IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES

The feeling of terror passed off as quickly as it had come. As the light spread luridly over the dismal room it exposed to our hero's gaze the unmistakable signs that the place was to be used for the administration of tortures. Instruments and tools of all sorts lay about in every direction, bottles were stored on a shelf in one corner, whether containing medical material, or stuff of a more deadly nature, George had no means of discovering. In another corner of the dungeon stood a brick forge, with various irons scattered about on it, which were doubtless used for branding purposes. His attention was drawn to a pile of manacles and chains, amongst which he detected iron collars, anklets, iron bars of enormous weight, all cruel-looking and of dreadful portent.

In one wall was placed a series of rings with ropes attached, while close by lay a heavy thonged lash; the nature of these things left him in no doubt concerning their use.

As his eyes rested on them in turn, George again felt the terror coming on him; involuntarily he trembled, and it was only by a supreme effort he was able to cast it from him. The tension of his feeling was so great that to relieve it he turned to his gaoler.

"But why am I brought here? They cannot torture a prisoner of war!" he exclaimed. "But perhaps," as an idea struck him, "they intend to frighten me."

The gaoler guffawed in a sepulchral manner at what he considered his prisoner's simplicity; he did not understand that George was trying to convince himself against his own better judgment.

"Frighten, eh?" he said at last, when his gruesome merriment had ceased, "they'll not waste their time in trying to frighten a Christian dog! These things are not for show, but use. Since the white people came to this country, this place," he went on, with a comprehensive sweep of his hands, "has not been used, but kept more as a curiosity than anything else; now the Egyptians again rule, they will once more adopt the methods of our forefathers."

"Oh, yes," replied George, with growing irritation at the man's undisguised hatred for the white people in general, and himself in particular, "I know all about the mighty Egyptians and their forefathers. I've heard all about that before, but it has nothing to do with bringing me down here. What I want to know is, why I'm brought here."

At the sneering tone George used when speaking of the Egyptians the expression of the gaoler's face lowered and his eyes shot fire, and as he ceased speaking the man turned away, and busied himself with setting a great arm-chair in position in the centre of the room.

"You know a great deal about Egypt besides," he said in slow, measured tones, wiping cobwebs from a cumbersome piece of furniture, "and that is the reason you are brought here. Those who will not speak must be made to speak."

"I am ready to tell them all I know, and I can assure you it isn't much."

"About the British troops and their Commander's plans?" asked the man, with a stolid look of surprise.

Helmar burst out into a laugh, although he felt anything but like doing so.

"Why, man, how should I know anything about it—I am not an officer!"

The gaoler smiled grimly. He had expected this, and refrained from comment, contenting himself with shrugging his shoulders in an approved Eastern style.

Seeing that nothing further was to be gained from this unintelligent pig, Helmar gave up the attempt, and examined more closely the instruments of torture, wondering in a hopeless sort of way what was to be his fate. Unable to come to any decision, he flung himself into the chair his gaoler had set in the centre of the room, a prey to a horrible despair.

He had hardly seated himself when he became aware of the sound of approaching footsteps. They did not come from the passage by which he had entered, but from the opposite side of the room. At that moment the gaoler approached, and, seizing him roughly by the shoulder, attempted to hustle him from his seat.

"This is for another; we will find something less comfortable for you."

Helmar detested being pushed about, and as he expected to be handled badly later on, he determined to put up with none of it now. He sprang in a bound from his seat and, turning, dealt the great Egyptian a smashing blow on the face, and was about to follow it up with another, when a door, which he had not seen, suddenly opened, and a procession of dusky figures entered. Instantly two of the new-comers sprang forward and, before George could continue his chastisement, had him securely pinioned, his flashing eyes indicating the storm of rage that was going on within him.

Realizing that now, if ever, he must be calm, he stifled back his feelings, and waited for the next act in the horrible drama. Six men had entered, and one of them seated himself at once in the arm-chair George had vacated. He was a powerful, thick-set fellow and evidently, by the deference the others paid him, a man of considerable importance. His expression was one of fixed malignity, and George rightly surmised that he need look for no mercy from this individual. He wondered who and what he was. Was he a magistrate, or some potentate of Arabi's army? He did not give him the idea of being a military man. His costume was decidedly that of the native civilian, and yet there was an air of stern command about the man that puzzled him.

At a sign from the new-comer, the two men who held him proceeded to divest Helmar of his coat and shirt. This done, his hands and feet were fastened, and he was then thrown on the floor face downwards, while the bigger of his two custodians stood by, handling the deadly kourbash.

There was no mistaking their vile intentions; he was to be interrogated with a vengeance, and George eyed the cruel thong as it lay idly resting on the ground beside the great Arab. The horrors it conjured up in his mind were too appalling for words. Already in fancy he could feel its relentless blows on his bared back, and he shuddered again and again. He shut his teeth and, to use his own phraseology, determined to "die hard." He would show these inhuman monsters that a white man could stand without a sign anything they could think of to reduce him to submission. In bitterness he felt that this mockery of interrogation was only an excuse to vent their hatred of the European, and that in reality they did not hope to discover anything from him, and, in fact, knew that he had no information to give.

