Donovan Pasha And Some People Of Egypt, Complete - Gilbert Parker
"Fer choice I'll take the sod uv Erin to the sand uv the Soudan," said
Coolin.
"Ye'll take what ye can get, Coolin; fer wid a splinterin' bullet in y'r
gizzard ye lie where ye fall."
"But Mary Haggarty, Connor?"
"I was drinkin' hard, ye understand, Coolin--drinkin', loike a
dhromedairy--ivery day enough to last a wake, an' Mary tryin' to stop me
betimes. At last I tuk the pledge--an' her on promise. An' purty, purty
she looked thin, an' shtepping light an' fine, an' the weddin' was coming
an. But wan day there was a foire, an' the police coort was burned down,
an' the gaol was that singed they let the b'ys out, an' we rushed the
police an' carried off the b'ys, an'--"
"An' ye sweltered in the juice!" broke in Coolin with flashing eyes,
proud to have roused Connor to this secret tale, which he would tell to
the Berkshires as long as they would listen, that it should go down
through a long line of Berkshires, as Coolin's tale of William Connor.
"An' I sweltered in the swill," said Connor, his eye with a cast quite
shut with emotion, and the other nearly so. "An' wance broke out agin
afther tin months' goin' wake and watery, was like a steer in the corn.
There was no shtoppin' me, an'--"
"Not Mary Haggarty aither?"
"Not Mary Haggarty aither."
"O, William Connor dear!"
"Ye may well say, 'O, William Connor dear!' 'Twas what she said day by
day, an' the heart uv me loike Phararyoh's. Thrue it is, Coolin, that the
hand uv mortial man has an ugly way uv squazin' a woman's heart dry whin,
at last, to his coaxin' she lays it tinder an' onsuspectin' on the inside
grip uv it."
"But the heart uv Mary Haggarty, Connor?"
"'Twas loike a flower under y'r fut, Coolin, an' a heavy fut is to you.
She says to me wan day, 'Ye're breakin' me heart, William Connor,' says
she. 'Thin I'll sodder it up agin wid the help uv the priest,' says I.
'That ye will not do,' says she; 'wance broken, 'tis broke beyond
mendin'.' 'Go an wid ye, Mary Haggarty darlin',' says I, laughin' in her
face, 'hivin is y'r home.' 'Yes, I'll be goin' there, William Connor,'
says she, 'I'll be goin' there betimes, I hope.' 'How will it be?' says
I; 'be fire or wateer, Mary darlin'?' says I. 'Ye shall know whin it
comes,' says she, wid a quare look in her eye."
"An' ye did?" asked Coolin, open-mouthed and staring; for never had he
seen Connor with aught on his face but a devil-may-care smile.
"Ordered away we was next avenin', an' sorra the glimpse of Mary Haggarty
to me--for Headquarters is a lady that will not be denied. Away we wint
overseas. Shlapin' I was wan night in a troop-ship in the Bay uv Biscay;
an' I dramed I saw Mary walkin' along the cliff by--well, 'tis no matter,
fer ye've niver been there, an 'tis no place to go to unheedin'. Manny
an' manny a time I'd walked wid Mary Haggarty there. There's a steep hill
betune two pints uv land. If ye go low on't ye're safe enough--if ye go
high it crumbles, an' down ye shlip a hunder fut into the say. In me
drame I saw Mary onthinkin', or thinkin' maybe about me an' not about the
high path or the low--though 'tis only the low that's used these twinty
years. Her head was down. I tried to call her. She didn't hear, but wint
an an' an. All at wanst I saw the ground give way. She shlipped an'
snatched at the spinifex. Wan minnit she held, an' thin slid down, down
into the say. An' I woke callin' 'Mary--Mary' in me throat."
"Ye dramed it wance only, Connor?" said Coolin, with the insolent grin
gone out of his eyes.
"I dramed it three times, an' the last time, whin I waked, I felt a cold
wind go over me. Thin a hand touched me face--the same as you, Coolin,
the same as you. Drames are thrue things, Coolin."
"It was thrue, thin, Connor?"
