The expedition of Captain Glen and Dr. Clary certainly was not organized
to seek Stasch and Nell. It was a large and well-equipped government
expedition, sent out to explore the northeast slopes of the giant
mountain Kilima-Njaro, and also the but little known large tracts to the
north of this mountain. It is true that the Captain and the Doctor knew
about the kidnapping of the children from Medinet el-Fayoum, for English
and Arabic newspapers had published accounts of it, but they thought
that both had died or else were languishing as prisoners of the Mahdi,
from whom not a single European captive had regained his freedom. Clary,
whose sister was married to Rawlison of Bombay, and who on his trip to
Cairo had been quite taken with little Nell, missed her very much. But
they were also very sorry for the brave boy. They had sent several
telegrams from Mombasa to Mr. Rawlison asking whether the children had
been found, and only after the last unfavorable answer, which arrived
some time before the departure of the caravan, did they finally give up
every hope of finding them.
It never even occurred to them that the children, who were kidnapped in
distant Khartum, might turn up in this district. But in the evenings,
after the day’s work was over, they often conversed about them, for the
doctor could not forget the beautiful little girl.
Meanwhile the caravan advanced still farther. After staying quite some
time on the eastern slopes of Kilima-Njaro and exploring the upper
course of the rivers Sabaki and Tana, as well as the Kenia Mountains,
the captain and the doctor turned off northward, and after having
crossed the swampy Guasso-Nyjro, came into a wide, uninhabited plain,
over which roamed only innumerable herds of antelope. After a journey of
more than three months, the people needed a longer rest, and so Captain
Glen, after having come to a fairly large lake containing plenty of
brown but healthy water, ordered the tents to be erected on its banks
for a ten days’ halt.
During the preparations for camping the white people busied themselves
with hunting and sorting their geographical and natural science notes,
and the negroes fell into their well-beloved idleness. It happened one
day that Dr. Clary, rising early, and approaching the shore, saw several
Zanzibar negroes belonging to the caravan with their faces upturned
looking at the top of a tall tree and repeating over and over again:
“Ndege? Akuna ndege! Ndege?”—“A bird? No bird! A bird?”
The doctor was shortsighted, so he sent to the tent for a telescope;
then he looked through it at the object to which the negroes pointed,
and great surprise showed on his face:
“Call the captain here!” he said.
Before the negroes had reached him the captain appeared outside the
tent; he was about to start on an antelope hunt.
“Glen, look!” cried the doctor, pointing upward.
The captain raised his head, covered his eyes with his hands, and showed
as much surprise as did the doctor.
“A kite!” he cried.
“Yes; but negroes don’t send up kites! Where can it come from?”
“There may be a settlement of white people or a mission in the
neighborhood——”
“This is the third day the wind has blown from the west, over a region
as unknown and perhaps as uninhabited as is this jungle. Besides, you
know that there are no settlements or missions hereabouts.”
“Indeed, it is very strange and interesting.”
“We must certainty take down the kite.”
“Yes. Perhaps then we shall find out where it came from.”
The captain gave a short order. The tree was several feet high, but in a
moment the negroes had reached the top, carefully unfastened the kite,
taken it down, and handed it to the doctor, who examined it quickly and
said:
“There’s writing on it—let us look!”
And in order to see better he half closed his eyes and began to read:
Suddenly his face changed and his hand trembled.
“Glen,” he said, “take that; read it through, and convince me that I
have not had a sun-stroke, and that I am still in my right senses!”
The captain took the bamboo frame to which the sheet of paper was
attached and read the following:
“Nell Rawlison and Stanislaus Tarkowski, who were sent from
Khartum to Fashoda, and were transported from Fashoda to the
east of the Nile, have freed themselves from the hands of the
Dervishes. After a journey of many months they have arrived at a
lake which lies to the south of Abyssinia. They are going to the
ocean. They beg for help.”
