Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan

by R. M. Ballantyne

A smart blow from the riding-switch on his naked back aroused him to his duty, and caused a slight laugh among the onlookers.

Never before, perhaps, was the Mahdi so near his end as at that moment, for, as our hero felt the sting, and heard the low laugh, all the blood in his body seemed to leap into his brow, and the lance of office quivered as his hand tightened on it. The fact that two guards with drawn swords stood at his side, and that their weapons would have been in his heart before he could have accomplished the deed, would probably have failed to restrain him had not his pride of purpose, as we may style it, come to his aid. He looked up, with a frown indeed, but without uttering a word. The Mahdi pointed along one of the streets, and Miles instantly bounded away—heartily glad to be able to let off his superfluous feeling in violent action.

For several hours his master kept him running—evidently on purpose to try his powers, as a jockey might test the qualities of a new horse, and, strong though he was, the poor youth began at last to feel greatly distressed, and to pant a good deal. Still his pride and a determination not to be beaten sustained him.

At one point of his course he was passing a band of slaves who were labouring to lift a large beam of wood, when the sound of a familiar voice caused him to look up, and then he saw his friend Jack Molloy, in costume like his own, minus the fez and tippet, with one of his great shoulders under the beam, and the sweat pouring down his face.

“Hallo, Miles!” exclaimed the seaman.

But our hero did not dare to pause, and could not speak. His glancing aside, however, had the effect of causing him to stumble, and, being too much exhausted at the time to recover himself, he fell heavily to the ground. As he slowly rose up, half-stunned, the Mahdi could scarcely avoid riding him down. As it was, he stooped, and, a second time laid his riding-switch smartly on the poor youth’s naked shoulders.

Jack Molloy, who saw the cruel act, lost all control of himself, uttered one of his leonine roars, sprang into the middle of the road, and seized the reins of the Mahdi’s horse. The startled animal reared and attempted to swerve. Molloy assisted the swerve by a violent side-pull at the reins. At the same time he caught one of the upraised forelegs, and, with an almost superhuman exertion of strength hurled both horse and rider to the ground!

A very howl of consternation and amazement burst from the populace as they beheld their Mahdi lying flat and motionless on his back as if dead!

Of course Jack Molloy was instantly seized by an overpowering number of soldiers, bound hand and foot, and carried back to his dungeon, while the Mahdi was tenderly raised and conveyed to the house which he inhabited at that time.

Miles had also been seized and dragged somewhat violently back to his prison. As for the other members of the captive band, none of them were there at the time. They were all separated at the time our hero was taken from them, and each remained for a considerable time in ignorance of the fate of his fellows. We may say at once here that they were all put to severe and menial labour. Each also had his uniform exchanged for a pair of Arabian drawers, and a felt cap or a fez, so that they were little better than naked. This would have mattered little—the weather being very warm—if their skins had been accustomed to the powerful rays of a tropical sun. But the effect on them was so severe that their taskmasters, in an unwonted gush of pity, at last gave them each a loose garment of sacking, which served as a partial protection.