavily-barred
window. George looked at this with thoughts of escape in his mind,
but the prospect was dim and uninviting; even if the bars could be
removed he doubted the possibility of forcing himself through the
aperture. He next turned his attention to the floor; it was the
rough earth covered with filth; portions of food lay about in a
rotting condition. The smell that emanated from them nearly made him
sick. With feelings of despair he wondered how long he was to be
confined in the loathsome hole.
Selecting a spot somewhat cleaner than the rest, he was about to
seat himself, when happening to glance more closely, he sprang back
with a horrified exclamation. Again he looked at the window and
again he turned away in despair.
Night had closed in, and George made up his mind to a night of
wakefulness rather than seat himself on that filthy ground. Round
and round, backwards and forwards, he walked, wondering when some
one would come who could give him something to sit upon.
Hours passed, but no one came. The time dragged so slowly that the
night seemed never-ending. He began to feel hungry in spite of his
sickening surroundings, and with his hunger came vain imaginings. He
pictured all sorts of horrible torturings to which his savage
captors might subject him. He wondered if he would be beheaded, or
whether he would be shot; he would much prefer the latter, it seemed
a cleaner way of dying and more in keeping with his calling. He
laughed, as he pictured the rebels aiming at him and repeatedly
missing their target, through bad marksmanship. Then he began to
wonder what his companions would say when they heard of his end.
He stopped in front of the window and looked up at the sky. He
stretched his arms and took hold of the two iron bars and shook them
repeatedly, but they seemed quite firm and immovable. Several times
he tried them, but each attempt left him more convinced than before
that efforts in this direction were futile.
At last, utterly worn out and sick at heart, he leant against the
wall and involuntarily his eyes closed; several times, as he dozed
off, his knees gave way under him, and he narrowly escaped falling
to the ground. Again he roused himself and started to walk.
He had not taken more than half-a-dozen steps when a hissing,
crackling sound caught his ear and he paused to listen. What could
it be? He went to the door from whence the sound proceeded. As he
did so he noticed an unmistakable smell of burning.
He rushed to the window and looked out. The sky was clear and
brilliantly illuminated with stars. Here the air was sweet and
fresh. Turning again to the door, he noticed that the smell of
burning had increased and the crackling was still going on. The
truth flashed on him suddenly!
The gaol was on fire!
"So they would roast me alive, the scoundrels!" he muttered, as he
stood hesitating as to what he should do.
[Illustration: "Pull and shake as he would, the iron seemed to
remain firm in its socket." p. 211]
Glancing first at the door, then at the window, he quickly made up
his mind as to the best course to adopt. Smoke was already
penetrating the cracks of the doorway. If he were to escape, it must
be through the window. At that instant he thought of poor old
Hakesh, and wondered what was happening to him. Where was he? Did
they intend to roast him too?
"The inhuman devils!" he cried, as these thoughts flashed through
his mind. He forgot about his own safety for the moment, as his mind
wandered to the old priest. A flash of light through the crack of
the door brought him back to his own position, and seizing the iron
bars of the window with both hands he heaved and shook at them till
the wall rocked, but they gave not an inch.
Gasping for breath, his hands sore with his terrible grip on the
iron, he paused for a moment and cast about in his mind for a new
idea. No other means of escape presented itself, so with the energy
of despair he flung himself again on the rough iron. The room was
rapidly filling with smoke, and he already found difficulty in
breathing.
Pull and shake as he would, the iron seemed to remain firm in its
socket, and he was about to cease his efforts, when he noticed that
the mud wall that held it was cracked, and hope again filled him.
Leaving the bars for a moment he picked up a narrow piece of wood
and jammed it as far as possible into the crack, then seizing the
bar with one hand, he drew himself up and, placing his feet against
the wall, pulled with all his strength. The wall opened out, and he
drove the wedge far into the crack with his disengaged hand, and
once more dropped to the ground.
The fire was rapidly increasing, the room was filled with blinding,
choking smoke, and he became at once convinced that he had not many
moments to spare before the fire would be upon him. One thing seemed
certain, that, whoever had set light to the place must have been
ignorant of his whereabouts in the building, or they intended to let
the process of cooking him be slow. To what refinement had they
brought their art of torture!
Seizing the iron bars again, he set to work. The wood he had
inserted held the crack open, and the bar, now under the terrific
power he used, began to move about. For two minutes he worked
incessantly, every moment bringing the chance of escape nearer. With
feverish anxiety he watched the loosening bar. Once he looked round;
the flames were lapping the door, and the hissing, crackling of the
fire sounded in every direction.
Again turning to his work, he gave one supreme wrench at the
obstinate iron, and with a crack it yielded, flinging him to the
floor. A lot of the brickwork had come away with the bar, and, as he
sprang to his feet, he saw that in releasing one of the iron bars he
had torn away sufficient of the wall to free the others. He tore
them from their place in a flash, and at last the window was clear
of obstruction.
Taking one of the iron bars with him, he climbed up to the aperture,
but found the process of squeezing himself through was no easy one;
cheered on by hope, and with fear of the fire behind, he at last
succeeded, and dropped to the ground outside, only to find that the
high wall surrounding the prison barred his way.
At least he had escaped the fire, but now, how to get out of the
yard? He ran round the burning building in the hopes of finding an
outlet, expecting every moment to fall in with some of the guard,
but to his astonishment not a soul was about. At first this seemed
strange, but as he realized that the building had been set on fire
purposely, the desertion of it was quickly accounted for.
The only means of escape that now presented itself was a small
outhouse built against the wall. This he clambered on to, and then,
by the aid of some loose planks in the roof, succeeded in reaching
the top of the wall.
The moment he looked over he cursed himself bitterly for not having
waited until the house had burnt itself out before attempting to go
further, for then, no doubt, thinking him dead, the crowd would have
deserted the place. As it was, he saw a cluster of rebels standing
watching the fire carry out its fell work.
He withdrew his head the instant he saw the murderous-looking mob.
To expose himself on the top of the wall was merely to make a target
of his body for a dozen rifles to "pot" at, and so nullify all he
had accomplished. Yet how was he to get over on to the other side
without being observed? If he could but alight on firm ground
safely, he could then make a rush for it, and trust to the luck
which, so far, had been on his side. He thought of the shadow cast
by the wall, owing to the brilliant light of the burning prison
behind, and he determined to try this one chance of escape.
In the excitement of the leap from the window he dropped his weapon,
and only just discovered the fact. Scrambling back, he soon found
it, and climbing once more on to the outhouse, without further
hesitation he gradually rolled himself full length on to the top of
the wall, slid his legs over, and letting himself down to arms'
length, dropped to the ground. The wall was nearly fifteen feet
high, so that he had dropped about seven. The moment he landed he
recovered himself and ran for dear life, not knowing in the least
where he was going.
At first he thought he had escaped notice, but it was not so, for
scarcely had his brain formed the hope than one wild shout went up
from the rebels, and the next instant he found himself closely
followed by a hooting, murderous mob.