A look of shame and a curious look of fear crept into Coolin's face; for
though it was not true he had dreamed of the hand on his face and the
cold wind blowing over him, it was true he had dreamed he saw Connor
lying on the ground with a bullet-hole in his tunic. But Coolin, being
industrious at his trencher, often had dreams, and one more or less
horrible about Connor had not seemed to him to matter at all. It had
sufficed, however, to give him a cue to chaff the man who had knocked the
wind out of Subadar Goordit Singh, and who must pay for it one hour or
another in due course, as Coolin and the Berkshires knew full well.
"It was thrue, thin, William Connor?" repeated Coolin.
"As thrue as that yander tripod pump kills wan man out uv ivery fifty. As
thrue as that y'r corn-beef from y'r commysariat tins gives William
Connor thirst, Coolin."
"She was drownded, Connor?" asked Coolin in a whisper.
"As I dramed it, an' allowin' fer difference uv time, at the very hour,
Coolin. 'Tis five years ago, an' I take it hard that Mary Haggarty spakes
to me through you. 'Tis a warnin', Coolin."
"'Twas a lie I told you, Connor--'twas a lie!" And Coolin tried to grin.
Connor's voice was like a woman's, soft and quiet, as he answered: "Ye'll
lie fast enough, Coolin, whin the truth won't sarve; but the truth has
sarved its turn this time."
"Aw, Connor dear, only wan half's thrue. As I'm a man--only wan half."
"Go an to y'r condinsation, Coolin, fer the face uv ye's not fit fer
dacint company, wan side paralytic wid lyin', an' the other struck simple
wid tellin' the truth. An' see, Coolin, fer the warnin' she give ye fer
me, the kit I lave is yours, an' what more, be the will uv God! An' what
ye've told me ye'll kape to y'self, Coolin, or hell shall be your
portion."
"He tuk it fer truth an' a warnin', an' he would not be denied," said
Coolin to Henry Withers, of the Sick Horse Depot, two hours afterwards,
when the Berkshires and the Sikhs and the Bengalese were on the march
towards Tamai.
"The bloomin' trick is between the Hadendowas and the Subadar," answered
he of the Sick Horse Depot. "Ye take it fer a warnin', thin?" asked
Coolin uneasily.
"I believe you," answered Henry Withers.
As for William Connor, when he left Suakim, his foot was light, his
figure straight, and he sent a running fire of laughter through his
company by one or two "insinsible remarks," as Coolin called them.
Three hours' marching in the Soudan will usually draw off the froth of a
man's cheerfulness, but William Connor was as light of heart at Tofrik as
at Suakim, and he saw with pleasure two sights--the enemy in the distance
and the 15th Sikhs on their right flank, with Subadar Goordit Singh in
view.
"There's work 'ere to-day for whoever likes it on the 'op!" said Henry
Withers, of the Sick Horse Depot, as he dragged his load of mimosa to the
zeriba; for he had got leave to come on with his regiment.
"You'll find it 'otter still when the vedettes and Cossack Posts come
leadin' in the Osnum Digners. If there ain't hoscillations on that
rectangle, strike me in the night-lights!" said Corporal Bagshot, with
his eye on the Bengalese. "Blyme, if the whole bloomin' parallogram don't
shiver," he added; "for them Osnum Digners 'as the needle, and they're
ten to one, or I'm a bloater!"
"There's Gardner guns fer the inimy an' Lushai dandies fer us," broke in
Connor, as he drove a stake in the ground, "wet without and dry within--
an' Gardner guns are divils on the randan. Whin they get to work it's
like a self-actin' abbatoir."
"I 'opes ye like it, Connor. Bloomin' picnic for you when the Osnum
Digners eat sand. What ho!"
"I have no swarms of conscience there, Billy Bag; shot. For the bones uv
me frinds that's lyin' in this haythen land, I'll clane as fur as I can
reach. An' I'll have the run uv me belt to-day, an--" he added, then
stopped short as the order came from McNeill that the Berkshires should
receive dinner by half-battalions.
"An' 'igh time," said Corporal Bagshot. "What with marchin' and
zeribakin' and the sun upon me tank since four this mornin', I'm dead for
food and buried for water. I ain't no bloomin' salamanker to be grilled
and say thank-ye, and I ain't no bloomin' camomile to bring up me larder
and tap me tank when Coolin's commissaryat hasn't no orders."
"Shure ye'll run better impty, Billy boy," said Connor. "An' what fer do
ye need food before y'r execution?" he added, with a twist of his mouth.
