Chapter 20. A Momentous Communication

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_ Gregory had, after finishing the record, sat without moving until the dinner hour. It was a relief to him to know that his father had not spent the last years of his life as he had feared, as a miserable slave--ill treated, reviled, insulted, perhaps chained and beaten by some brutal taskmaster; but had been in a position where, save that he was an exile, kept from his home and wife, his lot had not been unbearable. He knew more of him than he had ever known before. It was as a husband that his mother had always spoken of him; but here he saw that he was daring, full of resource, quick to grasp any opportunity, hopeful and yet patient, longing eagerly to rejoin his wife, and yet content to wait until the chances should be all in his favour. He was unaffectedly glad thus to know him; to be able, in future, to think of him as one of whom he would have been proud; who would assuredly have won his way to distinction.

It was not so that he had before thought of him. His mother had said that he was of good family, and that it was on account of his marriage with her that he had quarrelled with his relations. It had always seemed strange to him that he should have been content to take, as she had told him, an altogether subordinate position in a mercantile house in Alexandria. She had accounted for his knowledge of Arabic by the fact that he had been, for two years, exploring the temples and tombs of Egypt with a learned professor; but surely, as a man of good family, he could have found something to do in England, instead of coming out to take so humble a post in Egypt.

Gregory knew nothing of the difficulty that a young man in England has, in obtaining an appointment of any kind, or of fighting his way single handed. Influence went for much in Egypt, and it seemed to him that, even if his father had quarrelled with his own people, there must have been many ways open to him of maintaining himself honourably. Therefore he had always thought that, although he might have been all that his mother described him--the tenderest and most loving of husbands, a gentleman, and estimable in all respects--his father must have been wanting in energy and ambition, deficient in the qualities that would fit him to fight his own battle, and content to gain a mere competence, instead of struggling hard to make his way up the ladder. He had accounted for his going up as interpreter, with Hicks Pasha, by the fact that his work with the contractor was at an end, and that he saw no other opening for himself.

He now understood how mistaken he had been, in his estimate of his father's character; and wondered, even more than before, why he should have taken that humble post at Alexandria. His mother had certainly told him, again and again, that he had done so simply because the doctors had said that she could not live in England; but surely, in all the wide empire of England, there must be innumerable posts that a gentleman could obtain. Perhaps he should understand it better, some day. At present, it seemed unaccountable to him. He felt sure that, had he lived, his father would have made a name for himself; and that it was in that hope, and not of the pay that he would receive as an interpreter, that he had gone up with Hicks; and that, had he not died at that little village by the Nile, he would assuredly have done so, for the narrative he had left behind him would in itself, if published, have shown what stuff there was in him.

It was hard that fate should have snatched him away, just when it had seemed that his trials were over, that he was on the point of being reunited to his wife. Still, it was a consolation to know he had died suddenly, as one falls in battle; not as a slave, worn out by grief and suffering.

As he left his hut, he said to Zaki:

"I shall not want you again this evening; but mind, we must be on the move at daylight."

"You did not say whether we were to take the horses, Master; but I suppose you will do so?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that we are going to have camels. They are to be put on board for us, tonight. They are fast camels and, as the distance from the point where we shall land to the Atbara will not be more than seventy or eighty miles, we shall be able to do it in a day."

"That will be very good, master. Camels are much better than horses, for the desert. I have got everything else ready."

After dinner was over, the party broke up quickly, as many of the officers had preparations to make. Gregory went off to the tent of the officer with whom he was best acquainted in the Soudanese regiment.

"I thought that I would come and have a chat with you, if you happened to be in."

"I shall be very glad, but I bar Fashoda. One is quite sick of the name."

"No, it was not Fashoda that I was going to talk to you about. I want to ask you something about England. I know really nothing about it, for I was born in Alexandria, shortly after my parents came out from England.

"Is it easy for anyone who has been well educated, and who is a gentleman, to get employment there? I mean some sort of appointment, say, in India or the West Indies."

"Easy! My dear Hilliard, the camel in the eye of a needle is a joke to it. If a fellow is eighteen, and has had a first-rate education and a good private coach, that is, a tutor, he may pass through his examination either for the army, or the civil service, or the Indian service. There are about five hundred go up to each examination, and seventy or eighty at the outside get in. The other four hundred or so are chucked. Some examinations are for fellows under nineteen, others are open for a year or two longer. Suppose, finally, you don't get in; that is to say, when you are two-and-twenty, your chance of getting any appointment, whatever, in the public service is at an end."

