THE REIGN OF TERROR IN ALEXANDRIA

After what had happened, Helmar was prepared for almost anything when he actually arrived at Alexandria.

For some time past everybody had been possessed of the feeling that something serious was about to happen. Arabi Pasha and his co-conspirator, Mahmoud Sami, had caused sedition to be preached amongst the native soldiers and police, and amassed together so large a following that his party had become masters of the situation. His firm conviction that the Khedive's rule and the power of the Europeans could be easily overthrown, got so instilled into the souls of the populace they could restrain their hot-blooded feelings no longer, and on an ever-memorable day in June 1882, broke out in one of the bloodiest riots of modern times.

The first indication of what was to take place occurred one afternoon, when the chief streets of the city were suddenly awakened from their tranquillity by the shouts and yells of hundreds of natives.

"Down with the Christians," some cried; others, "Death to the unbelievers!" And they rushed about madly in different parts of the town, ultimately joining forces when the riot became general.

Europeans were beaten with "nabouts," knocked down and trampled on; shots were fired, the soldiers charged, and the police helped to make the butchery more complete. Shops and houses were attacked and pillaged, the proprietors being taken out and massacred in cold blood, and, after all valuables had been taken from them, their bodies thrown into the bye-streets. In one of these streets were found three bodies of Europeans. One was stabbed through the heart, another had bullet-holes in his head, whilst the head of the third was almost severed from the trunk, and the body divested of nearly all its clothes. The mob evidently felt confident that their actions were approved, for they paraded the streets with their stolen goods and clothes with an air of glory and bravado. One soldier was seen to sit on the curbstone and change his own garments for the new stolen ones he had just acquired.

The riff-raff of the crowd consisted of the lowest class of Arabs of the city. They fortified themselves with club-like weapons, felled their victims with them, and after stripping their bodies, cast them into the sea. Most diabolical deeds and acts were perpetrated, and the Arabic cry, coming almost spontaneously from the infuriated crowd, of, "Oh, Moslems! Kill him! Kill the Christian!" rent the air whenever a European appeared. One poor merchant was dragged from his carriage and bayoneted on the spot, whilst not many yards away a German, who had appealed to a soldier for protection, was responded to with a shot which penetrated his face. At the gate of the town the guard on duty was seen to draw his sword and strike a man twice, splitting his skull with the first stroke, and severing his head from his body with the second.

These are but a tithe of the instances of the brutality displayed by the rioters which history chronicles, and which went on incessantly all day, during which time hundreds met their death at the hands of this maddened, murderous crew. Arabi was appealed to, to put a stop to the riot. To show the hold he had over the people, it is only necessary to say that at his given word the tramping, yelling, and shouting ceased almost as quickly as it had begun.

For days after the place remained littered with the bodies of the massacred, and the spectacle, together with the appearance of the shops and houses that had been attacked, made Alexandria look like a town after a siege. Shops were shut and barred, windows barricaded with iron shutters, and the only persons about the streets were Arab soldiers.

Fugitives were removed by train, the people crowding on the roofs and steps; ships laden with the English set off as quickly as possible for Malta.

Outside the harbour was drawn up the French and English fleet.

It was at this period that the dahabÎeh, with George Helmar carefully kept from view, arrived outside the town almost unnoticed. The occupants of the place were too busily engaged to pay much attention to the addition of one vessel to the already large number idling about the canal. Besides, this was a trading boat and owned by a well-known native.

When the night-time approached Naoum suggested to George that he might venture up and take a view of the situation.

"It seems to me suspiciously quiet," said Naoum, as he stood beside George, eyeing the shore with a keen glance. "Can't say I like it."

"Yes, it is quiet, but do you see those shops are barricaded at the end of the streets leading down to the water?"

"Um—I don't like the look of that. There's been mischief."

"What's that smoke over there?" exclaimed George, hurriedly. "Why, it's a fire, and look—look at those shattered houses, and—hallo, there's a gang of murderous-looking soldiers—we are too late!"

Naoum did not answer. He was watching all the things his companion had drawn his attention to. There was no doubt in his mind now—the place was evidently in the rebels' hands, the process of sacking was going on. He turned to George.

"Well?" he said inquiringly. "You daren't go ashore."

"What, then, am I to do? I can't trespass on your good-nature any longer, and, besides, my presence here is a constant source of danger to you. No, I must chance it. I can't stay here."

He spoke with determination, and Naoum was not slow to appreciate the sentiments that prompted him; yet he would not see him deliberately plunge into the deadly danger that awaited him ashore.

"As I said, you can't land, friend Helmar. Allah has guided your steps to me, and you will have to throw in your lot on this boat until we can find a safe means for your escape. Come, you are a good man, say, will you stay? Sooner or later things will calm down and then——"

"No, no, Naoum, you have done so much for me already, I cannot let you risk more. My mind is made up, I will forge my own way ahead now."

"There is no need to talk of risk, or of what I have done," he replied, with a kind look into the resolute face beside him; "I ask for no greater pleasure than that you stay here."

Helmar only shook his head. It seemed to him that his duty lay plainly before him—he must no longer jeopardize this man's safety. He was well and strong again now, and must fight his own battles. Inclination made him wish to remain, but he must go.

Seeing his charge's mind was made up, Naoum, with the philosophy of the East, attempted no further persuasion, and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"When, then, will you leave?" he asked.

"As soon as you will help me to land," George answered at once. "Do not think me ungrateful, Naoum—I am only doing my duty."

"The boat shall be brought along the shore when you like," he replied, turning away, "but I should advise you to await darkness; remember your face is still white."