And on the other side of the sheet was found the following postscript:
“This, the fifty-fifth kite, was sent up from a group of
mountains which surrounds a lake not mentioned in geography.
Whosoever finds it should send the news to the canal
administration in Port Said, or to Captain Glen in Mombasa.”
Stanislaus Tarkowski.
When the captain’s voice had ceased the two friends silently regarded
each other.
“What does it mean?” at last asked Dr. Clary.
“I can’t believe my eyes!” answered the captain.
“But is there no mistake?”
“No.”
“There it is, plainly written: ‘Nell Rawlison and Stanislaus Tarkowski.’
”
“There it is as plain as can be——”
“And perhaps they may be in this vicinity?”
“So God has apparently saved them.”
“All thanks be to Him!” cried the doctor enthusiastically.
“But in what direction shall we look for them?”
“Is there nothing more on the kite?”
“There were several other words, but on a part torn by the branches; it
is hard to read them.”
Both leaned their heads over the paper, and only after a lengthy
examination were they able to spell:
“The rainy season has long since passed.”
“What does that mean?” asked the doctor.
“That the boy has lost his reckoning of time.”
“And in this way he tried to give the date as best he could.”
“You are right. So this kite can not have been sent up such a very long
while ago.”
“If that is the case, then they can not be very far off by this time.”
This feverish, abrupt conversation lasted a little longer; then they
both began to inspect the document again and to consider every word
written on it. But it all seemed so improbable, that had it not come
from a place where not even one European could be found—more than six
hundred kilometers distant from the nearest coast—the doctor and the
captain would have been inclined to think it a joke played by European
or mission children after having read in the newspapers about the
kidnapping. Still it was hard for them not to believe their eyes; for
they had the kite in their hands, and the inscription, being scarcely
blurred at all, was quite distinct.
Notwithstanding, there were many things about it that they could not
understand. Where could the children have procured the paper for the
kites? If they had obtained it from a caravan, they would have joined
the caravan, and so would not have been obliged to ask for assistance.
Why had the boy not tried to escape to Abyssinia with his little
companion? Why had the Dervishes sent them to the east of the Nile in an
unknown country? How had they been able to escape from the Dervishes?
Where were they hiding? By what miracle had they not starved to death
during this journey of many months? By what miracle had they not become
the prey of wild beasts? Why had the savages not killed them? To all
these questions they could find no answers.
“I can’t understand it. I can’t understand it!” repeated Dr. Clary. “It
surely is a miracle of God’s working.”
“It would seem so!” answered the captain.
Then he added:
“But there’s a fine boy for you! This must be his work!”
“And he did not leave the little one in the lurch. God bless his head
and his heart.”
“Stanley—yes, even Stanley—placed as he was, could not have kept up
over three days.”
“And they are still alive!”
“But they beg for help. What’s past is past. We must depart
immediately.”
And so they set out. On the way the two friends continually re-examined
the document, trusting that they might find directions on it to guide
them in going to the children’s assistance. But no such directions were
found. The captain led the caravan in a zigzag path, hoping he might
find some trace of them—the remains of some campfire or a tree with
marks cut into the bark. In this way they traveled on for several days,
when unfortunately they found themselves on a treeless plain, covered
with tall heather and tufts of dried grass. The two travelers were now
very much alarmed. How easy, they thought, was it to miss even a large
caravan on these vast prairies and how much easier it was to miss two
children, who, as they supposed, were creeping along somewhere in the
tall heather like two little worms. Another day passed. Neither the tin
cans with notes inside them which they left behind them tied to bushes,
nor the watch-fires burning during the night were of any avail. The
captain and the doctor from time to time began to lose hope of ever
finding the children; indeed, they felt quite sure they were no longer
alive. Nevertheless, they continued searching diligently for several
days. At last the scouts whom Glen sent out to reconnoiter brought news
that in front of them lay an absolutely arid desert; so when they
accidentally came across water in a hollow of the ground they were
obliged to halt to make provision for the coming journey.