"Then interest has nothing to do with it?"

"Well, yes. There are a few berths in the Foreign Office, for example, in which a man has to get a nomination before going in for the exam; but of course the age limit tells there, as well as in any other."

"And if a man fails altogether, what is there open to him?"

The other shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, as far as I know, if he hasn't capital he can emigrate. That is what numbers of fellows do. If he has interest, he can get a commission in the militia, and from that possibly into the line; or he can enlist as a private, for the same object. There is a third alternative, he can hang himself. Of course, if he happens to have a relation in the city he can get a clerkship; but that alternative, I should say, is worse than the third."

"But I suppose he might be a doctor, a clergyman, or a lawyer?"

"I don't know much about those matters, but I do know that it takes about five years' grinding, and what is called 'walking the hospitals,' that is, going round the wards with the surgeons, before one is licensed to kill. I think, but I am not sure, that three years at the bar would admit you to practice, and usually another seven or eight years are spent, before you earn a penny. As for the Church, you have to go through the university, or one of the places we call training colleges; and when, at last, you are ordained, you may reckon, unless you have great family interest, on remaining a curate, with perhaps one hundred or one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, for eighteen or twenty years."

"And no amount of energy will enable a man of, say, four-and-twenty, without a profession, to obtain a post on which he could live with some degree of comfort?"

"I don't think energy would have anything to do with it. You cannot drop into a merchant's office and say, 'I want a snug berth, out in China;' or 'I should like an agency, in Mesopotamia.' If you have luck, anything is possible. If you haven't luck, you ought to fall back on my three alternatives--emigrate, enlist, or hang yourself. Of course, you can sponge on your friends for a year or two, if you are mean enough to do so; but there is an end to that sort of thing, in time.

"May I ask why you put the question, Hilliard? You have really a splendid opening, here. You are surely not going to be foolish enough to chuck it, with the idea of returning to England, and taking anything that may turn up?"

"No, I am not so foolish as that. I have had, as you say, luck--extraordinary luck--and I have quite made up my mind to stay in the service. No, I am really asking you because I know so little of England that I wondered how men who had a fair education, but no family interest, did get on."

"They very rarely do get on," the other said. "Of course, if they are inventive geniuses they may discover something--an engine, for example, that will do twice the work with half the consumption of fuel that any other engine will do; or, if chemically inclined, they may discover something that will revolutionize dyeing, for example: but not one man in a thousand is a genius; and, as a rule, the man you are speaking of--the ordinary public school and 'varsity man--if he has no interest, and is not bent upon entering the army, even as a private, emigrates if he hasn't sufficient income to live upon at home."

"Thank you! I had no idea it was so difficult to make a living in England, or to obtain employment, for a well-educated man of two or three and twenty."

"My dear Hilliard, that is the problem that is exercising the minds of the whole of the middle class of England, with sons growing up. Of course, men of business can take their sons into their own offices, and train them to their own profession; but after all, if a man has four or five sons, he cannot take them all into his office with a view to partnership. He may take one, but the others have to make their own way, somehow."

They chatted now upon the war, the dates upon which the various regiments would go down, and the chance of the Khalifa collecting another army, and trying conclusions with the invaders again. At last, Gregory got up and went back to his hut. He could now understand why his father, having quarrelled with his family, might have found himself obliged to take the first post that was offered, however humble, in order to obtain the advantage of a warm climate for his wife.

"He must have felt it awfully," he mused. "If he had been the sort of man I had always thought him, he could have settled down to the life. But now I know him better, I can understand that it must have been terrible for him, and he would be glad to exchange it for the interpretership, where he would have some chance of distinguishing himself; or, at any rate, of taking part in exciting events.

"I will open that packet, but from what my mother said, I do not think it will be of any interest to me, now. I fancy, by what she said, that it contained simply my father's instructions as to what she was to do, in the event of his death during the campaign. I don't see what else it can be."

He drew the curtains he had rigged up, at the doorway and window, to keep out insects; lighted his lantern; and then, sitting down on the ground by his bed, opened the packet his mother had given him. The outer cover was in her handwriting.

"My dearest boy:

"I have, as I told you, kept the enclosed packet, which is not to be opened until I have certain news of your father's death. This news, I trust, you will some day obtain. As you see, the enclosed packet is directed to me. I do not think that you will find in it anything of importance, to yourself. It probably contains only directions and advice for my guidance, in case I should determine to return to England. I have been the less anxious to open it, because I have been convinced that it is so; for of course, I know the circumstances of his family, and there could be nothing new that he could write to me on that score.

