“Look here,” said Howard, presently. “The chances are that that fellow Daireh has gone to the Mahdi’s head-quarters, which are at El Obeid. Now we are going to El Obeid; therefore come with us there.”
“A capital idea!” cried Harry, hope dawning once more in his breast. “There will be a chance of catching the fellow, after all, that way. But how can it be managed? Will Hicks Pasha be bothered with me?”
“He does not want any useless mouths, it is true,” said Howard; “but I expect that he will be able to make some use of you. An Englishman who has shown sufficient energy to make his way out to Khartoum, and who can understand and speak Arabic, and that at an age when his sisters and their she friends would call him ‘a nice boy,’ and patronisingly teach him the newest waltz steps, is sure to be available in some capacity, especially for a leader with the resources of our chief. At any rate there is no harm in trying, and if you come with me I will introduce you. You need not tell him your story, you know, unless he asks you for it, because it is rather long, and he is very busy. Later, over a bivouac fire, it may interest and amuse him. Just say who you are, what you can do, and offer your services, and I do not doubt you will find yourself a man in authority over a certain number of Egyptians.”
“What sort of soldiers do these Egyptians make? They did not do much good against us under Arabi.”
“No; and we have a lot who ran away at Tel-el-Kebir here. They are no good. The Egyptian rule has been a curse to the Soudan, and the Egyptian troops are the greatest curs that ever tempted a brave but unarmed people to throw off the yoke. But suppose we go to the camp.”
Chapter Eight.
Kavanagh’s Choice.
Captain Strachan was an old naval officer, who lived in a rather retired spot on the borders of Somersetshire and Devonshire. His house had a verandah round it, and one warm afternoon he was sitting at a table under this, spectacles on nose, tying artificial flies. A young son of twelve sat by him rapt, holding feathers and silk, which latter he had previously drawn through a kid glove containing cobbler’s wax, and wondering whether he should ever attain to the paternal skill in this manufacture.