Under the Rebel's Reign Part 30

"The surly pig," muttered Helmar, when the man had gone. "It's scant favour I shall get from him. Heigho! my troubles seem never-ending, but there--upon my word, I am getting used to them now. Bread, eh?"

he went on, picking up the hunk of stale, black, husky-looking stuff before him. "I could make better bread myself out of bran."

He picked up the tin of coffee and tasted it.

"Ah, that's a bit better. I must say they do understand making coffee." Without more ado he ate his bread ravenously, and, in spite of its blackness and heaviness, felt very much refreshed when he had finished. The coffee was certainly good, and George drank it sparingly, lest it should be long before he got any more.

After this he lay down to take a nap. Sleep was not long in overtaking him, and despite his troubles, despite his hard uncomfortable bed, he slumbered peacefully.

It seemed to him he had not slept five minutes when he was rudely awakened by some one pulling at his leg. It was his gaoler.

"Come on, you're wanted," he said, with an unpleasant smile; "they're going to ask you some questions."

"Eh, what? Who's going to ask me some questions?" said George, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Eh?" as he looked at his gaoler in great surprise. "Oh yes, I remember now--all right, lead on, I'm with you."

He sprang from his hard couch, and stretched himself as he spoke. He had not yet had time to think or he would scarcely have answered as cheerily; neither had he seen the unpleasant look on the man's face, which portended anything but something pleasant awaiting him.

However, he followed his guide, who led him out of the building across the courtyard he had entered in the morning, to a sort of miniature tower standing alone. The place was of peculiar structure, and there was no doubt that it was not built by European hands. So interested was he in the place that he drew the warder's attention to it.

"What place is this? part of the prison?"

"Ay, it's part of the prison, but a part not much used--until now,"

and he turned to the door, fumbling with a great key in the lock.

Helmar's curiosity was still further aroused. The man's words conveyed hidden meaning.

"Yes, but what is it for? Does it contain another series of cells?"

"You will soon find out what it is for unless you are sensible, and it certainly contains another series of cells," replied the man, flinging back the heavy iron-studded door, which creaked and groaned as if it hadn't been opened for years.

Without another word the warder led the way in. The air was musty and dark, and George shuddered as he stepped into the dark pa.s.sage that lay before him. As soon as he had pa.s.sed in the gaoler turned and closed the door, and then proceeded to guide our hero to the head of a flight of stone steps. Here he took a lighted lantern from the wall, and together they descended into the depths below.

The moment he put his foot on the first step of the stairway, George remembered Naoum's words. Was this the place in which the _interrogation_ was to be carried out! The very thought of it sent a cold s.h.i.+ver of terror down his back, but he knew that it would be worse than useless to fight against the inevitable; even if he refused to go farther his retreat was entirely cut off, and doubtless his gaoler could summon aid to force him to the tribunal.

No, he would endeavour to put a bold face upon it, and trust to circ.u.mstances and Naoum's help to see him through. Keeping close to his guide he steadily descended. The staircase wound round and round, and as they got lower and lower the steps became more and more damp and slippery, until at last he had to cling to a sort of rough wooden bal.u.s.trade for support. At last the end of what seemed an interminable journey was reached, and the two men stood in front of an iron door. This, with some difficulty, the gaoler opened, and proceeded along a short narrow pa.s.sage which ended in an archway covered by some rough damp fabric. Pulling this aside, the man led the way.

Helmar stood where he was, just inside the archway, while his guide proceeded to light several lanterns which hung round the walls.

As the light spread over the room, a frenzy of terror seized Helmar, and he stood rooted to the spot.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES

The feeling of terror pa.s.sed off as quickly as it had come. As the light spread luridly over the dismal room it exposed to our hero's gaze the unmistakable signs that the place was to be used for the administration of tortures. Instruments and tools of all sorts lay about in every direction, bottles were stored on a shelf in one corner, whether containing medical material, or stuff of a more deadly nature, George had no means of discovering. In another corner of the dungeon stood a brick forge, with various irons scattered about on it, which were doubtless used for branding purposes. His attention was drawn to a pile of manacles and chains, amongst which he detected iron collars, anklets, iron bars of enormous weight, all cruel-looking and of dreadful portent.

In one wall was placed a series of rings with ropes attached, while close by lay a heavy thonged lash; the nature of these things left him in no doubt concerning their use.

As his eyes rested on them in turn, George again felt the terror coming on him; involuntarily he trembled, and it was only by a supreme effort he was able to cast it from him. The tension of his feeling was so great that to relieve it he turned to his gaoler.

"But why am I brought here? They cannot torture a prisoner of war!"

he exclaimed. "But perhaps," as an idea struck him, "they intend to frighten me."

The gaoler guffawed in a sepulchral manner at what he considered his prisoner's simplicity; he did not understand that George was trying to convince himself against his own better judgment.

"Frighten, eh?" he said at last, when his gruesome merriment had ceased, "they'll not waste their time in trying to frighten a Christian dog! These things are not for show, but use. Since the white people came to this country, this place," he went on, with a comprehensive sweep of his hands, "has not been used, but kept more as a curiosity than anything else; now the Egyptians again rule, they will once more adopt the methods of our forefathers."