"I have told you that he quarrelled with his father, because he chose to marry me. As you have heard from me, I was the daughter of a clergyman, and at his death took a post as governess. Your father fell in love with me. He was the son of the Honorable James Hartley, who was brother to the Earl of Langdale. Your father had an elder brother. Mr. Hartley was a man of the type now, happily, less common than it was twenty years ago. He had but a younger brother's portion, and a small estate that had belonged to his mother; but he was as proud as if he had been a peer of the realm, and owner of a county. I do not know exactly what the law of England is--whether, at the death of his brother, your grandfather would have inherited the title, or not. I never talked on this subject with your father, who very seldom alluded to matters at home. He had, also, two sisters.

"As he was clever, and had already gained some reputation by his explorations in Egypt; and was, moreover, an exceptionally handsome man--at least, I thought so--your grandfather made up his mind that he would make a very good marriage. When he learned of your father's affection for me, he was absolutely furious, told his son that he never wished to see him again, and spoke of me in a manner that Gregory resented; and as a result, they quarrelled.

"Your father left the house, never to enter it again. I would have released him from his promise, but he would not hear of it, and we were married. He had written for magazines and newspapers, on Egyptian subjects, and thought that he could make a living for us both, with his pen; but unhappily, he found that great numbers of men were trying to do the same; and that, although his papers on Egyptian discoveries had always been accepted, it was quite another thing when he came to write on general subjects.

"We had a hard time of it, but we were very happy, nevertheless. Then came the time when my health began to give way. I had a terrible cough, and the doctor said that I must have a change to a warmer climate. We were very poor then--so poor that we had only a few shillings left, and lived in one room. Your father saw an advertisement for a man to go out to the branch of a London firm, at Alexandria. Without saying a word to me, he went and obtained it, thanks to his knowledge of Arabic.

"He was getting on well in the firm, when the bombardment of Alexandria took place. The offices and stores of his employers were burned; and, as it would take many months before they could be rebuilt, the employees were ordered home; but any who chose to stay were permitted to do so, and received three months' pay. Your father saw that there would be many chances, when the country settled down, and so took a post under a contractor of meat for the army.

"We moved to Cairo. Shortly after our arrival there he was, as he thought, fortunate in obtaining the appointment of an interpreter with Hicks Pasha. I did not try to dissuade him. Everyone supposed that the Egyptian troops would easily defeat the Dervishes. There was some danger, of course; but it seemed to me, as it did to him, that this opening would lead to better things; and that, when the rebellion was put down, he would be able to obtain some good civil appointment, in the Soudan. It was not the thought of his pay, as interpreter, that weighed in the slightest with either of us. I was anxious, above all things, that he should be restored to a position where he could associate with gentlemen, as one of themselves, and could again take his real name."

Gregory started, as he read this. He had never had an idea that the name he bore was not rightly his own, and even the statement of his grandfather's name had not struck him as affecting himself.

"Your father had an honourable pride in his name, which was an old one; and when he took the post at Alexandria, which was little above that of an ordinary office messenger, he did not care that he should be recognized, or that one of his name should be known to be occupying such a station. He did not change his name, he simply dropped the surname. His full name was Gregory Hilliard Hartley. He had always intended, when he had made a position for himself, to recur to it; and, of course, it will be open to you to do so, also. But I know that it would have been his wish that you, like him, should not do so, unless you had made such a position for yourself that you would be a credit to it.

"On starting, your father left me to decide whether I should go home. I imagine that the packet merely contains his views on that subject. He knew what mine were. I would rather have begged my bread, than have gone back to ask for alms of the man who treated his son so cruelly. It is probable that, by this time, the old man is dead; but I should object as much to have to appeal to my husband's brother, a character I disliked. Although he knew that his father's means were small, he was extravagant to the last degree, and the old man was weak enough to keep himself in perpetual difficulties, to satisfy his son. Your father looked for no pecuniary assistance from his brother; but the latter might, at least, have come to see him; or written kindly to him, when he was in London. As your father was writing in his own name for magazines, his address could be easily found out, by anyone who wanted to know it. He never sent one single word to him, and I should object quite as much to appeal to him, as to the old man.

"As to the sisters, who were younger than my husband, they were nice girls; but even if your grandfather is dead, and has, as no doubt would be the case, left what he had between them, it certainly would not amount to much. Your father has told me that the old man had mortgaged the estate, up to the hilt, to pay his brother's debts; and that when it came to be sold, as it probably would be at his death, there would be very little left for the girls. Therefore, certainly I could not go and ask them to support us.

