Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 474
God keep us from such consequences in Cairo, but meantime, though the Arabic newspapers are suppressed, the natives know that Ishmael’s host is coming on, and the effect of the rumour that has gone through the air like a breath of wind seems to be frantically intoxicating. I confess that the sense of that mighty human wave, sweeping down the red waters of the high Nile, coming on and on, as they think to the millennium, but as I know to death, sits on me, too, like a nightmare. It has the effect of the supernatural, and I ask myself what in the name of God I can do to prevent the collision that will occur between two forces that seem bent on destroying each other.
Something I must do, that is certain, and seeing that I am now the only one who knows what is being done on both sides, and that it is useless to appeal to either (my father or Ishmael), what I do must be done by me alone. Alone is a terrible word, Helena, but what I do I do, and the devil take the consequences.
I expect to get further information from Hafiz to-morrow, so (D. Y.) I’ll write my last letter to Bedrasheen, where, as I hear, you are to encamp. Look out for it there — I see something I may want you to do for me with Ishmael. Meantime, don’t be afraid of him. Remember that you belong to me, to me only, and that I’m thinking of you every hour and minute, and then nothing can go seriously astray. Good-bye, my beloved, my dear, my darling!
GORDON.
P. S. Is it not extraordinary, my dear Helena, that notwithstanding the torment I suffer at the thought of your position in Ishmael’s camp I continue to ask you to remain in it? But wait, only wait! Something good is going to happen! In-sha-allah!
XI
THE NILE (BETWEEN LUXOR AND BEDRASHEEN).
MY DEAR, DEAR GORDON: I saw your Hamid Ibrahim the moment I set foot in Luxor, and the way he passed your letter to me and I passed mine to him would have done credit to Charlie Bates and the Artful Dodger in the art of passing “a wipe.”
I really think we escaped the eyes of this odious Arab woman, but I am bound to add that almost as soon as I got back to the boat, and began to read your letter and to weep tears of joy over it, I was conscious of a shadow at the mouth of my cabin, and it was she, the daughter of a dog!
No matter! Who the dickens cares! I shall be gone from here before the woman can do me any mischief, and if I am still in Ishmael’s camp it is only because you said you were sending your last letter to Bedrasheen, so, you see, I had no choice but to come on.
What you tell me of the course of affairs in Cairo only fills me with hatred of the Grand Cadi (“whom Allah damn”), and I find that I exhaust my Christianity in finding names that seem suitable to “his Serenity” — beginning, of course, with the fourth letter of the English alphabet.
I see already what you are going to do, and when I think of it I feel like a shocking coward. If you cannot work with the Consul-General I suppose you will work without him, perhaps against him, and a conflict between you and your father is the tragedy I always foresaw. It will be the end of one or both of you, and I am trembling at the bare thought.
Oh, I know you are the bravest thing God ever made, and at the same time the most unselfish, but I sometimes wish to Heaven you were not — though I suppose in that event you would fall from your godlike pedestal, and I should not love you so much if I admired you less.
We left Luxor immediately, for although there were still three days to spare before the day of the “festivities,” and the river was racing down fast enough to carry a fleet of war, the people were in a fever to reach the end of their journey, so Ishmael consented to go on without a rest.
I find the whole thing more frightening than ever, now that we are so near to the end, for I suppose it is certain that whatever else happens, this vast horde of Ishmael’s fanatical followers will never be allowed to enter Cairo, and it will be impossible to convince the Consul-General and the Government that they are not coming as an armed force. Then what will the people do? What will they say to Ishmael? And if Ishmael suspects treachery what will he say? What will he say to me? But no matter — I shall be gone before that can occur.
It is now eleven o’clock at night, yet I cannot sleep, so I shall sit up all night and see the rising of the Southern Cross. A silver slip of a moon has just appeared, and by its shimmering light our vast fleet seems to be floating down the river like ships in a dream. Such calm, such silence! Phantoms of houses, of villages, of funereal palms gliding in ghostly muteness past us! Sometimes an obelisk goes like a dark skeleton down the bank — vestige of a vanished civilisation as full, perhaps, of delusive faith as ours. What is God doing with us all, I wonder? Why does He....