"Oh, yes," replied George, with growing irritation at the man's undisguised hatred for the white people in general, and himself in particular, "I know all about the _mighty_ Egyptians and their forefathers. I've heard all about that before, but it has nothing to do with bringing me down here. What I want to know is, why I'm brought here."

At the sneering tone George used when speaking of the Egyptians the expression of the gaoler's face lowered and his eyes shot fire, and as he ceased speaking the man turned away, and busied himself with setting a great arm-chair in position in the centre of the room.

"You know a great deal about Egypt besides," he said in slow, measured tones, wiping cobwebs from a c.u.mbersome piece of furniture, "and that is the reason you are brought here. Those who will not speak must be made to speak."

"I am ready to tell them all I know, and I can a.s.sure you it isn't much."

"About the British troops and their Commander's plans?" asked the man, with a stolid look of surprise.

Helmar burst out into a laugh, although he felt anything but like doing so.

"Why, man, how should I know anything about it--I am not an officer!"

The gaoler smiled grimly. He had expected this, and refrained from comment, contenting himself with shrugging his shoulders in an approved Eastern style.

Seeing that nothing further was to be gained from this unintelligent pig, Helmar gave up the attempt, and examined more closely the instruments of torture, wondering in a hopeless sort of way what was to be his fate. Unable to come to any decision, he flung himself into the chair his gaoler had set in the centre of the room, a prey to a horrible despair.

He had hardly seated himself when he became aware of the sound of approaching footsteps. They did not come from the pa.s.sage by which he had entered, but from the opposite side of the room. At that moment the gaoler approached, and, seizing him roughly by the shoulder, attempted to hustle him from his seat.

"This is for another; we will find something less comfortable for you."

Helmar detested being pushed about, and as he expected to be handled badly later on, he determined to put up with none of it now. He sprang in a bound from his seat and, turning, dealt the great Egyptian a smas.h.i.+ng blow on the face, and was about to follow it up with another, when a door, which he had not seen, suddenly opened, and a procession of dusky figures entered. Instantly two of the new-comers sprang forward and, before George could continue his chastis.e.m.e.nt, had him securely pinioned, his flas.h.i.+ng eyes indicating the storm of rage that was going on within him.

Realizing that now, if ever, he must be calm, he stifled back his feelings, and waited for the next act in the horrible drama. Six men had entered, and one of them seated himself at once in the arm-chair George had vacated. He was a powerful, thick-set fellow and evidently, by the deference the others paid him, a man of considerable importance. His expression was one of fixed malignity, and George rightly surmised that he need look for no mercy from this individual. He wondered who and what he was. Was he a magistrate, or some potentate of Arabi's army? He did not give him the idea of being a military man. His costume was decidedly that of the native civilian, and yet there was an air of stern command about the man that puzzled him.

At a sign from the new-comer, the two men who held him proceeded to divest Helmar of his coat and s.h.i.+rt. This done, his hands and feet were fastened, and he was then thrown on the floor face downwards, while the bigger of his two custodians stood by, handling the deadly kourbash.

There was no mistaking their vile intentions; he was to be interrogated with a vengeance, and George eyed the cruel thong as it lay idly resting on the ground beside the great Arab. The horrors it conjured up in his mind were too appalling for words. Already in fancy he could feel its relentless blows on his bared back, and he shuddered again and again. He shut his teeth and, to use his own phraseology, determined to "die hard." He would show these inhuman monsters that a white man could stand without a sign anything they could think of to reduce him to submission. In bitterness he felt that this mockery of interrogation was only an excuse to vent their hatred of the European, and that in reality they did not hope to discover anything from him, and, in fact, knew that he had no information to give.

The dreaded kourbash, he was determined, should do its fell work with no response from him, terrible as he knew that punishment would be; they might kill him, they might flay him alive, but they could not reduce his stubborn pride as no doubt they hoped to do. This spirit bore him through those few moments that preceded the first words of his mock interrogation, but he felt himself shrink on the floor when he saw the slightest movement on the part of his executioner. The torture of that short period was the refinement of cruelty, but never for one moment did he waver from his fixed determination to face his inquisitors like a man and a son of his fatherland.

At last the man in the chair spoke; his tones were calm and dispa.s.sionate, but there rang in them an undercurrent of intensity that warned George, whose mental faculties were painfully acute, that the latent feeling of racial hatred was only held in check by the power of an iron will, and that like a boiling volcano it needed but the faintest extra aggravation to make it burst forth and overwhelm its surroundings. The man's words fell on his ears like the knell of doom, and ere he replied he braced himself for the inevitable result of his answer.

"Being a secret agent of the British, you possess information that will be of use to the great Pasha now ruling the land of the faithful!"

Though the words were an a.s.sertion, the tones in which they were delivered were undoubtedly those of a question. While yet considering his reply, George saw out of the corner of his eye the fearful kourbash raised from the ground. Quickly making up his mind that no subterfuge would hold him, Helmar replied--

"I am not a secret agent, neither do I possess any information whatsoever of the British movements. How should I? Have I not been a captive ever since Arabi was expelled from Alexandria?"