"My hope is, my dear boy, that you may be able to make your way, here, in the same manner as your father was doing, when he fell; and that, someday, you may attain to an honourable position, in which you will be able, if you visit England, to call upon your aunts, not as one who has anything to ask of them, but as a relative of whom they need not feel in any way ashamed.

"I feel that my end is very near, Gregory. I hope to say all that I have to say to you, before it comes, but I may not have an opportunity; and in that case, some time may elapse before you read this, and it will come to you as a voice from the grave. I am not, in any way, wishing to bind you to any course of action, but only to explain fully your position to you, and to tell you my thoughts.

"God bless you, my dear boy, prosper and keep you! I know enough of you to be sure that, whatever your course may be, you will bear yourself as a true gentleman, worthy of your father and of the name you bear.

"Your loving Mother."

Gregory sat for some time before opening the other enclosure. It contained an open envelope, on which was written "To my Wife;" and three others, also unfastened, addressed respectively, "The Hon. James Hartley, King's Lawn, Tavistock, Devon"; the second, "G. Hilliard Hartley, Esquire, The Albany, Piccadilly, London;" the third, "Miss Hartley," the address being the same as that of her father. He first opened the one to his mother.

"My dearest Wife,

"I hope that you will never read these lines, but that I shall return to you safe and sound--I am writing this, in case it should be otherwise--and that you will never have occasion to read these instructions, or rather I should say this advice, for it is no more than that. We did talk the matter over, but you were so wholly averse from any idea of ever appealing to my father, or family, however sore the straits to which you might be reduced, that I could not urge the matter upon you; and yet, although I sympathize most thoroughly with your feelings, I think that in case of dire necessity you should do so, and at least afford my father the opportunity of making up for his treatment of myself. The small sum that I left in your hands must soon be exhausted. If I am killed, you will, perhaps, obtain a small pension; but this, assuredly, would not be sufficient to maintain you and the boy in comfort. I know that you said, at the time, that possibly you could add to it by teaching. Should this be so, you may be able to remain in Egypt; and when the boy grows up, he will obtain employment of some sort, here.

"But should you be unsuccessful in this direction, I do not see what you could do. Were you to go to England, with the child, what chance would you have of obtaining employment there, without friends or references? I am frightened at the prospect. I know that, were you alone, you would do anything rather than apply to my people; but you have the child to think of, and, painful as it would be to you, it yet seems to me the best thing that could be done. At any rate, I enclose you three letters to my brother, father, and sisters. I have no legal claim on any of them, but I certainly have a moral claim on my brother. It is he who has impoverished the estate, so that, even had I not quarrelled with my father, there could never, after provision had been made for my sisters, have been anything to come to me.

"I do not ask you to humiliate yourself, by delivering these letters personally. I would advise you to post them from Cairo, enclosing in each a note saying how I fell, and that you are fulfilling my instructions, by sending the letter I wrote before leaving you. It may be that you will receive no reply. In that case, whatever happens to you and the child, you will have nothing to reproach yourself for. Possibly my father may have succeeded to the title and, if for no other reason, he may then be willing to grant you an allowance, on condition that you do not return to England; as he would know that it would be nothing short of a scandal, that the wife of one of his sons was trying to earn her bread in this country.

"Above all, dear, I ask you not to destroy these letters. You may, at first, scorn the idea of appealing for help; but the time might come, as it came to us in London, when you feel that fate is too strong for you, and that you can struggle no longer. Then you might regret, for the sake of the child, that you had not sent these letters.

"It is a terrible responsibility that I am leaving you. I well know that you will do all, dear, that it is possible for you to do, to avoid the necessity for sending these letters. That I quite approve, if you can struggle on. God strengthen you to do it! It is only if you fail that I say, send them. My father may, by this time, regret that he drove me from home. He may be really anxious to find me, and at least it is right that he should have the opportunity of making what amends he can. From my sisters, I know that you can have little but sympathy; but that, I feel sure, they will give you, and even sympathy is a great deal, to one who has no friends. I feel it sorely that I should have naught to leave you but my name, and this counsel. Earnestly I hope and pray that it may never be needed.

"Yours till death,

"Gregory Hilliard Hartley."

Gregory then opened the letter to his grandfather.