"Before execution, ye turkey-cock--before execution is the time to eat
and drink. How shall the bloomin' carnage gore the Libyan sands, if there
ain't no refreshment for the vitals and the diagrams?"
"Come an wid ye to y'r forage-cake, thin-an' take this to ye," added
Connor slyly, as he slipped a little nickel-plated flask into Billy
Bagshot's hand.
"With a Woking crematory in y'r own throat. See you bloomin' furder!"
answered Billy Bagshot.
"I'm not drinkin' to-day," answered Connor, with a curious look in the
eye that had no cast. "I'm not drinkin', you understand."
"Ain't it a bit momentary?" asked Bagshot, as they sat down.
"Momentary betimes," answered Connor evasively. "Are you eatin' at this
bloomin' swaree, then?"
"I'm niver aff me forage-cake," answered Connor, and he ate as if he had
had his tooth in nothing for a month.
A quarter of an hour later, the Sikhs were passing the Berkshire zeriba,
and the Berkshires, filing out, joined them to cut brushwood. A dozen
times the Subadar Goordit Singh almost touched shoulders with Connor, but
neither spoke, and neither saw directly; for if once they saw each
other's eyes the end might come too soon, to the disgrace of two
regiments.
Suddenly, the forbidden song on William Connor and the Subadar arose
among the Berkshires. No one knew who started it, but it probably was
Billy Bagshot, who had had more than a double portion of drink, and was
seized with a desire to celebrate his thanks to Connor thus.
In any case the words ran along the line, and were carried up in a shout
amid the crackling of the brushwood:
"Where was the shame of it,
Where was the blame of it,
William Connor dear?"
That sort of special providence which seems to shelter the unworthy, gave
India and the Berkshires honour that hour when the barometer registered
shame; for never was mercury more stormy than shot up in the artery of
two men's wills when that song rose over the zeriba at Tofrik. They were
not fifty feet apart at the time, and at the lilt of that chorus they
swung towards each other like two horses to the bugle on parade.
"A guinea to a brown but Janders goes large!" said Billy Bagshot under
his breath, his eye on the Subadar and repenting him of the song.
But Janders did not go large; for at that very moment there came the
bugle-call for the working parties to get into the zeriba, as from the
mimosa scrub came hundreds upon hundreds of "Osnum Digners" hard upon the
heels of the vedettes.
"The Hadendowas 'as the privilege," said Billy Bagshot, as the Berkshires
and the Sikhs swung round and made for the zeriba.
"What's that ye say?" cried Connor, as the men stood to their arms.
"Looked as if the bloomin' hontray was with the Subadar, but the
Hadendowas 'as the honour to hinvite sweet William!"
"Murther uv man--look--look, ye Berkshire boar! The Bengals is breakin'
line!"
"Oscillations 'as begun!" said Bagshot, as, disorganised by the vedettes
riding through their flank into the zeriba, the Bengalese wavered.
"'Tis your turn now--go an to y'r gruel!" said Connor, as Bagshot with
his company and others were ordered to move over to the Bengalese and
steady them.
"An' no bloomin' sugar either," Bagshot called back as he ran.
"Here's to ye thin!" shouted Connor, as the enemy poured down on their
zeriba on the west and the Bengalese retreated on them from the east, the
Billy Bagshot detachment of Berkshires rallying them and firing steadily,
the enemy swarming after and stampeding the mules and camels. Over the
low bush fence, over the unfinished sand-bag parapet at the southwest
salient, spread the shrieking enemy like ants, stabbing and cutting. The
Gardner guns, as Connor had said, were "fer the inimy," but the Lushai
dandies were for the men that managed them that day; for the enemy came
too soon--in shrieking masses to a hand-to-hand melee.
What India lost that hour by the Bengalese the Sikhs won back. Side by
side with them the Berkshires cursed and raged and had their way; and
when the Sikhs drew over and laid themselves along the English lines a
wild cheer went up from the Berkshires. Wounded men spluttered their
shouts from mouths filled with blood, and to the welcoming roars of the
Berkshires the Sikhs showed their teeth in grim smiles, "and done
things," as Billy Bagshot said when it was all over.
But by consent of every man who fought under McNeill that day, the
biggest thing done among the Sikhs happened in the fiercest moment of the
rush on the Berkshire zeriba. Billy Bagshot told the story that night,
after the Lushai dandies had carried off the wounded and the sands of the
desert had taken in the dead.
