Casati and Biri were unbound and removed to the place of justice and were surrounded by a new force of warriors. Casati entered the circle and met his servants. He seemed to them like one risen from the dead. The sight of their beloved master filled them all with new hopes. The place where they found themselves was ominous. The great wooden drums were covered with the blood of victims. They must make an attempt at flight.
“There is no place except this thicket of thorns which is not beset by warriors,” said one of his men, an active, nimble fellow who had been making observations.
“Good! We will throw ourselves on all fours and make a rush through it.”
No sooner said than done. They got through the thicket and kept on their way, but soon encountered a reserve of the negroes. It was impossible to defend themselves, so they left the road and escaped by the aid of the tall grass. Their flight that day was beset by dangers. Whenever they ventured out of the woods to buy sweet potatoes or beans with glass beads, the negroes would drive them off with threats. King Kabrega’s direful orders followed them everywhere. Fortunately, however, they found a friend in this wilderness. A young Dinka woman, who had escaped the brutality of an Egyptian official by Emin Pasha’s interference, brought them by night a great dish of beans and the comforting assurance that Emin would be on the lake, January eleventh, with two steamers. This aroused fresh hope that, in spite of their wounded feet and aching limbs, of hunger and thirst, they would reach the shores of the lake. Their armed pursuers were near them. They climbed hills through thorns and bushes, falling and getting up again, in anxious silence. Their pursuers had surrounded them and the bushes crackled about them. They reached the top of a hill and heard excited discussions going on around them, loud, threatening voices, and excited rushing about, and soon a sudden, hasty, headlong flight.
“What has happened?” Casati’s servant, who was a little ahead, came back trembling with joy. “The steamer, the steamer!” he shouted, running down from the summit. Help in time of need, and it was high time. The exhausted men could hardly stand and they were still a long way from the lake. The sun was setting and it was too late to attract the notice of the crew. A long dreary night was passed upon the shore of the lake without food and enveloped in a dense cold mist.
The next morning a large cloth was fastened to a pole for a signal. About nine o’clock a cloud of smoke appeared upon the horizon. Anxious moments followed. Would the rescuers see them? Thank God! the outline of the steamer grew ever larger and it was approaching steadily and swiftly. The poor fugitives waved their flag, a shrieking whistle answered, replied to by loud cheers. A boat with the rescued ones on board, Emin Pasha, and several officers and officials had come to fetch them, more out of pity than with any prospect of success. All were speechless with joy over the unexpected rescue.
Chapter VII
In Need of Help
During this time Emin’s circumstances had taken a turn for the better. He had received letters through Biri from the coast. A regular postal service was established and his dreary isolation was at an end. He also learned that Dr. Fischer, the experienced explorer, had undertaken an expedition for his rescue in 1886, but only got as far as the Victoria Nyanza, for the Wagandans would not allow him to go further. He returned to Germany and died shortly afterwards in consequence of his hardships. Next Emin received an official despatch in French from Cairo, from the Egyptian government, informing him that it was not impossible they might have to evacuate the Soudan. In case this occurred, Emin was given full permission to leave the Equatorial Provinces and for this purpose he was authorized to draw upon the English Consul General at Zanzibar. Emin was bitterly incensed at the cold business tone of the government. It had not a word of thanks or of recognition of all his cares, troubles, and struggles for three years, not a word of regret that he was compelled to labor so many years without any support, and often hungry and in need. And not a word of encouragement for the task imposed upon him of taking the Egyptians home. An empty title, that of Pasha, was all the reward for his exertions.