Accepting his friend's advice, Helmar decided to wait until the sun had gone down and then seek shelter in some small drinking saloon where doubtless he might meet other refugees. He had still the money on him which he had in his pocket at the time he was wounded, and this would pay for his immediate wants.

As darkness came on, the boat was pulled for the landing-stage. All along the river silence reigned, but from the distant parts of the city they could hear many sounds grating discordantly on the still night air. That little trip to the shore was, to the occupants of the boat, impressive to a degree. Neither knew what the future was to bring forth, both realized that danger was on all sides, and each one felt that he was parting from a friend, tried as only those who have fought side by side for one another are tried.

The younger man fully appreciated the risks this stranger had run for his sake, and a feeling possessed him that though duty demanded the parting, still, in a measure, it seemed like desertion.

Naoum on the other hand admired the spirit which prompted George's decision, and though he regretted bitterly the loss of so brave and good a companion, would not have had it otherwise.

The landing-stage reached, Helmar sprang ashore, and, with a hearty grip of the hand and a quiet "good-bye and good luck," they parted. Each felt he knew the other's thoughts, and, if good wishes could help them, there was no doubt their lives would be prosperous and happy.

"Allah is good. I shall see the boy again," thought Naoum.

Left to himself, George primed his revolver, put it in his belt ready to hand, and then made his way from the water's edge to explore the city.

It was some moments before he decided which way to go. In every street the houses were barricaded, and along the water front they were quite deserted. At last he decided to venture up a little dark alley to the left. He selected this particular one on account of its obscurity.

From the vessel he had seen a stray party of Arabi's soldiery, and he had no fancy for running the risk of encountering them by taking one of the larger thoroughfares.

How dark and quiet it seemed, not a sign of life was to be seen anywhere. In the distance he could still hear the discordant cries from other parts of the town and sometimes the discharge of fire-arms, but here—here in the lowest quarter of the city, where crime and low life usually prevailed, everything was silent as the grave.

George stepped cautiously along, his ears strained to catch the least suspicious sound, his eyes peering on every side to catch a glimpse of light through some stray chink in the closed and shuttered windows—but none presented itself.

After he had traversed the street without discovering anything to alarm him, he breathed more freely and turned into another, stretching his legs in a brisk walk instead of keeping to his furtive, silent glide.

This street, like the last, appeared to be deserted, but the houses showed signs of rough treatment; windows were broken, doors smashed, mounds of plaster, brick, and wood lay scattered about, evidences of the wanton work of the looting hordes that had no doubt recently visited it.

As he neared the end of this unwholesome, wretched place, he fancied he saw the faint flicker of a light from one of the windows, and he hurriedly made his way towards it.

His senses had not deceived him, the house was inhabited—but by whom? He paused outside and looked up at the window. The light was gone, but the sound of voices inside cheered his heart. He stood for a moment listening. At first he could not make out the language that was being spoken, but after a while, as his ear became accustomed to the confused tongues, he detected one voice speaking in his own language.

His heart beat high with hope, and he strained his ear against the wood-work of the walls. There evidently were many persons inside and of mixed nationality. This gave him his cue; if all these people of different tongues were gathered together in one house it could only mean one thing—refugees.

Without speculating further he tapped on the shuttered window of the ground floor, and waited. Immediately the voices inside ceased. He tapped again, louder than before. A moment after, the shutter of the window above was cautiously opened, and against the dim light of the sky he saw a head protruded.

The night was so dark he could not make out whether the head was that of a white man or not, but he inclined to the latter belief, and summoning all his best Arabic, he asked for shelter for the night.

"I have money to pay," he added, "but have nowhere to sleep."

There was a grunt as the head was withdrawn and another face appeared in its place. There was no mistaking it this time, it was distinctly white, and when a voice came in English—

"Who are you and what do you want?" Helmar's heart gave an instinctive leap for joy.

"These are queer times," the speaker went on, "and I do not care to do business with every passing stranger."

"I am a German," replied Helmar in the same language, "and am a stranger just come to the city from Cairo. I do not know what has happened here, but the town seems to be full of trouble. I must find somewhere to sleep."

The tones of his voice evidently calmed the stranger's fears, for he replied in much milder tones—

"Are you alone?"

"Quite," replied Helmar.

"Very well then, wait a moment," and the head disappeared and he heard footsteps descending the stairs.

The next moment the door was cautiously opened, and the burly figure of a man stood in the dark uninviting passage.

"Quick, come in," he said in hurried tones, "there is trouble about, and we don't want more; this house is supposed to be deserted."

George stepped in quickly, and the door was closed behind him. The man bolted and barred it as though the place was in a state of siege.

"Step this way," he said, evidently relieved at having got him safely in and the door secured.

Helmar followed the man to the end of the passage, where, flinging open another door, his host ushered him into a well-lighted room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "another guest. I hope there is no objection?"

At the sight of the new-comer several men rose from their seats and looked earnestly at him. The room in which Helmar found himself was part of the bar of one of the many cheap cafÉs of this neighbourhood. It was filled by a number of men and women of all nationalities, seated at various small tables scattered round the room. The room itself was innocent of all attempts at decoration; the walls showed its dirty plaster, the rough floor was sanded, and the worn and cheerless tables and benches were polished with the dirt of ages. The atmosphere reeked with the smell of tobacco and coffee, and, as he stepped in, bowing to the assembled company, Helmar could not help feeling a strong desire to open a window.

After their scrutiny, the occupants, one by one, resumed their seats, and George felt that they were mutely asking him for an explanation. As fugitives they were naturally suspicious of strangers, and he was about to speak, when he saw a slight figure step from an obscure corner.

In a moment his eyes glistened, and an exclamation rose to his lips as he almost jumped forward and grasped the hand of his old chum Osterberg.