"Tyke it or leave it, 'e 'ad the honours of the day," said Bagshot, "'e
and Janders--old Subadar Goordit Singh. It myde me sick to see them
Bengalesey, some of 'em 'ookin' it to Suakim, some of 'em retirin' on the
seraphim, which is another name for Berkshires. It ain't no sweet levee
a-tryin' to rally 'eathen 'ands to do their dooty. So we 'ad to cover 'em
back into the zeriba of the seraphim--which is our glorious selves. A
bloomin' 'asty puddin' was that tournamong, but it wasn't so bloomin'
'asty that the Subadar and William Connor didn't finish what they started
for to do when the day was young."
"Did Janders stick the b'y?" asked Coolin, who had just come in from
Suakim with the Commissariat camels. "Shure, I hope to God he didn't!" He
was pale and wild of eye.
"Did a bloomin' sparrow give you 'is brains when you was changed at
birth? Stick William Connor--I believe you not! This is what 'appened, me
bloomin' sanitary. When I got back be'ind the 'eavenly parapet, there was
William Connor in a nice little slaughter-house of 'is own. 'E was doin'
of 'isself proud--too busy to talk. All at once 'e spies a flag the Osnum
Digners 'ad planted on the 'eavenly parapet. 'E opens 'is mouth and gives
one yell, and makes for that bit of cotton. 'E got there, for 'e would
not be denied. 'E got there an' 'e couldn't get back. But 'e made a rush
for it--"
"A divil he was on rushes," broke in Private Coolin, wiping his mouth
nervously.
"'E's the pride of 'is 'ome and the bloomin' brigade, bar one, which is
the Subadar Goordit Singh. For w'en the Subadar sees Connor in 'is 'ole,
a cut across 'is jaw, doin' of 'is trick alone, away goes Subadar Goordit
Singh and two of 'is company be'ind 'im for to rescue. 'E cut with 'is
sword like a bloomin' picture. 'E didn't spare 'is strength, and 'e
didn't spare the Osnum Digners. An' 'e comeback, an' he brought with him
William Connor--that's all what come back."
"How long did William live?" asked Coolin. "He was a good frind to me was
Connor, a thrue frind he was to me. How long did the b'y live?"
"'E lived long enough to 'ave McNeill shake 'im by the 'and. 'E lived long
enough to say to the Subadar Goordit Singh, 'I would take scorn uv me to
lave widout askin' y'r pardon, Subadar.' And the Subadar took 'is 'and
and salaamed, and showed 'is teeth, which was meant friendly."
"What else did Connor say?" asked Coolin, eagerly.
"'E said 'is kit was for you that's spoilin' a good name in the
condinsation of the Commissaryat, Coolin."
"But what else?" urged Coolin. "Nothin' about a drame at all?"
"Who's talkin' about dreams!" said Bagshot. "'E wasn't no bloomin' poet.
'E was a man. What 'e said 'e said like a man. 'E said 'e'd got word from
Mary--which is proper that a man should do when 'e's a-chuckin' of 'is
tent-pegs. If 'e ain't got no mother--an' Connor 'adn't 'is wife or 'is
sweetheart 'as the honour."
"Oh, blessed God," said Coolin, "I wish I hadn't towld him--I wish I
hadn't towld the b'y."
"Told 'im wot?" said Bagshot.
But Coolin of the Commissariat did not answer; his head was on his arms,
and his arms were on his knees.
THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK
"'E was a flower," said Henry Withers of the Sick Horse Depot.
"A floower in front garden!" ironically responded Holgate, the Yorkshire
engineer, as he lay on his back on the lower deck of the Osiris, waiting
for Fielding Pasha's orders to steam up the river.
"'E was the bloomin' flower of the flock," said Henry Withers, with a
cross between a yawn and a sigh, and refusing to notice Holgate's
sarcasm.
"Aw've heerd on 'em, the floowers o' the flock--they coom to a bad end
mostwise in Yorkshire--nipped in t' bood loike! Was tha friend nipped
untimely?"
"I'd give a bloomin' camomile to know!"
"Deserted or summat?"
"Ow yus, 'e deserted--to Khartoum," answered Withers with a sneer.
"The 'owlin' sneak went in 'idin' with Gordon at Khartoum!"
