East and West -- Fiction; Egypt -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Hostages -- Fiction
“This further instruction may well come afterwards,” said he, “since we
shall travel together as far as Khartoum, and it will be a joy to me to
see you grow in wisdom and in virtue as we go.” He walked over to the
fire, and stooping down, with the pompous slowness of a stout man, he
returned with two half-charred sticks, which he laid cross-wise upon the
ground. The Dervishes came clustering over to see the new converts
admitted into the fold. They stood round in the dim light, tall and
fantastic, with the high necks and supercilious heads of the camels
swaying above them.
“Now,” said the Moolah, and his voice had lost its conciliatory and
persuasive tone, “there is no more time for you. Here upon the ground I
have made out of two sticks the foolish and superstitious symbol of your
former creed. You will trample upon it, as a sign that you renounce it,
and you will kiss the Koran, as a sign that you accept it, and what more
you need in the way of instruction shall be given to you as you go.”
They stood up, the four men and the three women, to meet the crisis of
their fate. None of them, except perhaps Miss Adams and Mrs. Belmont,
had any deep religious convictions. All of them were children of this
world, and some of them disagreed with everything which that symbol upon
the earth represented. But there was the European pride, the pride of
the white race which swelled within them, and held them to the faith of
their countrymen. It was a sinful, human, un-Christian motive, and yet
it was about to make them public martyrs to the Christian creed. In the
hush and tension of their nerves low sounds grew suddenly loud upon
their ears. Those swishing palm-leaves above them were like a
swift-flowing river, and far away they could hear the dull, soft
thudding of a galloping camel.
“There’s something coming,” whispered Cochrane. “Try and stave them off
for five minutes longer, Fardet.”
The Frenchman stepped out with a courteous wave of his uninjured arm,
and the air of a man who is prepared to accommodate himself to anything.
“You will tell this holy man that I am quite ready to accept his
teaching, and so I am sure are all my friends,” said he to the dragoman.
“But there is one thing which I should wish him to do in order to set at
rest any possible doubts which may remain in our hearts. Every true
religion can be told by the miracles which those who profess it can
bring about. Even I who am but a humble Christian, can, by virtue of my
religion, do some of these. But you, since your religion is superior,
can no doubt do far more, and so I beg you to give us a sign that we may
be able to say that we know that the religion of Islam is the more
powerful.”
Behind all his dignity and reserve, the Arab has a good fund of
curiosity. The hush among the listening Arabs showed how the words of
the Frenchman as translated by Mansoor appealed to them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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