“Thanks to the boy, have good news of the children. Come to Mombasa.”
“Thanks to the boy, have good news of the children. Come to Mombasa.”
The second was more explicit and addressed to Aden. It read:
“The children are safe in our hands. The boy a hero!”
“The children are safe in our hands. The boy a hero!”
They made a halt of two weeks on the cool summits of Kilima-Njaro, for Dr. Clary urged this on account of the health of Nell and of Stasch. The children adored this sky-high mountain, which possessed every kind of climate imaginable. Its two peaks, Kibo and Mawenzi, were usually clothed in thick mists during the day, but when the mists suddenly lifted on clear evenings the everlasting snows on the summit of Mawenzi shone with a rosy glow, reflected from the sunset, while all the rest of the world was already wrapped in darkness—the mountain resembled a shining altar of God. At this sight the children unconsciously folded their hands in prayer.
For Stasch the days of worry, anxiety, and trouble were over. They now had a journey of a month before reaching Mombasa, and the road lay through the beautiful but unhealthy Tawet forest. How much easier was it now to travel over well-known roads with a numerous and well-equipped caravan than to wander around in an unknown wilderness accompanied by Kali and Mea. Besides, Captain Glen now took charge of the journey. Stasch recovered and went hunting. Having found a chisel and hammer among the tools of the caravan, he set to work during the cool hours to chisel on a large gneiss rock the following inscription: “Poland is not lost yet!” for he wished to leave at least a trace of their sojourn in this country. The Englishmen, to whom he translated the inscription, were surprised that the boy had not thought of perpetuating his own name by carving it on a rock in Africa. But he preferred the sentiments he had chiseled on it.
He continued to protect Nell, and this gave her such an unlimited confidence in him that when Dr. Clary asked her whether she was not afraid of the storms on the Red Sea, the girl rested her beautiful soft eyes on him and replied, “Stasch will know what to do!” Captain Glen said that no one could have given a truer and more beautiful proof of what Stasch was to the little one or given him higher praise.
Although the first telegram sent to Mr. Tarkowski at Port Said was very carefully worded, it produced such a great effect on Nell’s father that he nearly died of joy, and Mr. Tarkowski, although an unusually demonstrative man, knelt down to pray and besought God that this news might not be another false clue or the result of a diseased imagination brought about by their own longing and their grief. For had they not both done everything trying to ascertain if their children were still alive? Mr. Rawlison had led caravans to the Sudan, and Mr. Tarkowski, dressed as an Arab, had gone as far as Khartum, thereby greatly endangering his life. Nothing had been of any avail. Those who might have given them some news had died from smallpox or from hunger or had been killed in the bloody fights that were continually being waged, and there seemed no more trace of the children than if they had fallen into the water and disappeared. At last both fathers gave up all hope and only lived on remembrances, firmly convinced that there was nothing in life for them, and that death alone would reunite them to their loved ones, who were everything to them. When this great joy suddenly came to them it was almost more than they could bear; nevertheless, it was accompanied by uncertainty and surprise. Neither of them could comprehend how and in what manner the news of the children had come from this part of Africa; that is to say, from Mombasa. Mr. Tarkowski imagined that an Arab caravan, advancing from the eastern coast after having been in the interior hunting for ivory, had reached the Nile and had either bought their freedom or had stolen them. The words of the telegram, “thanks to the boy,” they accounted for in the following manner: They conjectured that Stasch must have written to the captain and the doctor and told them where he and Nell were to be found. But there were many things which it was impossible to explain. On the other hand, Mr. Tarkowski clearly saw that this was not onlygoodnews, butverygood news, for otherwise the captain and the doctor would not have dared to arouse their hopes, and besides, they would not have told them to come to Mombasa.
The preparations for the journey were soon made, and on the second day after receiving the telegrams both engineers, with Nell’s governess, boarded a large steamer of the Peninsula and Orient Company, which was on its way to India, and stopped en route at Aden, Mombasa, and Zanzibar. In Aden a second telegram awaited them, which read: “The children are safe in our care. The boy a hero!” After he had read it Mr. Rawlison, nearly beside himself, continually repeated as he grasped Mr. Tarkowski’s hand:
“You see—he saved her—I owe her life to him——” and Mr. Tarkowski repressed his feelings, so as not to appear weak, compressed his lips, and answered: “Yes, the boy has been brave,” and entering his cabin, he wept for joy.
At last the moment came when the children threw themselves into the arms of their fathers. Mr. Rawlison took his regained treasure in his arms, and Mr. Tarkowski held his heroic boy pressed to his heart in a long embrace. Their calamities had passed by as hurricanes and storms pass over the desert. Life was once more filled with sunlight and happiness, their longing and separation even increasing their present rejoicing. But the children were greatly surprised that their fathers’ hair had become quite white during the separation.
