Little Nell, as pretty as a picture, looked up at Stasch (Stanislaus) with her greenish eyes, and half astonished, half afraid, asked:
“Have they put them in prison?”
“No, but they would not allow them to travel to Sudan, and an officer has been stationed to watch them so as to prevent their taking a step outside of Port Said.”
“Why?”
Stasch, who was now fourteen years of age, was much attached to his eight-year-old comrade. He regarded her merely as a child, and assuming a very superior air answered:
“When you are as old as I am you will know everything—what is taking place on the canal from Port Said to Suez, and all over Egypt.”
“Have you heard anything about the Mahdi? I’ve heard that he is ugly and naughty.”
The boy smiled condescendingly. “I don’t know whether he is ugly or not. The Sudanese think he is handsome; but to call a man who has killed so many people ‘naughty’—that is a word only a little girl, with short dresses reaching down to her knees, would use.”
“Papa told me so, and papa knows best.”
“He used that word in speaking to you because you would not have understood anything else. He would not have used it in speaking to me. The Mahdi is worse than a hundred crocodiles. Do you understand what I say? The word ‘naughty’ is a good word to use when talking to little children.”
But when he saw the troubled look on the child’s face he said: “Nell, you know that I don’t want to vex you. The time is coming when you will be fourteen, too.”
“Yes,” she answered, with an anxious expression. “What if the Mahdi should take Port Said, and eat me?”
“The Mahdi is not a cannibal and therefore does not eat people; he murders them instead. Besides, he will never take Port Said; even if he did capture it, and were to try to kill you, he would have me to deal with.”
This assertion he made in a snarling tone, which augured no good to the Mahdi, but it had the effect of apparently quieting Nell on the subject. “I know,” she answered, “that you would protect me. But why won’t they allow Fatima to leave Port Said?”
“Because Fatima is the Mahdi’s cousin. Her husband told the Egyptian Government at Cairo that he would travel to Sudan, where the Mahdi was staying, for the purpose of freeing all the Europeans who had fallen into his hands.”
“So Smain is good, then?”
“Listen! Our fathers, who knew Smain very well, had no confidence in him, and they warned Nubar Pasha not to trust him. But the government was willing to send Smain there, and he has been six months with the Mahdi. Still, not only did the captives not return, but, according to reports from Khartum, the Mahdists are treating them most cruelly; and Smain, after having received money from the government, has turned traitor. He commanded the artillery of the Mahdi in the dreadful battle in which General Hicks fell, and he taught the Mahdists to use cannon, of which these savages knew nothing before. But Smain is now making every effort to get his wife and children out of Egypt. Fatima, who knew beforehand what Smain was trying to do, is said to have attempted to leave Port Said secretly, and that is why the government has imprisoned her and her children.”
“What does the government want with Fatima and her children?”
“The government intends to say to the Mahdi: ‘If you return those of our people you have taken prisoners, we will give up Fatima.’ ” After this they stopped talking, for birds flying in the direction from Echtum om-Farag toward Lake Menzaleh attracted Stasch’s attention. They flew rather low down in the clear air, and many pelicans could be seen stretching out their necks and slowly flapping their tremendous wings. Stasch imitated their flight by raising his head very high, running along the dam, and waving his outstretched arms.
“Look! The flamingoes also are flying!” Nell suddenly exclaimed.
Stasch stopped a moment, for just behind the pelicans, but hovering a little higher in the air, might be seen two large objects, like red and rose-colored flowers.
“Toward evening they fly to their home on the small island,” said the boy. “Oh, if I only had a gun!”
“Why do you want to shoot them?”
“Women never understand such things, but let us go on; perhaps we shall see some more of them.”
With those words he took the little girl by the hand, and they went along the first canal path behind Port Said, followed by Dinah, a negress, who was formerly little Nell’s nurse. They went along the embankment that confines the waters of Lake Menzaleh, through which a pilot had just taken an English steamer.
The sun soon set below the lake, whose salt water began to glimmer like gold.
Evening was approaching. The sun was still rather high, but it soon set below the lake, whose salt water began to glimmer like gold and assume the shimmering hues of a peacock’s plume. On the Arabian shore, as far as eye could see, stretched the gloomy, menacing, dead desert. Between the glassy and motionless sky and the shoreless, furrowed stretch of sand there was not a sign of any living creature. While the canal presented a scene of great commercial activity—boats gliding past, steamers whistling, and over the surface of Lake Menzaleh flocks of sea-gulls and wild ducks glistening in the moonlight—on the Arabian shore it was as desolate as a city of the dead. But the lower the sun sank, the redder the west became; even the sand-dunes were tinted with lilac color, resembling the heather found in the autumn woods of Poland.
Walking toward the landing, the children saw several more flamingoes, and their eyes fairly danced with joy. Then Dinah said that Nell must go home. In Egypt the days, which even in winter are very warm, are followed by cold nights, and as Nell’s health required great care, Mr. Rawlison, her father, did not allow the child to remain near the water after sundown; so they returned to the Rawlison villa, at the extreme end of the town, near the canal. Mr. Tarkowski, the father of Stasch, had been invited to dine; he came in soon after, and then the whole company, including the French woman, Mrs. Olivier, Nell’s governess, sat down to dinner.
Mr. Rawlison, a director of the Suez Canal Company, and Vladislaw Tarkowski, chief engineer of the same company, had been very intimate for many years. Both were widowers. Mrs. Tarkowski, a French lady, had died giving birth to Stasch thirteen years before. Nell’s mother had died of consumption in Heluan when her little girl was three years old. The two widowers lived close by each other, and their business in Port Said brought them in daily contact. Their mutual sorrows also cemented their old friendship. Mr. Rawlison loved Stasch as though he had been his own son, and Mr. Tarkowski would have gone through fire and water for little Nell. After their day’s work was done their greatest pleasure was to talk about the education and the future of their children. While they were conversing thus Mr. Rawlison would praise the capability, energy, and precocity of Stasch, and Mr. Tarkowski express himself enthusiastically about Nell’s charm and her little angel face.
Both were correct in their views. Stasch was somewhat conceited and boastful, but quick in his studies, and the teachers of the English school in Port Said prophesied a great future for him. He had inherited aptitude and courage from his father, for Mr. Tarkowski possessed these qualities in a marked
