A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

“In that case I think we had better be going,” I said, turning to his lordship.

We made our way on deck, and, after a little chaffering, secured a boat, in which we were pulled ashore. Having arrived there, we were immediately beset by the usual crowd of beggars and donkey boys, but withstanding their importunities, we turned into the Rue de Commerce and made our way inland. To my companion the crowded streets, the diversity of nationalities and costume, and the strange variety of shops and wares, were matters of absorbing interest. This will be the better understood when it is remembered that, poor though Port Said is in orientalism, it was nevertheless the first Eastern port he had encountered. We had both a few purchases to make, and this business satisfactorily accomplished, we hired a guide and started off to see the sights.

Passing out of the Rue de Commerce, our attention was attracted by a lame young beggar who, leaning on his crutches, blocked our way while he recited his dismal catalogue of woes. Our guide bade him be off, and indeed I was not sorry to be rid of him, but I could see, by glancing at his face, that my companion had taken his case more seriously. In fact we had not proceeded more than twenty yards before he asked me to wait a moment for him, and taking to his heels ran back to the spot where we had left him. When he rejoined us I said:⁠—

“You don’t mean to say that you gave that rascal money?”

“Only half a sovereign,” he answered. “Perhaps you didn’t hear the pitiful story he told us? His father is dead, and now, if it were not for his begging, his mother and five young sisters would all be starving.” I asked our guide if he knew the man, and whether his tale were true.

“No, monsieur,” he replied promptly, “it is all one big lie. His father is in the jail, and, if she had her rights, his mother would be there too.” Not another word was said on the subject, but I could see that the boy’s generous heart had been hurt. How little he guessed the effect that outburst of generosity was to have upon us later on.

At our guide’s suggestion, we passed from the commercial, through the European quarter, to a large mosque situated in Arab Town. It was a long walk, but we were promised that we should see something there that would amply compensate us for any trouble we might be put to to reach it. This turned out to be the case, but hardly in the fashion he had predicted.

The mosque was certainly a fine building, and at the time of our visit was thronged with worshippers. They knelt in two long lines, reaching from end to end, their feet were bare, and their heads turned towards the east. By our guide’s instructions we removed our boots at the entrance, but fortunately, seeing what was to transpire later, took the precaution of carrying them into the building with us. From the main hall we passed into a smaller one, where a number of Egyptian standards, relics of the war of ’82, were unrolled for our inspection. While we were examining them, our guide, who had for a moment left us, returned with a scared face to inform us that there were a number of English tourists in the mosque who had refused to take their boots off, and were evidently bent on making trouble. As he spoke the ominous hum of angry voices drifted in to us, increasing in volume as we listened. Our guide pricked up his ears and looked anxiously at the door.

“There will be trouble directly,” he said solemnly, “if those young men do not behave themselves. If messieurs will be guided by me, they will be going. I can show them a back way out.”

For a moment I felt inclined to follow his advice, but Beckenham’s next speech decided me to stay.

“You will not go away and leave those stupid fellows to be killed?” he said, moving towards the door into the mosque proper. “However foolish they may have been, they are still our countrymen, and whatever happens we ought to stand by them.”

“If you think so, of course we will,” I answered, “but remember it may cost us our lives. You still want to stay? Very good, then, come along, but stick close to me.”

We left the small anteroom, in which we had been examining the flags, and passed back into the main hall. Here an extraordinary scene presented itself.

In the furthest corner, completely hemmed in by a crowd of furious Arabs, were three young Englishmen, whose faces plainly showed how well they understood the dangerous position into which their own impudence and folly had enticed them.

Elbowing our way through the crowd, we reached their side, and immediately called upon them to push their way towards the big doors; but before this manoeuvre could be executed, someone had given an order in Arabic, and we were all borne back against the wall.

“There is no help for it!” I cried to the biggest of the strangers. “We must fight our way out. Choose your men and come along.”

So saying, I gave the man nearest me one under the jaw to remember me by, which laid him on his back, and then, having room to use my arms, sent down another to keep him company. All this time my companions were not idle, and to my surprise I saw the young Marquis laying about him with a science that I had to own afterwards did credit to his education. Our assailants evidently did not expect to meet with this resistance, for they gave way and began to back towards the door. One or two of them drew knives, but the space was too cramped for them to do much harm with them.

“One more rush,” I cried, “and