The hollow was several feet deep and very narrow. At its bottom a hot
spring bubbled and boiled, for it was saturated with carbonic gas. The
water when cooled proved to be good and wholesome. There was so much
water in the spring that thirty men of their caravan were unable to
empty it. On the contrary, the more water they dipped out the higher it
spurted forth.
“Perhaps in time,” said Dr. Clary, “invalids will come here to be cured
by this water, but at present the steep side of the cliff renders it
inaccessible even to animals. Can it be possible that the children have
found a similar spring?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps there are more like these in this part of the
country. If not, the children will surely die of thirst.”
The night approached. They lighted several fires, but no boma was
erected, for they could find no materials with which to build it.
After supper the doctor and the captain sat down on camp-stools, lighted
their pipes, and began to converse on the subject that weighed most
heavily on their hearts.
“Not the least trace!” Clary began.
“It had occurred to me,” answered Glen, “to send ten of our people to
the coast with a telegram, stating that news from the children had been
received. But I am glad that I did not send it, for the messengers would
most likely have given out on the way, and even if they had reached
their destination, what good would it do to raise false hopes——”
“And increase their grief——”
The doctor removed his white helmet and wiped his perspiring forehead.
“Listen,” said he. “Suppose we were to return to that lake, and have
niches cut in the bark of the trees and large fires burning by night!
Perhaps the children would see these signs.”
“If they are in the neighborhood we would not need to take these means
to find them, and if they are far away the rise in the ground would hide
the fires. This plateau only appears to be level; in reality it is
covered with ridges and waves like the ocean. Besides, if we were to
retrace our steps we would lose all hope of finding a vestige of them.”
“Speak plainly. You have lost all hope?”
“My friend, we are grown, strong, experienced men; just imagine what
would have become of us if we had been stranded here by ourselves, even
if supplied with water, had we no provisions or men!”
“Yes, unfortunately—yes, I can picture to myself two children traveling
through the desert on a night like this——”
“Hunger, thirst, and wild animals——”
“And yet the boy writes that they have dragged through long months in
this way.”
“I can not possibly imagine it.”
For a long time all that disturbed the silence of the night was the
crackling of the tobacco in their pipes. The doctor stared into the pale
depth of the night, and then in a suppressed voice said:
“It is now late; but I can not sleep. And to think that, if they are
still alive, perhaps they are wandering around here somewhere in the
moonlight between these dried tufts of heather—alone—such young
children! Glen, do you remember the angel face of the little one?”
“I remember it perfectly, and shall not forget it.”
“Ah, I would gladly have my hand cut off if——”
He did not finish the sentence, for Captain Glen jumped up as suddenly
as if scalding water had been poured over him.
“A rocket in the distance!” he cried. “A rocket!”
“A rocket!” repeated the doctor.
“There must be a caravan ahead of us.”
“Perhaps it has come across the children!”
“Perhaps. Let us make haste to meet them.”
“Forward!”
The captain’s orders were at once heard throughout the camp. The
Zanzibar negroes sprang to their feet. Torches were lighted, and in
answer to the distant signals Glen ordered rockets sent up in rapid
succession and shots to be fired.
In less than a quarter of an hour the entire camp was on its way.
From a distance were heard shots responding to theirs. There was no
longer any doubt but that some European caravan was for some unknown
reason asking for help.
The captain and the doctor ran as fast as they possibly could,
alternately hoping and fearing. Would they find the children or not? The
doctor said to himself that if they did not find them they could at
least search for their bodies in the dreadful heather-fields.
Half an hour later one of those ridges of which they had spoken shut off
the view from the two friends. But they were now so near that they
distinctly heard the tramping of horses. A few minutes more and a rider
appeared on the top of a hillock; he held a large white object in front
of him on the saddle.
“Hold the torches high!” commanded Glen.
At the same moment the rider brought his horse to a standstill within
the circle of lights.
“Water! Water!”
“The children!” cried Dr. Clary.