"Dear Father,

"You will not receive this letter till after my death. I leave it behind me, while I go up with General Hicks to the Soudan. It will not be sent to you, unless I die there. I hope that, long ere this, you may have felt, as I have done, that we were both somewhat in the wrong, in the quarrel that separated us. You, I think, were hard. I, no doubt, was hasty. You, I think, assumed more than was your right, in demanding that I should break a promise that I had given, to a lady against whom nothing could be said, save that she was undowered. Had I, like Geoffrey, been drawing large sums of money from you, you would necessarily have felt yourself in a position to have a very strong voice in so important a matter. But the very moderate allowance I received, while at the University, was never increased. I do not think it is too much to say that, for every penny I have got from you, Geoffrey has received a guinea.

"However, that is past and gone. I have been fighting my own battle, and was on my way to obtaining a good position. Until I did so, I dropped our surname. I did not wish that it should be known that one of our family was working, in an almost menial position, in Egypt. I have now obtained the post of interpreter, on the staff of General Hicks; and, if he is successful in crushing the rebellion, I shall be certain of good, permanent employment, when I can resume my name. The fact that you receive this letter will be a proof that I have fallen in battle, or by disease.

"I now, as a dying prayer, beg you to receive my wife and boy; or, if that cannot be, to grant her some small annuity, to assist her in her struggle with the world. Except for her sake, I do not regret my marriage. She has borne the hardships, through which we have passed, nobly and without a murmur. She has been the best of wives to me, and has proved herself a noble woman, in every respect.

"I leave the matter in your hands, Father, feeling assured that, from your sense of justice alone, if not for the affection you once bore me, you will befriend my wife. As I know that the Earl was in feeble health, when I left England; you may, by this time, have come into the title, in which case you will be able, without in any way inconveniencing yourself, to settle an annuity upon my wife, sufficient to keep her in comfort. I can promise, in her name, that in that case you will never be troubled in any way by her; and she will probably take up her residence, permanently, in Egypt, as she is not strong, and the warm climate is essential to her."

The letter to his brother was shorter.

"My dear Geoffrey,

"I am going up, with General Hicks, to the Soudan. If you receive this letter, it will be because I have died there. I leave behind me my wife, and a boy. I know that, at present, you are scarcely likely to be able to do much for them, pecuniarily; but as you will someday--possibly not a very distant one--inherit the title and estate, you will then be able to do so, without hurting yourself.

"We have never seen much of each other. You left school before I began it, and you left Oxford two years before I went up to Cambridge. You have never been at home much, since; and I was two years in Egypt, and have now been about the same time, here. I charge my wife to send you this, and I trust that, for my sake, you will help her. She does not think of returning to England. Life is not expensive, in this country. Even an allowance of a hundred a year would enable her to remain here. If you can afford double that, do so for my sake; but, at any rate, I feel that I can rely upon you to do at least that much, when you come into the title. Had I lived, I should never have troubled anyone at home; but as I shall be no longer able to earn a living for her and the boy, I trust that you will not think it out of the way for me to ask for what would have been a very small younger brother's allowance, had I remained at home."

The letter to his sisters was in a different strain.

"My dear Flossie and Janet,

"I am quite sure that you, like myself, felt deeply grieved over our separation; and I can guess that you will have done what you could, with our father, to bring about a reconciliation. When you receive this, dears, I shall have gone. I am about to start on an expedition that is certain to be dangerous, and which may be fatal; and I have left this with my wife, to send you if she has sure news of my death. I have had hard times. I see my way now, and I hope that I shall, ere long, receive a good official appointment, out here. Still, it is as well to prepare for the worst; and if you receive this letter, the worst has come. As I have only just begun to rise again in the world, I have been able to make no provision for my wife. I know that you liked her, and that you would by no means have disapproved of the step I took. If our father has not come into the title, when you receive this, your pocket money will be only sufficient for your own wants; therefore I am not asking for help in that way, but only that you will write to her an affectionate letter. She is without friends, and will fight her battle as best she can. She is a woman in a thousand, and worthy of the affection and esteem of any man on earth.

"There is a boy, too--another Gregory Hilliard Hartley. She will be alone in the world with him, and a letter from you would be very precious to her. Probably, by the same post as you receive this, our father will also get one requesting more substantial assistance, but with that you have nothing to do. I am only asking that you will let her know there are, at least, two people in the world who take an interest in her, and my boy.

"Your affectionate Brother."