II
Another thrilling moment! I must tell you — I cannot help myself.
You may have gathered that since the scene in the tent on the desert Ishmael has left me alone, but last night he came again.
That grim woman had gone to her crib somewhere outside, and I was writing to you as you see above, when suddenly in the silence, broken by nothing but the snores of the men in the hold, the lapping of the -water against the side of the boat and the occasional voice of the Reis at the rudder, I heard a soft step which I have learned to know.
“Rani!” said a voice outside, and in a moment the canvas of my cabin was drawn and Ishmael was sitting by my side.
There was a look in his eyes that told of depths of tenderness, not to speak of consuming emotion, but at first he talked calmly. He began by speaking of you. It seems he had had news of you at Assouan, that you were staying at the Chancellor of El Azhar’s house, and that the Old Chancellor had no words warm enough for your wisdom and courage. Neither had Ishmael, who said the whole Mohammedan world was praising you.
I really believe he loves you, and I was beginning to melt toward him, thinking how much more he would worship you if he only knew what you had really done for him, when — heigh-ho! — he began to speak of me and to return to his old subject. Love was a God-given passion, and he was looking forward to the end of his work, when he might give himself up to it. His vow of chastity and consecration would then be annulled and he could live the life of a man!
Very tender, very delicate, but very warm and dreadfully Oriental. My nerves were tingling all over, and I was feeling shockingly weak and womanish while the great powerful man sat beside me, and when he talked about children, saying a woman without them was like a tree without fruit, I found myself for the first time in my life in actual physical terror.
At last he rose to go, and before I knew what he was doing he had flung his arms around me and kissed me, and when I recovered myself he was gone.
Then all the physical repulsion I spoke of before arose in me again, and at the same moment, as if by a whirlwind of emotion, I remembered you, and my strength came back.
I have often wondered what sort of horror it must be to the woman who is married to an unfaithful husband or to a drunkard, to have him come in his uncleanness to claim her, and now (though Ishmael is neither of these, but merely a man who has “rights” in me) I think I know.
No matter! I am not afraid of Ishmael any longer, so you need not be afraid for me. It is not for nothing that I have Jewish blood in me, and if Ishmael attempts to force me, as surely as I am a daughter of Zion, I will — well, never mind! Dreadful? Perhaps so. Jezebel? I cannot help it. My husband? No, no, no; and if destiny has put me into the position of his wife, I despise and intend to defy it.
III
Of course I did not sleep a wink last night, but I crept out of my hiding-place under the high prow of the boat, when the dawn came up like a bride robed in pearly gray and blushing rosy red. By that time we were nearing Bedrasheen, and now we are moored alongside of it, and the people are beginning to land, for it seems they are to camp at Sakkara, in order to be in a position to see the light which is to shine from the minaret of Mohammed Ali.
Such joy, such rapture! Men with the madra pole sounding the depths of the water: men with sculls pushing the boats ashore; all shouting in strident voices, or singing in guttural tones!
Soon, very soon, their hopes will be blighted. Will they ever know by whom? I wonder if anybody will tell them about that letter? Where is Mosie? I trust the Consul-General may keep him in Cairo. The boy is as true as steel, but with this woman to question him!... My God, make her meet a fate as black as her heart, the huzzy!
But why do I trouble about this? It matters nothing to me what becomes of the Arab woman, or of the Egyptians, or of the Soudanese, or even of Ishmael himself — the whole boiling of them, as you say. I know I’m heartless, but I can’t help it. The only question of any consequence is what is happening to you. After all, it was I who put you where you are, and it is quite enough for me to reproach myself with that.
What is the Government doing to you? What has your father done? What is going on among the descendants of the creeping things that came out of the Ark?