[Illustration: “ ‘Water! Water!’ repeated Stasch.” ]
“ ‘The children!’ cried Dr. Clary.”
“Water!” repeated Stasch.
And he almost threw Nell into the arms of the captain and then he sprang
out of the saddle. The next moment he staggered to the ground as if
lifeless.
* * * * *
The rejoicing of the rescuers was boundless, but the credulity of the
two Englishmen was put to a severe test, as they had been unable to
comprehend how the children by themselves had been able to travel over
the measureless tracts of land and the deserts which separated their
present position from the Nile and Fashoda; neither could they
conjecture how “the young Pole,” as they called Stasch, could have done
it, and how it was that he appeared before them as the leader of a large
caravan—armed with European weapons—with an elephant who carried a
palanquin, with horses, tents, and a considerable amount of provisions.
At this astounding sight the captain stretched out his hands, saying
over and over again: “Clary, I have seen a great deal in my life, but
never a boy like this,” and the good doctor, equally astonished, said:
“And he released the little one from captivity—and saved her!” After
having made this remark, he ran to the tents to see how the children
were and if they were sleeping comfortably.
After they had had food and drink, the children were undressed and put
to bed, and slept during the whole of the following day as soundly as if
they were dead, and so did the men belonging to their caravan. Captain
Glen attempted to question Kali about their adventures and about
Stasch’s part in them, but the young negro merely opened one eye and
answered: “The Great Man can do everything,” and went to sleep again. So
they were obliged to put off their questions until the following day.
Meanwhile the two friends consulted with each other as to the journey
back to Mombasa. They had already traveled farther and explored larger
tracts than their commission called for, and so they decided to return
at once. The unknown lake had a great fascination for the captain, but
the welfare of the children and the desire to take them back to their
grief-stricken fathers as soon as possible turned the scales. The doctor
insisted that at present they should take a good rest on the cool
summits of the Kenia or Kilima-Njaro Mountains. They also decided not to
send word to the children’s fathers until they reached the mountains,
and then tell them to come to Mombasa.
On the third day, after they were well rested and had bathed several
times, they started on their return journey. Now they were obliged to
part from Kali. Stasch convinced the little one that it would be selfish
for her to take him with them to the ocean, or even as far as Egypt, for
even in England Kali would be nothing more than a servant, while if he
were to rule over his people he could, as king, spread the Christian
religion and ameliorate the savage customs of the Wa-himas, and not only
civilize them, but make them good. He also expressed similar sentiments
to Kali. Many tears were shed at parting. Stasch was not ashamed to
weep, for had not he and Nell been through much happiness and misery in
common with Kali? And not only had they both learned to appreciate his
kind heart, but they had also grown very fond of him. The young negro
lay a long time at the feet of his Bwana Kubwa and of the “good Msimu.”
He turned back twice to look at them, but at last the moment of parting
had come, and the two caravans separated, going in opposite directions.
* * * * *
It was only after they were under way that the adventures of the two
little travelers were told. Stasch, who used to be so fond of boasting,
did not sound his own praises at all now, for he had accomplished so
many things and gone through so much that he had developed sufficiently
to recognize that facts speak louder than words—that deeds alone, even
when told as modestly as possible, speak for themselves. Daily, during
the hot “white hours,” and evenings in the bivouac, the events and
adventures which the children had suffered passed before the eyes of the
captain and the doctor like moving pictures. In this way they saw them
carried off from Medinet-el-Fayoum, and the terrible journey on camels
through the desert—Khartum and Omdurman, which was a hell on earth—and
the designing Mahdi. When Stasch told how he had replied to the Mahdi
when the latter wanted him to change his religion, the two friends arose
and each of them in turn grasped Stasch’s right hand firmly. Then the
captain said:
“The Mahdi is not living now!”
“The Mahdi not living now!” repeated Stasch, surprised.