There was yet another envelope, with no address upon it. It contained two documents. One was a copy of the certificate of marriage, between Gregory Hilliard Hartley and Anne Forsyth, at Saint Paul's Church, Plymouth; with the names of two witnesses, and the signature of the officiating minister. The other was a copy of the register of the birth, at Alexandria, of Gregory Hilliard, son of Gregory Hilliard Hartley and Anne, his wife. A third was a copy of the register of baptism of Gregory Hilliard Hartley, the son of Gregory Hilliard and Anne Hartley, at the Protestant Church, Alexandria.

"I will write, someday, to my aunts," Gregory said, as he replaced the letters in the envelopes. "The others will never go. Still, I may as well keep them.

"So I am either grandson or nephew of an earl. I can't say that I am dazzled by the honour. I should like to know my aunts, but as for the other two, I would not go across the street to make their acquaintance."

He carefully stowed the letters away in his portmanteau, and then lay down for a few hours' sleep.

"The day is breaking, master," Zaki said, laying his hand upon Gregory's shoulder.

"All right, Zaki! While you get the water boiling, I shall run down to the river and have a bathe, and shall be ready for my cocoa, in twenty minutes."

"Are we going to put on those Dervish dresses at once, master? They came yesterday evening."

"No; I sha'n't change till we get to the place where we land."

As soon as he had breakfasted, he told Zaki to carry his portmanteau, bed, and other belongings to the house that served as a store for General Hunter's staff. He waited until his return, and then told him to take the two rifles, the packets of ammunition, the spears, and the Dervish dresses down to the steamer. Then he joined the General, who was just starting, with his staff, to superintend the embarkation.

Three steamers were going up, and each towed a barge, in which the greater part of the troops was to be stowed, and in the stern of one of these knelt two camels.

"There are your nags, Mr. Hilliard," the General said. "There is an attendant with each. They will manage them better than strangers, and without them we might have a job in getting the animals ashore. Of course, I shall take the drivers on with us. The sheik told me the camels are two of the fastest he has ever had. He has sent saddles with them, and water skins. The latter you will probably not want, if all goes well. Still, it is better to take them."

"I shall assuredly do so, sir. They may be useful to us, on the ride, and though I suppose the camels would do well enough without them, it is always well to be provided, when one goes on an expedition, for any emergency that may occur."

An hour later, the steamer started. The river was still full, and the current rapid, and they did not move more than five miles an hour against it. At the villages they passed, the people flocked down to the banks, with cries of welcome and the waving of flags. They felt, now, that their deliverance was accomplished, and that they were free from the tyranny that had, for so many years, oppressed them.

The banks were for the most part low; and, save at these villages, the journey was a monotonous one. The steamers kept on their way till nightfall, and then anchored.

They started again, at daybreak. At breakfast, General Hunter said:

"I think that in another two hours we shall be pretty well due west of El Fasher, so you had better, presently, get into your Dervish dress. You have got some iodine from the doctor, have you not?"

"Yes."

"You had better stain yourself all over, and take a good supply, in case you have to do it again."

Gregory went below, and had his head shaved by one of the Soudanese; then re-stained himself, from head to foot, and put on the Dervish attire--loose trousers and a long smock, with six large square patches, arranged in two lines, in front. A white turban and a pair of shoes completed the costume. The officers laughed, as he came on deck again.

"You look an out-and-out Dervish, Hilliard," one of them said. "It is lucky that there are none of the Lancers scouting about. They would hardly give you time to explain, especially with that rifle and spear."

Presently they came to a spot where the water was deep up to the bank, which was some six feet above its level. The barge with the camels was brought up alongside. It had no bulwark, and as the deck was level with the land, the camels were, with a good deal of pressing on the part of their drivers, and pushing by as many Soudanese as could come near enough to them, got ashore.

None of the Soudanese recognized Gregory, and looked greatly surprised at the sudden appearance of two Dervishes among them. As soon as the camels were landed, Gregory and Zaki mounted them.

"You had better keep, if anything, to the south of east," General Hunter's last instructions had been. "Unless Parsons has been greatly delayed, they should be two or three days' march farther up the river, and every mile you strike the stream, behind him, is so much time lost."

He waved his hand to them and wished them farewell, as they started, and his staff shouted their wishes for a safe journey. The black soldiers, seeing that, whoever these Dervishes might be, they were well known to the General and his officers, raised a cheer; to which Zaki, who had hitherto kept in the background, waved his rifle in reply. As his face was familiar to numbers of the Soudanese, they now recognized him, and cheered more heartily than before, laughing like schoolboys at the transformation. _

Read next: Chapter 21. Gedareh

Read previous: Chapter 19. The Last Page

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