The dreaded kourbash, he was determined, should do its fell work with no response from him, terrible as he knew that punishment would be; they might kill him, they might flay him alive, but they could not reduce his stubborn pride as no doubt they hoped to do. This spirit bore him through those few moments that preceded the first words of his mock interrogation, but he felt himself shrink on the floor when he saw the slightest movement on the part of his executioner. The torture of that short period was the refinement of cruelty, but never for one moment did he waver from his fixed determination to face his inquisitors like a man and a son of his fatherland.

At last the man in the chair spoke; his tones were calm and dispassionate, but there rang in them an undercurrent of intensity that warned George, whose mental faculties were painfully acute, that the latent feeling of racial hatred was only held in check by the power of an iron will, and that like a boiling volcano it needed but the faintest extra aggravation to make it burst forth and overwhelm its surroundings. The man's words fell on his ears like the knell of doom, and ere he replied he braced himself for the inevitable result of his answer.

"Being a secret agent of the British, you possess information that will be of use to the great Pasha now ruling the land of the faithful!"

Though the words were an assertion, the tones in which they were delivered were undoubtedly those of a question. While yet considering his reply, George saw out of the corner of his eye the fearful kourbash raised from the ground. Quickly making up his mind that no subterfuge would hold him, Helmar replied—

"I am not a secret agent, neither do I possess any information whatsoever of the British movements. How should I? Have I not been a captive ever since Arabi was expelled from Alexandria?"

Notwithstanding the fearful position in which he stood, George could not resist this little bit of sarcasm at the expense of Arabi's prowess. Apparently his interrogator had no sense of humour, for although Helmar could not see the man he was convinced that he gave some sign. There was a horrid swish in the air, and the kourbash fell across his bare shoulders with ruthless force, and a great wale was raised where it struck. George uttered no sound, but, bursting with indignation and in great pain, waited for the next question.

It came quickly, and in the same even tones.

"Your retort is untimely, and will bring retribution upon you. The faithful require no comments from the Christian dog. Answer the questions put to you, simply, that your punishment may be less severe. We would mercifully save you more pain than is necessary. It is known that you are aware of the point at which the forces of the great Pasha are to be attacked. The English dogs are slow, but they are cunning. Where will their men-of-war be concentrated?"

"How can I tell you that—I don't know," replied Helmar irritably.

The last words were scarcely out his mouth when the kourbash again fell with terrific force on his flesh, this time twice in rapid succession. The pain was intense, and as each blow fell George hollowed his back involuntarily as if by doing so he would lessen the force of the dreaded thong. His back was scalding, and the sting of the cruel lash pervaded his whole body, but he only shut his teeth the harder and waited for what next was to come.

"Where will the concentration take place?"

The words came like the knell of doom, the monotony of their tone was appalling.

"I do not know," replied George again.

Again the lash fell, with another cut added—again he writhed in pain, pain that was anguish of mind as well as of body. He felt as if his brain was bursting with the dreadful slowness of the proceedings. It seemed to him that if he were to receive a hundred lashes in quick succession he could easily stand it, but the torture of the delay was fearful.

Again the fiendish inquisitor asked his question, and again our hero replied in the negative. Four more frightful cuts of the inexorable kourbash fell on his rapidly-scarring back. The torture he endured was frightful, not a single blow from the raw-hide thong but was timed to produce the utmost effect; his back was waled in large ridges, and with a fiendish cruelty the inhuman executioner with unfailing aim had smote and re-smote him in the same place. Already he could feel that the skin had burst, and it came almost as a relief as he felt the flow of blood down his back. Again and again the malignant man in the chair asked his question. Again and again the answer came from our hero, followed quickly by the increased number of lashes from his executioner.

The terrible punishment was beginning to tell; already George had passed from the defiant stage to one of patient endurance. As the torture continued his body began to feel numbed, and he became light-headed; he caught himself counting in a foolish manner the number of strokes he had received, and as each one fell, he would add two or three according to whether he felt it more or less than its predecessor. Once he even laughed as the man struck him on a part of his body that was clothed, with the effect that the executioner, enraged at the levity, redoubled his merciless attack.

The light-headed stage passed off and was replaced by a feeling of horrible despair. He wondered when these monsters would have vented their spite sufficiently; he wondered if he would be alive at the end of the castigation, or if they would flay the flesh from his body. He thought of the ignominious ending it would be to his brief career with the fighting line. [Transcriber's note: Illustration not available.
Caption: "He was already beyond crying out. All sense of feeling had left him!"]

His head was buried in his arms, and he was becoming indifferent to how frequently the kourbash fell on his shoulders. Had he but known it, it was the beginning of unconsciousness; he uttered no sound, he cared nothing for what was going on; he no longer, as the blows were rained on him, shut his teeth to bear the pain—it was not necessary, he was already beyond crying out. All sense of feeling had left him.

Now and again he could hear, as if a long way off, the voice of the inquisitor repeating his question, but it had no meaning for him, the words were blurred and indistinct to his mental faculties, and he made no attempt to answer.

Presently the blows ceased to fall; his body lost all feeling as his legs became cramped, and he fell into unconsciousness. Suddenly he was aroused from his torpor by angry voices. Far away they sounded, but still they penetrated to his dulled and aching brain. He could hear a high-pitched, shrill, screaming sound that struck on his almost senseless nerves with a shock.

Vaguely he became aware that his flogging had ceased, and that something had gone wrong with his persecutors.

With a supreme effort he roused himself, but he was too weak and feeble to be able to grasp the meaning of what he heard, and quickly sank down to full length again, as he felt a warm touch on his hands.