“That’s true,” the doctor continued. “He was suffocated in his own fat,
or, properly speaking, he died of fatty degeneration of the heart, and
Abdullah[49] has taken command.”
A long pause ensued.
“Ha!” said Stasch. “When he sent us to meet our death in Fashoda he had
no idea that death would overtake him first.”
And after a while he added:
“But Abdullah is even more cruel than the Mahdi.”
“And that has led to the present revolts and slaughter,” answered the
captain, “and the whole structure of government which the Mahdi erected
is bound to fall sooner or later.”
“And what will happen then?”
“England,” answered the captain.
During the rest of the journey Stasch told them about the trip to
Fashoda, about the death of old Dinah, their departure from Fashoda,
their journey to uninhabited districts, and their search for Smain. When
he came to the part where he had killed the lion and then Gebhr and
Chamis and the two Bedouins, the captain interrupted him, exclaiming,
“All right!” and once more grasping his right hand. He and Clary
continued to listen with increasing interest about the taming of King,
their dwelling in “Cracow,” Nell’s fever, the finding of Linde, and the
kites, which the children sent up from the Karamajo Mountains. The
doctor, who grew fonder of little Nell day by day, was so especially
interested in all that had threatened to harm her that from time to time
he had to strengthen himself with a drop of brandy, and when Stasch
began to relate how she had nearly become the prey of the terrible wobo
he took the little girl in his arms, and would not let her go for some
time, as if afraid that some new beast of prey might threaten her life.
What he and the captain thought of Stasch was expressed in two telegrams
which they sent off two weeks later (after they had reached the foot of
Kilima-Njaro) by messengers, who had orders to forward as soon as
possible to the two fathers.
The first telegram was carefully worded and sent to Port Said. It was as
follows:
“Thanks to the boy, have good news of the children. Come to
Mombasa.”
The second was more explicit and addressed to Aden. It read:
“The children are safe in our hands. The boy a hero!”
They made a halt of two weeks on the cool summits of Kilima-Njaro, for
Dr. Clary urged this on account of the health of Nell and of Stasch. The
children adored this sky-high mountain, which possessed every kind of
climate imaginable. Its two peaks, Kibo and Mawenzi, were usually
clothed in thick mists during the day, but when the mists suddenly
lifted on clear evenings the everlasting snows on the summit of Mawenzi
shone with a rosy glow, reflected from the sunset, while all the rest of
the world was already wrapped in darkness—the mountain resembled a
shining altar of God. At this sight the children unconsciously folded
their hands in prayer.
For Stasch the days of worry, anxiety, and trouble were over. They now
had a journey of a month before reaching Mombasa, and the road lay
through the beautiful but unhealthy Tawet forest. How much easier was it
now to travel over well-known roads with a numerous and well-equipped
caravan than to wander around in an unknown wilderness accompanied by
Kali and Mea. Besides, Captain Glen now took charge of the journey.
Stasch recovered and went hunting. Having found a chisel and hammer
among the tools of the caravan, he set to work during the cool hours to
chisel on a large gneiss rock the following inscription: “Poland is not
lost yet!” for he wished to leave at least a trace of their sojourn in
this country. The Englishmen, to whom he translated the inscription,
were surprised that the boy had not thought of perpetuating his own name
by carving it on a rock in Africa. But he preferred the sentiments he
had chiseled on it.
He continued to protect Nell, and this gave her such an unlimited
confidence in him that when Dr. Clary asked her whether she was not
afraid of the storms on the Red Sea, the girl rested her beautiful soft
eyes on him and replied, “Stasch will know what to do!” Captain Glen
said that no one could have given a truer and more beautiful proof of
what Stasch was to the little one or given him higher praise.
