Ali received this information with head bowed and thanks to God. He prayed the Maker of the World to put some mind in the recruits in order that they too might profit by such high instruction.
It was usual at that time for officers to handle soldiers roughly on parade, caning them upon the head and shoulders, kicking them, and heaping on them every species of abuse. Muhammad might be called indulgent as commanders went; but he was over-much in earnest. His outbreaks lacked the touch of humour which endears. Old soldiers might have borne them with a laugh for the sake of his enthusiasm, which was very evident.
But these were men who had been driven from their homes like cattle, at the goad’s point. For days they had been herded up in pens in a provincial town, and there harangued by holy men and maddened by religious shouting till they lost what little wits remained to them and hardly knew a true believer from an infidel. Arâbi had proclaimed the golden age; yet here they were imprisoned, hounded, driven, and now subjected to the cuffs and insults of a shameless boy. Huddling together, they looked on with lowered brows, too scared to understand what the young Turk was shouting. Arâbi had proclaimed the Turks abolished. Where was reason? They gave forth inarticulate harsh cries like frightened beasts.
Each squad Muhammad handled seemed more stupid than the last—so stupid that one early morning an inspecting general advised him, laughing, to give drill a rest, and take them to the trenches; they were used to digging.
Muhammad felt the order as a whip-cut; he was furious. The general despised his work as an instructor, whereas God knew what trouble he had taken. It was all their fault. In the trenches he allowed them to do nothing right, but shrieked out contradictory orders emphasized by slashes of his cane. Slowly it dawned on them that he was quite alone; the place was hidden by high banks from supervision.
The daily pageant of attack was then in progress. The crackle of a volley came from no great distance. Muhammad implored Allah to direct the bullets so as to kill them all, for they were worse than infidels. He did not notice the changed manner of their breathing, nor the new fire which smouldered in their eyes.
At a blow across the face, accompanied by frightful insults, a burly fellow seized Muhammad’s wrists and deftly tripped him. The boy lay on his back bereft of speech. His captor knelt upon his belly, while the others crowded round like cattle interested. He could feel their breath.
“Hear, O my little son! Swear by the Sayyid Ahmad to be civil. It were best for thee.”
Muhammad, with his pride undaunted, answered: “Sinful hog! I swear to have thee thrashed with the nailed whip and then decapitated. O Muslimîn! Do you not know that this is mutiny, an awful crime?”
“Then we must finish him,” remarked his captor, with a sigh. “With his own sword! Here! Quickly, while I stop his screeching.”