I cannot see Hamid among the crowd on the land, but I hope to find him as soon as I go ashore. If I miss him in the fearful chaos I suppose I shall have to go on to the camp, for, besides my anxiety to receive your letter, I am living under the strongest conviction that there is something for me to do for you, and that it has not been for nothing that I have gone through the bog and slush of this semi-barbaric life.
There! You see what you’ve done for me! You’ve given me as strong a belief in the “mystic sense” as you have yourself, and as firm a faith in fatality.
No sign of Hamid yet! Never mind! Don’t be afraid for me — I am all right.
Gordon, my dear, my dear — dear, good-bye!
HELENA.
XII
FOR more than three weeks the Consul-General had kept his own counsel, and not even to the Sirdar, whom he saw daily, did he reveal the whole meaning of his doings.
When the Sirdar had come to say that through the Soudan Intelligence Department in Cairo he had heard that Ishmael and his vast company had left Khartoum, and that the Inspector-General was of opinion that the pilgrimage must be stopped or it would cause trouble, the Consul-General had said:
“No! Let the man come on. We shall he ready to receive him.”
Again, when the Governor at Assouan, hearing of the approach of the ever-increasing horde of Soudanese had telegraphed for troops to keep them out of Egypt, the Consul-General had replied:
“Leave them alone, and mind your own business.”
Finally, when the Commandant of Police at Cairo had come with looks of alarm to say that a thousand open boats, all packed with people, were sailing down the river like an invading army, and that if they attempted to enter the city the native police could not be relied upon to resist them, the Consul-General had said:
“Don’t be afraid. I have made other arrangements.” Meantime, the great man who seemed to be so calm on the outside was white hot within. Every day, while Ishmael was in the Soudan, and every hour after the Prophet had entered Egypt, he had received telegrams from his Inspectors saying where the pilgrimage was and what was happening to it. So great, indeed, had been the fever of his anxiety that he had caused a telegraphic tape to be fixed up in his bedroom that in the middle of the night, if need be, he might rise and read the long white slips.
A few days before the date fixed for the festivities, one of the Inspectors of the Ministry of the Interior came to tell him that there were whispers of a conspiracy that had been blown upon, with hushed rumours of some bitter punishment which the Consul-General was preparing for those who had participated in it. As a consequence a number of the Notables and certain of the diplomats were rapidly leaving the country, nearly every train containing some of them. A sombre fire shone in the great man’s eyes while he listened to this, but he only answered with a sinister smile:
“The air of Egypt doesn’t agree with them perhaps. Let them go. They’ll be lucky if they live to come back.”
As soon as the Inspector was gone the Consul-General sent for his Secretary and asked what acceptances had been received of the invitations to the King’s Dinner, whereupon the Secretary’s face fell and he replied that there had been many excuses.
Half the diplomats had pleaded calls from their own countries, and half the Pashas had protested with apologetic prayers that influenza or funerals in their families would compel them to decline. The Ministers had accepted, as they needs must, but, with a few exceptions, the Ulema, after endless invocations to God and the Prophet, had, on various grounds, begged to be excused.
“And the exceptions — which are they?” asked the Consul-General.
“The Chancellor of El Azhar, his guest the Sheikh Omar Benani, the Grand Mufti and...”
“Good! All goes well,” said the Consul-General. “Make a list of the refusals, and let me have it on the day of the dinner.”
Before that day there was much to do, and on the day immediately preceding it the British Agency received a stream of visitors. The first to come by appointment was the English Adviser to the Ministry of Justice.
“I wish you,” said the Consul-General, “to summon the new Special-Tribunal to hold a court in Cairo at ten o’clock to-morrow night.”
“Ten o’clock to-morrow night? Did your lordship say fen?” asked the Adviser.
“Don’t I speak plainly?” replied the Consul-General, whereupon the look of bewilderment on the Adviser’s face broke up into an expression of embarrassment and his desire to ask further questions was crushed.
The next visitor to come by appointment was the British Adviser to the Minister of the Interior, the tall young Englishman on whose red hair the red fez sat strangely.