* * * * *
Although the first telegram sent to Mr. Tarkowski at Port Said was very
carefully worded, it produced such a great effect on Nell’s father that
he nearly died of joy, and Mr. Tarkowski, although an unusually
demonstrative man, knelt down to pray and besought God that this news
might not be another false clue or the result of a diseased imagination
brought about by their own longing and their grief. For had they not
both done everything trying to ascertain if their children were still
alive? Mr. Rawlison had led caravans to the Sudan, and Mr. Tarkowski,
dressed as an Arab, had gone as far as Khartum, thereby greatly
endangering his life. Nothing had been of any avail. Those who might
have given them some news had died from smallpox or from hunger or had
been killed in the bloody fights that were continually being waged, and
there seemed no more trace of the children than if they had fallen into
the water and disappeared. At last both fathers gave up all hope and
only lived on remembrances, firmly convinced that there was nothing in
life for them, and that death alone would reunite them to their loved
ones, who were everything to them. When this great joy suddenly came to
them it was almost more than they could bear; nevertheless, it was
accompanied by uncertainty and surprise. Neither of them could
comprehend how and in what manner the news of the children had come from
this part of Africa; that is to say, from Mombasa. Mr. Tarkowski
imagined that an Arab caravan, advancing from the eastern coast after
having been in the interior hunting for ivory, had reached the Nile and
had either bought their freedom or had stolen them. The words of the
telegram, “thanks to the boy,” they accounted for in the following
manner: They conjectured that Stasch must have written to the captain
and the doctor and told them where he and Nell were to be found. But
there were many things which it was impossible to explain. On the other
hand, Mr. Tarkowski clearly saw that this was not only _good_ news, but
_very_ good news, for otherwise the captain and the doctor would not
have dared to arouse their hopes, and besides, they would not have told
them to come to Mombasa.
The preparations for the journey were soon made, and on the second day
after receiving the telegrams both engineers, with Nell’s governess,
boarded a large steamer of the Peninsula and Orient Company, which was
on its way to India, and stopped en route at Aden, Mombasa, and
Zanzibar. In Aden a second telegram awaited them, which read: “The
children are safe in our care. The boy a hero!” After he had read it Mr.
Rawlison, nearly beside himself, continually repeated as he grasped Mr.
Tarkowski’s hand:
“You see—he saved her—I owe her life to him——” and Mr. Tarkowski
repressed his feelings, so as not to appear weak, compressed his lips,
and answered: “Yes, the boy has been brave,” and entering his cabin, he
wept for joy.
* * * * *
At last the moment came when the children threw themselves into the arms
of their fathers. Mr. Rawlison took his regained treasure in his arms,
and Mr. Tarkowski held his heroic boy pressed to his heart in a long
embrace. Their calamities had passed by as hurricanes and storms pass
over the desert. Life was once more filled with sunlight and happiness,
their longing and separation even increasing their present rejoicing.
But the children were greatly surprised that their fathers’ hair had
become quite white during the separation.
* * * * *
They returned to Suez on a French boat of the Messageries Maritimes,
which was crowded with passengers from the islands of Réunion,
Mauritius, and from Madagascar, and Zanzibar. When the news that there
were children on board who had been taken captive by the Dervishes and
escaped had become known, Stasch was made the center of general
curiosity and admiration. But the happy quartet preferred to shut
themselves up in the large cabin, which the captain had given up to
them, and pass the cool hours relating their adventures. Nell also took
part, chattering like a little bird, and to the great amusement of
everybody she commenced every sentence with “and.” Resting on her
father’s knees and raising her lovely eyes to him, she talked somewhat
like this: “And, papa, dear! And they carried us off and led us on
camels—and Gebhr beat me—and Stasch protected me—and we arrived in
Khartum—and there people died of hunger—and Stasch worked, so as to
get dates for me—and we were with the Mahdi—and Stasch would not
change his religion—and the Mahdi sent us to Fashoda—and then Stasch
killed a lion and all—and we lived in a large tree called “Cracow”—and
King was with us—and I had the fever—and Stasch cured me—and he
killed a wobo—and conquered the Samburus—and—papa, dear—he was
always very good to me——”
She also spoke of Kali, Mea, King, Saba, Linde and his mountain, and of
the kite sent up just previous to meeting the captain and the doctor.