"Aye, aw've heerd o' Gordon a bit," said Holgate dubiously, intent to
further anger the Beetle, as Henry Withers was called.
"Ow yus, ow verily yus! An' y've 'eard o' Julius Caesar, an'
Nebucha'nezzar, an' Florence Noightingyle, 'aven't you--you wich is
chiefly bellyband and gullet."
"Aye, aw've eaten too mooch to-day," rejoined Holgate placidly, refusing
to see insult. "Aw don't see what tha friend was doin' at Khartoum wi'
Goordon."
"'E was makin' Perry Davis' Pain Killer for them at 'ome who wouldn't send
Gordon 'elp when the 'eathen was at 'is doors a 'underd to one. 'E was
makin' it for them to soothe their bloomin' pains an' sorrers when Gordon
an' Macnamara 'ad cried 'elp! for the lawst toime!"
"Aw've taken off ma hat to Goordon's nevvy-he be a fine man-head for
macheens he has"-Holgate's eyes dwelt on his engine lovingly; "but aw've
heerd nowt o' Macnamara-never nowt o' him. Who was Macnamara?"
"'E was the bloomin' flower of the flock-'e was my pal as took service in
the Leave-me-alone-to-die Regiment at Khartoum."
"Aw've never read o' Macnamara. Dost think tha'll ever know how he went?"
"I ain't sayin' 'as 'e went, an' I ain't thinkin' as 'e went. I'm waitin'
like a bloomin' telegarpher at the end of a wire. 'E was the pick o'
fifteen 'underd men was Macnamara."
"What sent t' laad to Goordon?"
"A-talkin' of 'isself silly to two lydies at onct."
"Aye, theer's the floower o' the flock. Breakin' hearts an' spoilin'
lives--aw've seen them floowers bloomin'."
"'E didn't break no witherin' 'earts, an' 'e didn't spoil no lives. The
lydies was both married afore Macnamara got as far as Wady Halfar. 'E
break 'earts--not much! 'E went to Khartoum to be quiet."
"Aw'm pityin' the laads that married them lasses."
"'Ere, keep your bloomin' pity. I wuz one. An' if your pity's 'urtin'
yer, think of 'im as 'adn't no wife nor kid to say when 'e's dead, 'Poor
Peter Macnamara, 'e is gone."'
"A good job too, aw'm thinkin'."
"An' a bloornin' 'ard 'eart y' 'ave. Wantin' of a man to die without
leavin' 'is mark--'is bleedin' 'all mark on the world. I 'ave two--two
kids I 'ave; an' so 'elp me Gawd, things bein' as they are, I wouldn't
say nothin' if one of 'em was Macnamara's--wich it ain't--no fear!"
"Was Macnamara here you wouldn't say thaat to his faace, aw'm thinkin'."
"I'd break 'is 'ulkin' neck first. I ain't puttin' these things on the
'oardins, an' I ain't thinkin' 'em, if 'ee's alive in the clutches of the
'eathen Kalifer at Homdurman. There's them as says 'e is, an' there's
them as says 'e was cut down after Gordon. But it's only Gawd-forsaken
Arabs as says it, an' they'll lie wichever way you want 'em."
"Aye, laad, but what be great foolks doin' at Cairo? They be sendin'
goold for Slatin an' Ohrwalder by sooch-like heathen as lie to you. If
Macnamara be alive, what be Macnamara doin'? An' what be Wingate an'
Kitchener an' great foolks at Cairo doin'?"
"They're sayin', 'Macnamara, 'oos 'e? 'E ain't no class. 'Oo wants
Macnamara!'"
Holgate raised himself on his elbow, a look of interest in his face,
which he tried to disguise. "See, laad," he said, "why does tha not send
messenger thaself--a troosty messenger?"
"'Ere, do you think I'm a bloomin' Crosus? I've done the trick twice-ten
pounds o' loot once, an' ten golden shillin's another. Bloomin' thieves
both of 'em--said they wuz goin' to Homdurman, and didn't not much! But
one of 'em went to 'eaven with cholery, an' one is livin' yet with a
crooked leg, with is less than I wuz workin' for."
Holgate was sitting bolt upright now. "Didst tha save them ten sooverins
to get news o' Macnamara, laad?"
