“What! Mahmoud Achmet?”
“Yes; he drowns a dozen girls a month.”
“The prophet will stop all that.”
“I hope so.”
“It depends. Mahmoud Achmet pays most of the expenses of the government here, and he is never molested for beating or drowning his wives. Of course, he never touches a man.”
Such was the state of morality in the Soudan at the time that a woman’s life was considered of no more value than that of a dog or any common animal.
A man got angry with his wife or daughter, and he could drown her, providing he did it decently—that is, place her body in a sack, with some heavy weights, so that the body should not rise to the surface.
While the conspirators were discussing the morality of Mahmoud Achmet, their eyes were strained in an endeavor to discover what had caused the splashing sound.
A dark object was seen, and Shula, who was more humane than the majority of Kordofans, stepped into a boat anchored by the bank, and pushed out in the stream.
He made a prod with the boat hook, and managed to stick it in the canvas sack.