Mr. Rawlison could with difficulty suppress his tears during this
chatter, pressed his child more closely to his heart; and Mr. Tarkowski
was so overcome with pride that he could not control himself, for even
from this childish talk it could readily be seen that had it not been
for the ability and energy of the boy the little one would have been
hopelessly lost, not only once, but many times.
Stasch gave an exact account of everything, and while telling of the
journey from Fashoda to the waterfall, a great load fell from his chest,
for when he told how he had shot Gebhr and his followers, he stopped and
looked uneasily at his father—but Mr. Tarkowski frowned, thought a
while, and then said gravely:
“Listen, Stasch! One ought never kill any one, but if any one threaten
your country, or the life of your mother or sister, or the life of a
woman placed in your care, then unquestionably shoot him, and without
any qualms of conscience—and never feel any remorse.”
* * * * *
On arriving at Port Said Mr. Rawlison and Nell went to England, where
they took up their residence. Stasch’s father sent him to a school in
Alexandria, for there his deeds and adventures were not so well known.
The children wrote to each other almost every day, but it so happened
that they did not see each other for ten years. After the boy had
completed his studies in Egypt he attended the Polytechnic School in
Zürich, and on receiving his diploma engaged in tunnel work in
Switzerland.
It was ten years later, when Mr. Tarkowski retired, that they both
visited their friends in England. Mr. Rawlison invited them to spend the
entire summer at his house near Hampton Court. Nell had passed her
eighteenth birthday, and had grown up a lovely girl, blooming like a
rose; and Stasch found, at the cost of his peace of mind, that a man of
twenty-four is not too young to think of the ladies. In fact, he thought
so continually of the beautiful and well-beloved Nell that he felt like
running off wherever his eyes would lead him and his feet would carry
him.
But one day Mr. Rawlison, laying both his hands on the young man’s
shoulders, looked into his eyes and said:
“Stasch, tell me. Is there any one in the world but you to whom I could
trust her so well?”
* * * * *
The young Tarkowski couple remained in England till the death of Mr.
Rawlison. A year later they started on a long journey. They had promised
themselves the pleasure of revisiting the places where they had spent
their childhood and had wandered as youngsters, so they first went to
Egypt. The kingdom of the Mahdi and Abdullah had long since
disintegrated, and after its ruin there came, as Captain Glen had said,
“England.” A railroad had been built from Cairo to Khartum. The places
which used to be overflowed by the Nile had been cleaned up, so that the
young couple were able to travel in a comfortable steamer not only as
far as Fashoda, but even to the large Victoria-Nyanza Lake. From the
town of Florence, which lay on the banks of this lake, they took the
train to Mombasa. Captain Glen and Dr. Clary had moved to Natal, but
under the good care of the English officials in Mombasa lived—King. The
giant immediately recognized his former masters, and he welcomed Nell
with such joyous trumpeting that the neighboring mangrove trees shook as
though before a wind. He also knew old Saba, who had lived to almost
twice the age allotted to dogs, and, though half blind now, accompanied
Stasch and Nell wherever they went.
Stasch also learned while there that Kali was doing well, that he ruled
under English protection over the whole territory south of Rudolf Lake,
and that he had invited missionaries to come into his land to preach
Christianity among the savage natives.
After completing this final long journey the young couple returned to
Europe, and taking Stasch’s father with them, they made their permanent
residence in Poland.
-----
Footnote 49:
Abdullah’s reign lasted ten years longer. The fatal stroke was given to
the Dervishes by Lord Kitchener, who, in a bloody battle, nearly
annihilated them, and razed the tomb of the Mahdi to the ground.
PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been fixed.
Inconsistency in hyphenation has been retained.
Inconsistency in accents has been fixed.
Moved the illustrations to the associated text, and removed the page
number references from them.
End of Project Gutenberg's Through the Desert, by Henryk Sienkiewicz