“I wish you,” said the Consul-General, “to arrange that the gallows be got out and set up after dark to-morrow night in the square in front of the Governorat.”
“The square in front of the Governorat?” repeated the Adviser, in tones of astonishment. “Does your lordship forget that public execution within the city is no longer legal?”
“Damn it, I’ll make it legal,” replied the Consul-General, whereupon the red head under the red fez bowed itself out of the library without waiting to ask who was to be hanged.
The next visitor to come to the Agency by appointment was the burly Commandant of Police.
“You still hold your warrant for the arrest of Ishmael Ameer?” asked the Consul-General.
“I do, my lord.”
“Then come to Ghezirah to-morrow night and be ready to receive my orders.”
Then came the Colonel who, since the death of General Graves, had been placed in temporary command of the Army of Occupation.
“Is everything in order?”
“Everything, my lord.”
“All your regiments now in the country can arrive at Calioub by the last train to-morrow night?”
“All of them.”
“Then wait there yourself until you hear from me. I shall speak to you over the telephone from Ghezirah. On receiving my message you will cause fifty rounds of ammunition to be issued to your men and then march them into the city and line them up in the principal thoroughfares. Let them stay there as long as they may be required to do so — all night if necessary — and if there is unrest or armed resistance on the part of the populace, of the native army, or of people coming into the town, you will promptly put it down. You understand?”
“I understand, my lord.”
“But wait for my telephone call. Don’t let one man stir out of barracks until you receive it. Mind that. Good-bye!”
The better part of the day was now gone, yet so great had been the Consul-General’s impatience that he had not even yet broken his fast, although Fatimah, who alone would have been permitted to do so, had repeatedly entered his room to remind him that his meals were ready.
At sunset he went up to the roof of his house. Every day for nearly a week he had done this, taking a telescope in his hand that he might look down the river for the mighty octopus of demented people who were soon to come. Yesterday he had seen them for the first time — a vast flotilla of innumerable native boats, with white three-cornered sails, stretching far down the Mile, as a flight of birds of passage might stretch along the sky.
Now the people were encamped on the desert between Bedrasheen and Sakkara, a sinuous line of speckled white and black on the golden yellow of the sand, looking like a great serpent encircling the city on the south. As a serpent they fascinated the Consul-General when he looked at them, but not with fear, so sure was he that, by the machinery he had set to work, the vermin would soon be trampled into the earth.
There they were, he thought, an armed force, the scourings of the Soudan, under the hypnotic sway of a fanatic-hypocrite, waiting to fall on the city and to destroy its civilisation. In every saddle-bag a rifle; in every gebah a copy of the Koran; in every heart a spirit of hatred and revenge.
Since the Grand Cadi had told him of the conspiracy to establish an Arab Empire, the Consul-General’s mind had evolved developments of the devilish scheme. The practical heart of the matter was Pan-Islamism, a combination of all the Moslem peoples to resist the Christian nations. Therefore, in the great historical drama which he was soon to play, he would be seen to be the saviour not only of England and of Europe and of civilisation, but even of Christianity itself!
It would be a life and death struggle, in which cruel things could not fail, but the issues were world-great, and therefore he would not shrink. He who wanted the end must not think too much about the means.
Ishmael? The gallows in the square of the Governorat! Why not? The man might have begun as a mere paid emissary of the Khedive, but having developed the Mahdist malady, a belief in his own divinity, he meant to throw off his allegiance to his master and proclaim himself as Caliph. Therefore they must hang him — hang him before the eyes of his followers, and fling his “divine” body into the Nile!
As the Consul-General stepped down from the roof Ibrahim met him with a letter from the Grand Cadi saying he found himself suspected by his own people, and therefore begged to be excused from attendance at the King’s Dinner, but sent this secret message to warn his Excellency that by the plotting of his enemies the Kasr el Nil bridge, which connected Ghezirah with Cairo, would be opened immediately after the beginning of the festival.