"Think I bloomin' well looted 'em--go to 'ell!" said Henry Withers of the
Sick Horse Depot, and left the lower deck of the Osiris in a fit of
sudden anger.
II
Up in Omdurman Peter Macnamara knew naught of this. He ran behind his
master's horse, he sat on his master's mat, he stood in the sun before
his master's door, barefooted and silent and vengeful in his heart, but
with a grin on his face. When Khartoum fell he and Slatin had been thrown
into the Saier loaded with irons. Then, when the Mahdi died he had been
made the slave of the Khalifa's brother, whose vanity was flattered by
having a European servant. The Khalifa Abdullah being angry one day with
his brother, vented his spite by ordering Macnamara back to prison again.
Later the Khalifa gave him to a favourite Emir for a servant; but that
service was of short duration, for on a certain morning Macnamara's
patience gave way under the brutality of his master, and he refused to
help him on his horse. This was in the presence of the Khalifa, and
Abdullah was so delighted at the discomfiture of the Emir that he saved
the Irishman's life, and gave him to Osman Wad Adam, after he had been in
irons three months and looked no better than a dead man. Henceforth
things went better, for Osman Wad Adam was an Arab with a sense of
humour, very lazy and very licentious, and Macnamara's Arabic was a
source of enjoyment to him in those hours when he did nothing but smoke
and drink bad coffee. Also Macnamara was an expert with horses, and had
taught the waler, which Osman Wad Adam had looted from Khartoum, a number
of admired tricks.
Macnamara wished many a time that he could take to the desert with the
waler; but the ride that he must ride to Wady Halfa was not for a horse.
None but a camel could do it. Besides, he must have guides, and how was
he to pay guides? More than once he had tried to get a word with Slatin,
but that was dangerous for them both--most dangerous for Slatin, who was
now the servant of the Khalifa Abdullah himself. Slatin was always
suspected, and was therefore watched carefully; but the Khalifa knew that
Macnamara had no chance to escape, for he had no friends in Cairo, no
money, and no more could have bought a camel than a kingdom. Escaping
from the city itself, he could but die in the desert.
He had only one Arab friend--little Mahommed Nafar the shoemaker. The
shoemaker was friendly to him for a great kindness done in the days when
they both lived in Khartoum and ere the Arab deserted to the camp of the
Mahdi. But what help could Mahommed Nafar give him unless he had money?
With plenty of money the shoemaker might be induced to negotiate with
Arab merchants coming from Dongola or Berber into Omdurman to get camels,
and arrange an escape down the desert to Wady Halfa; but where was the
money to come from?
One day, at a great review, when the roar of the drums rivalled the
hoarse shouts of the Mahdists, and the Baggaras, for a diversion, looted
one quarter of the town, Macnamara was told by his master that Slatin had
been given by the Khalifa to Mahommed Sherif, and was going to Darfur. As
a kind of farewell barbecue, whether or not intended by the Khalifa as a
warning to his departing general, ten prisoners had their feet and hands
cut off in the Beit-el-Mal, and five lost their heads as well as their
hands and feet.
"It makes my blood run cold," said Slatin softly in English, as Macnamara
passed him, walking at his master's stirrup.
"Mine's boilin', sir!" answered Macnamara.
Slatin's eyes took on a more cheerful look than they usually carried, for
it was many a day since he had been addressed with respect, and the "sir"
touched a mellow chord within him--memory of the days when he was
Governor of Darfur. Suddenly he saw the Khalifa's eyes fixed on
Macnamara, and the look, for a wonder, was not unfriendly. It came to him
that perhaps the Khalifa meant to take Macnamara for his own servant, for
it flattered his vanity to have a white man at his stirrup and on his
mat. He knew that the Khalifa was only sending himself to Darfur that he
might be a check upon Mahommed Sherif. He did not think that Macnamara's
position would be greatly bettered, save perhaps in bread and onions, by
being taken into the employ of the Khalifa. His life would certainly not
be safer. But, if it was to be, perhaps he could do a good turn to
Macnamara by warning him, by planting deep in the Khalifa's mind the
Irishman's simple-minded trustworthiness. When, therefore, the Khalifa
suddenly turned and asked him about Macnamara he chose his words
discreetly. The Khalifa, ever suspicious, said that Macnamara had been
thrown into prison twice for insubordination. To this Slatin replied: