The Travels of Sherlock Holmes, page 14
For myself, although I naturally have my own convictions, I am not a fervent devotee of any particular doctrine, and could see nothing wrong in joining in the worship of the Creator, whatever form it might take. And although I obviously could not, and did not, discuss the matter with Sigerson, I got the impression that he took much the same view as I did. I do know that we had no difficulty or unpleasantness in that direction.
And now began what will form – thank Heaven – the last of my ‘epic journey in a single paragraph’ descriptions.
For several weeks we struggled over the desert. I lost all sense of direction, and not direction alone but time as well, for there ensued a succession of identical hot days, with the wind blowing the sand into our faces, followed by identical bitterly cold nights, until they merged one into another.
We had no difficulty with the desert tribes. Nominally part of the Ottoman Empire, in practice they acknowledge no leaders but their own local chiefs. Selim told us that they would happily rob a small party of travellers, but preferred to negotiate with larger, well armed groups such as ourselves, accepting a modest tribute in exchange for accompanying us from one side of their own territory to the other. It is a regular source of income for them, and they run it most efficiently. Indeed, I often thought that, if those arid lands had contained anything that mankind might esteem highly, these desert people might take their place among the capitalists of London or New York. Protected by these men, we could sleep easily at night, after a good meal and some interesting conversation.
Selim made a point of asking casually if there had been any other caravans going that way recently, and the answers showed that we were not too far behind Igorov.
It was in the evenings, by the fire, that Selim told us much about his own country and religion. He himself was of the larger Sunni, or orthodox, sect, and consequently never felt entirely at home in Persia, which is the home of the Shi’ia sect, a more fanatical group. Selim told us something of the differences in point of doctrine between the two, but he said that, try as he might, he could not see what Igorov might have found in either branch of the faith – nor yet in any conflict between the two, for in practice they co-exist happily – to interest him.
‘Well, then,’ asked Sigerson – we could speak freely, and in English, for the merchants sat together at another fire, with the soldiers at a third and the local tribesman at a fourth – ‘well, then, could it be some political weakness that he seeks to exploit? These desert tribes, for instance, could he be wanting to stir them up against the Porte?’
Selim shook his head. ‘There is, at this very moment, some small unpleasantness with some of the tribesmen nearer Mecca, but nothing very serious.’
‘Nothing approaching a civil war?’
Selim laughed. ‘The desert tribes are not sufficiently numerous to be a serious danger in that regard. Though they are difficult to fight with regular troops, as they travel light, and thus move far and fast, thereby avoiding the regular forces.’
‘And what of the broader political picture?’ asked Sigerson.
‘I cannot see that there is anything specific,’ said Selim with a shrug. ‘The Ottoman Empire has been in existence a good many years, and consequently some of its manifestations are not exactly modern. It is true that pressure for reform is building, but that is from within.’
‘But it could be exploited?’
‘Perhaps. But not, I do assure you, from the remoteness of Mecca, spiritual centre of Islam though it may be. Then again, the Porte has good relations with almost every nation of importance, with Britain, Germany –’
‘Ah, with Germany?’
‘Of course. There are German engineers not too far away from us now – comparatively speaking, of course – building a railway.’
‘H’mm.’ Sigerson stared into the fire.
‘You do not suppose that there is anything to be made of that?’ I asked him. ‘We too have good relations with Germany. Why, our own Queen is related to the Kaiser.’
Sigerson smiled. ‘And yet, if rumour be true, there have been one or two – family quarrels, shall we say? There might be something there, possibly. But what could it be?’
‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘we have been over all this many times, with no success. Can we please change the subject? Selim, before we set off from Baghdad, you said that westerners had visited Mecca. Now, I have always been under the impression that the city was strictly forbidden to foreigners like us. Is that not so?’
‘Strictly speaking, yes. But in practice, foreigners are usually tolerated, if their behaviour is modest and dignified. Have you never heard of Mr Herman Bicknell?’
I shook my head. Sigerson frowned, and said, ‘The name is vaguely familiar, but I cannot quite place it. If only I had my index here!’
Selim went on, ‘Some years ago, Sir Richard Burton, whose name most certainly will be familiar to both of you, visited Mecca in disguise, and wrote a book about it, stressing the very great dangers he had run in so doing, and counselling his readers on no account to attempt the same deception. Soon after, Mr Bicknell, who perhaps had not read Sir Richard’s account, took a steamer to Jeddah, and walked quite openly and without any disguise into Mecca. He engaged the first man he met as a guide, looked round the sights – apparently without feeling any sort of emotion – then on his return to London he wrote a letter to The Times, saying that the place was quite interesting, though you would not think so from the description he gave, and recommending anyone who happened to be passing to drop in for a look round.’
‘Did he really?’ I asked, laughing.
‘Oh, yes. One of your true English eccentrics. I myself have seen the letter, Sir Richard cut it from The Times and kept it. He never forgave Bicknell, who had, he thought, damaged his reputation as a fearless adventurer.’
‘You knew Burton, then?’ asked Sigerson.
‘I would not say I knew him, but I called upon him once or twice. He ended his days in Damascus, as you may be aware.’
‘And so you mean that there is no real risk?’ I asked. ‘That the dangers have been exaggerated?’
‘I would not entirely go so far as to say that,’ said Selim circumspectly. ‘Provided you are with me, of course, there will be no difficulty, although you will not be able to go inside the mosques or other holy places. Still, there are fanatics – as in all religions – and it will be as well if you do not draw attention to yourselves.’
‘I wonder, could Igorov have been prompted by some desire to emulate Burton and the others?’ I said. ‘Is his visit to Mecca sheer bravado, to show that a Russian traveller can go anywhere an Englishman can?’
Sigerson shook his head. ‘It would be comforting to think as much,’ he said, ‘but that does not accord well with the broad impression which I have formed of the prince. No, he is up to something, you may depend upon that. But what?’
And on that questioning note, our discussions would end, as we sought our blankets.
Three weeks, four, and we came to the city of Medina, where we parted company with our friends the merchants. We had not seen anything of that local unrest which Selim had mentioned, it was evidently on no large scale, and there occurred nothing of interest on the last stage of the journey, the short ride from Medina to Mecca.
For all Selim’s reassurances, I felt a touch of trepidation – not entirely unpleasant, I confess – when we saw our goal shimmering in the distance, and I felt far more like the adventurous Burton than the prosaic and pedestrian Bicknell as we rode through the great gate into the ancient and holy city of Mecca.
Chapter Fifteen - Jeddah to Suakin
I had expected that Mecca would be crowded to overflowing with the pious faithful, for it is the duty of every Muslim to make the pilgrimage to Mecca, the Hadj, at least once in his life if he can. But the city was all but deserted, and Selim explained that the Hadj would not take place for another month or two yet, and that when it did take place one would be hard pressed to find a bed in the entire city.
As it was, we rode along streets where the only sign of life was the dust blowing into our faces, and thought the place very animated if we encountered a couple of the locals leaning on a street corner, passing the time for all the world like Southsea landladies wishing the winter away, and hoping that the trippers might arrive early that spring.
It was late afternoon when we arrived, and we secured accommodation with no difficulty. Selim said that it might be as well if Sigerson and I stayed in our room, while he asked for news of Igorov. Sigerson chafed slightly at this, but I told him it was probably for the best, and he did not press the matter.
Selim did not return until late in the evening, by which time I, too, was eager to hear what he might have discovered.
‘We have just missed him again!’ said he, a look of vexation on his handsome face. ‘Just! He arrived here three days ago, spent the whole of yesterday talking to yet another holy man, and then they rode off out of the city together just this morning.’
‘And what sort of a holy man?’ Sigerson wanted to know.
‘One of the Shi’ia teachers, a man who had lived here for the past few years. His neighbours tolerated him because they thought him slightly mad, and as you know we are bidden to look after those whom Allah has seen fit to afflict in that fashion. He was apparently a Dervish.’
‘Indeed?’
Selim nodded, and his expression cleared. ‘However, all is not lost, for I have found where they went.’
‘To Jeddah,’ said Sigerson in a matter of fact tone.
Selim looked surprised. ‘That is so. But how could you know?’
‘Well, he did not return to Medina, or we should have seen him, and Jeddah is the only other place of any importance nearby. But that is not by any means the only reason, and you yourself gave the explanation in one of your very interesting talks about the difference between the Sunnis and the Shi’ites. Doubtless you will recollect the point to which I refer, Dyce?’
I racked my brains to remember what Selim had said as to arguments over doctrinal exegeses between the major and minor branches of Islam.
When the Prophet began to preach the faith, his first convert and staunchest follower was his son-in-law, Ali. The main difference between the Sunnis and the Shi’ites is that while the Sunnis hold Ali in high esteem, the Shi’ites give him a rank equal, or indeed superior, to that of the Prophet himself. They believe that the Imams descended from Ali have a special divine mission, that the last of these Imams will be the Mahdi, the Shi’ia Messiah who will lead the Muslims to glorious victory.
Now, in 1848 a boy named Mohammed Ahmed was born at Dongola in the Sudan, which was then under Egyptian control. He worked for a time for the Egyptian civil service, then tried his hand at slave-trading, and finally announced that he was the Mahdi, come to lead his people. The fanatical Dervishes of the Sudan believed him, and rose against their Egyptian overlords.
Egypt at that time was in financial ruin, thanks to the excesses of Khedive Ismail, and the British, owed money by Ismail, had moved in to restore the country to a sound footing. The small British garrison at Khartoum in the Sudan, commanded by General Gordon, was unable to withstand the onslaught of the Mahdi’s hordes. In 1885 Khartoum fell, and Gordon was butchered.
By this time, in 1893, the Mahdi was dead, and his successor the Khalifa reigned in his stead. But the fanatical and bloodthirsty Dervishes of the Sudan refused to believe that the Mahdi was dead, they thought he was merely in hiding, waiting to appear on the day on which the world would end.
‘He has gone to the Sudan!’ I said. ‘He plans to stir up the tribesmen, to – to launch an invasion of Egypt, perhaps.’
‘It is too fantastic,’ said Selim, with a quick shake of his head.
‘Nay,’ said Sigerson, ‘I believe it is exactly as Dyce suggests. It is the best chance he has encountered thus far. In Tibet, he was – or would have been – frustrated as much by the authorities being kindly disposed to Britain as by any efforts of ours. Persia and the Ottoman Empire, both stable regimes, offered little scope for his devilry. But the Sudan is a very different matter. The defeat of Gordon was less than a decade ago, recent enough to be fresh in the minds of the people, to make them susceptible to the suggestion that they are invincible.’
‘But the Khalifa’s forces could not hope to conquer Egypt!’ cried Selim. ‘Poorly equipped, untrained tribesmen against regular soldiers? It would make no sense.’
‘They might do a good deal of damage before they were stopped, though,’ I pointed out.
‘Moreover,’ added Sigerson, ‘the real question is not whether the Sudanese could conquer Egypt – for the answer is almost certainly that they could not – but whether other nations would see fit to embroil themselves in the matter. The French, for example, have long cast envious eyes on Egypt. Indeed, it is only their failure to support Britain’s suppression of a revolt led by a man whose name I forget, in a year which escapes me for the moment, which has prevented France ruling Egypt jointly with Britain.’
‘It was the Arabi revolt, in 1882,’ I put in.
Sigerson raised an eyebrow, looking slightly irked at being thus upstaged.
‘My eldest brother took an honourable part in that campaign,’ I explained.
‘Quite so. It is not too fanciful to suggest that a war involving the whole of Europe might be the consequence of a skirmish on the southern borders of Egypt.’
‘With Russia waiting to seize the wreckage?’ I asked.
Sigerson nodded. ‘It is therefore imperative that – I had almost said “we” – follow at once, but I really feel some hesitation about allowing either of you to accompany me, for the Khalifa has the reputation of being an even madder, more bloodthirsty devil than his instructor, the Mahdi.’
‘You will have difficulty preventing our going with you,’ I told him.
‘Selim?’
‘You do not speak Arabic well enough yet to pass for a native, I fear. And that would guarantee a lingering and painful death in the Sudan. So there is really no question of my remaining behind, even if it were not my clear duty to my country. Remember that the Turkish lands lie along part of the Egyptian borders, so that trouble in Egypt would imply trouble in the Ottoman Empire. The Sultans have cast lustful eyes on the waters of the Nile before now, so the army I have the honour to serve in would indubitably receive its marching orders.’
Sigerson accepted his defeat gracefully, and we retired soon after, in anticipation of an early start next day.
Before we actually set out, Selim insisted that we divest ourselves of anything that might mark us out as Christians or westerners. It would, he assured us, be difficult enough to escape detection and arrest in the Sudan, but we were under no obligation to make it entirely impossible. Sigerson, it appeared, had nothing in the way of personal possessions to begin with, and I had not many, a miniature of my parents and the like, and these were left for safe keeping with one of Selim’s friends, with a note as to their disposition in the event that I should fail to return to claim them. This obliging friend also provided us with a large sum of money in gold and silver, saying that we stood in need of friends where we were bound.
Selim ordered his soldiers to return to Baghdad, saying that they could not help, and might possibly hinder, the task that lay ahead of us. They complained bitterly, for I think they had some notion of launching an invasion of the Sudan, in the firm conviction that the six of them together with the three of us would together be the equal of the Khalifa’s army. Still, they went at last, with a bad grace, and tears in their eyes at being parted from Selim, and then we too were ready to leave.
From Mecca to Jeddah is no great distance, and it was not long before we entered the old port. The inhabitants of Jeddah, from being in almost constant contact with the outside world – for the port is a busy one – regard themselves as far more cosmopolitan than the citizens of Mecca, and very superior to the tribes of the surrounding desert. Regrettably, this superiority manifests itself in an arrogance towards strangers which I soon found irksome. Even more regrettably, it emphatically does not manifest itself in any desire to cleanse the city’s streets, which are the filthiest and vilest I have ever walked along.
Still, the presence of so many strangers did mean that we attracted not the slightest attention, and in any case we did not remain in the place for any longer than it took to make enquiries at the docks.
The fourth or fifth man whom we questioned told us that his brother – not his cousin, for a wonder! – had indeed contracted to take two men such as we described across the Gulf to Suakin in the Sudan. He told us, without being asked, that his brother, having a large family to provide for, had charged double the usual rate, as conditions in the Sudan were unstable in the extreme, and added significantly that he too had a large family.
We took the hint, and soon found ourselves on his dhow in the Gulf. The captain was inclined to be sociable, and readily told us all he knew of the present state of the Sudan. The Sudanese, he said, were very suspicious of all strangers, the rule of the Mahdi, and later the Khalifa, having induced in them a fear akin to that experienced by the citizens of France during the Terror, though the captain, in the blunt fashion of sailors, expressed it by a more earthy simile. Anyone who did not really have to go there, he said with a sidelong look, should avoid the place.
By way of allaying any suspicions which the captain might have, Selim told him that we had business with the local governor of Suakin.
‘Ah,’ said the captain, ‘the Emir?’
‘Yes,’ Selim told him, ‘that is the man we seek, do you know him?’