They returned to Suez on a French boat of the Messageries Maritimes, which was crowded with passengers from the islands of Réunion, Mauritius, and from Madagascar, and Zanzibar. When the news that there were children on board who had been taken captive by the Dervishes and escaped had become known, Stasch was made the center of general curiosity and admiration. But the happy quartet preferred to shut themselves up in the large cabin, which the captain had given up to them, and pass the cool hours relating their adventures. Nell also took part, chattering like a little bird, and to the great amusement of everybody she commenced every sentence with “and.” Resting on her father’s knees and raising her lovely eyes to him, she talked somewhat like this: “And, papa, dear! And they carried us off and led us on camels—and Gebhr beat me—and Stasch protected me—and we arrived in Khartum—and there people died of hunger—and Stasch worked, so as to get dates for me—and we were with the Mahdi—and Stasch would not change his religion—and the Mahdi sent us to Fashoda—and then Stasch killed a lion and all—and we lived in a large tree called “Cracow”—and King was with us—and I had the fever—and Stasch cured me—and he killed a wobo—and conquered the Samburus—and—papa, dear—he was always very good to me——”
She also spoke of Kali, Mea, King, Saba, Linde and his mountain, and of the kite sent up just previous to meeting the captain and the doctor. Mr. Rawlison could with difficulty suppress his tears during this chatter, pressed his child more closely to his heart; and Mr. Tarkowski was so overcome with pride that he could not control himself, for even from this childish talk it could readily be seen that had it not been for the ability and energy of the boy the little one would have been hopelessly lost, not only once, but many times.
Stasch gave an exact account of everything, and while telling of the journey from Fashoda to the waterfall, a great load fell from his chest, for when he told how he had shot Gebhr and his followers, he stopped and looked uneasily at his father—but Mr. Tarkowski frowned, thought a while, and then said gravely:
“Listen, Stasch! One ought never kill any one, but if any one threaten your country, or the life of your mother or sister, or the life of a woman placed in your care, then unquestionably shoot him, and without any qualms of conscience—and never feel any remorse.”
On arriving at Port Said Mr. Rawlison and Nell went to England, where they took up their residence. Stasch’s father sent him to a school in Alexandria, for there his deeds and adventures were not so well known. The children wrote to each other almost every day, but it so happened that they did not see each other for ten years. After the boy had completed his studies in Egypt he attended the Polytechnic School in Zürich, and on receiving his diploma engaged in tunnel work in Switzerland.
It was ten years later, when Mr. Tarkowski retired, that they both visited their friends in England. Mr. Rawlison invited them to spend the entire summer at his house near Hampton Court. Nell had passed her eighteenth birthday, and had grown up a lovely girl, blooming like a rose; and Stasch found, at the cost of his peace of mind, that a man of twenty-four is not too young to think of the ladies. In fact, he thought so continually of the beautiful and well-beloved Nell that he felt like running off wherever his eyes would lead him and his feet would carry him.
But one day Mr. Rawlison, laying both his hands on the young man’s shoulders, looked into his eyes and said:
“Stasch, tell me. Is there any one in the world but you to whom I could trust her so well?”
The young Tarkowski couple remained in England till the death of Mr. Rawlison. A year later they started on a long journey. They had promised themselves the pleasure of revisiting the places where they had spent their childhood and had wandered as youngsters, so they first went to Egypt. The kingdom of the Mahdi and Abdullah had long since disintegrated, and after its ruin there came, as Captain Glen had said, “England.” A railroad had been built from Cairo to Khartum. The places which used to be overflowed by the Nile had been cleaned up, so that the young couple were able to travel in a comfortable steamer not only as far as Fashoda, but even to the large Victoria-Nyanza Lake. From the town of Florence, which lay on the banks of this lake, they took the train to Mombasa. Captain Glen and Dr. Clary had moved to Natal, but under the good care of the English officials in Mombasa lived—King. The giant immediately recognized his former masters, and he welcomed Nell with such joyous trumpeting that the neighboring mangrove trees shook as though before a wind. He also knew old Saba, who had lived to almost twice the age allotted to dogs, and, though half blind now, accompanied Stasch and Nell wherever they went.
Stasch also learned while there that Kali was doing well, that he ruled under English protection over the whole territory south of Rudolf Lake, and that he had invited missionaries to come into his land to preach Christianity among the savage natives.
After completing this final long journey the young couple returned to Europe, and taking Stasch’s father with them, they made their permanent residence in Poland.
[49]
Abdullah’s reign lasted ten years longer. The fatal stroke was given to the Dervishes by Lord Kitchener, who, in a bloody battle, nearly annihilated them, and razed the tomb of the Mahdi to the ground.
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