Chapter 4

A RIOT AND A RESCUE.

After that we had little trouble with Archie Ackley, although in many ways the stubborn nature of the boy was unpleasantly evident. In his better moods he was an agreeable companion, but neither Joe nor I, the only two other boys aboard, sought his society more than was necessary. My uncle and the Captain both declared there was a heap of good in the lad, and a few such lessons as the one he had received would make a man of him.

Joe I found a treasure in many ways, and always a faithful friend. Since that first night when he had come aboard he had nothing to tell of his past history or experiences; but his nature was quick and observant and I could see he had picked up somewhere a considerable fund of worldly knowledge which he could draw upon as occasion offered.

My father, Uncle Naboth, and I were all three delighted with the Seagull’s sailing performances, though secretly I longed to discover how she would behave under steam, since her propeller had never been in use since the day it was given a brief trial test in Chelsea Bay. Tomlinson, the engineer, assured me we could make from sixteen to eighteen knots when the engines were working, and the man was naturally as impatient as I was to test their full powers. Still, we realized that we must wait, and Captain Steele was so delighted with the superb sailing qualities of the ship that even I had not the heart to suggest supplanting his white wings with black smoke from our funnels.

In due time we crossed the stormy Mediterranean and reached in safety our Syrian port, where we unloaded the rugs and delivered them in good condition to the consignees. We sailed along the coast, past Port Said, and finally came to the Bay of Alexandria, where we were to unload Ackley’s cases of “modern antiques” and get rid of our passenger.

It was a new experience to me to find myself on the historic shores of Egypt, anchored before the famous city founded by Alexander the Great. I begged Uncle Naboth to take me ashore; overhearing my request Archie Ackley invited us all—with an air of great condescension—to dine with him at the Royal Khedivial Hotel.

My father refused. He was too fond of the Seagull to leave her alone in a foreign port; but Ned Britton took his place, and the four of us—Archie, Uncle Naboth, the Mate and I—followed by our faithful blacks, Nux and Bryonia, disembarked on the quay and walked up the long, foreign-looking streets to the big hotel.

It was a queer sensation to find ourselves moving amidst a throng of long-robed turbaned Arabs; fez-topped Turks, with Frenchmen, and Syrians; gray-bearded, stooping Jews; blind beggars; red-coated English soldiers, and shrinking, veiled Moslem women.

“What a mess of foreigners,” cried Archie, and Uncle Naboth, with a laugh, reminded him that we were the foreigners and this curiously mixed crowd, the natives.

We dined in sumptuous style at the handsome hotel, for Archie proved a liberal host and feasted us royally. It was late at night when we retraced our steps toward the quay; but the streets of the city were still thronged with people, many of whom were sitting at little tables placed on the sidewalks, where they smoked and drank Turkish coffee and chatted together in a very babel of tongues.

As we left the heart of Alexandria and drew near to the water-front the streets became more deserted and the lights were fewer and dimmer. There were still straggling groups here and there, and suddenly, as we turned a corner, we observed a commotion just ahead of us and heard a terrified voice cry out:

“Help—Americans—help!”

Ned Britton gave a bound and was in the thick of the melée at once. Archie was only a step behind him and I saw his big fists swinging right and left in fast and furious fashion, while Joe ducked his head and tossed a tall Arab over his shoulder with marvelous ease. Nux and Bryonia took a hand, and while none of our party was armed, the free use of their terrible fists wrought such havoc among the long-gowned Arabs that the result of the skirmish was not long in doubt. Like a mist they faded away and escaped into the night, leaving a little man wriggling and moaning upon the ground as if in deathly agony. I held fast to my left arm, which had been slashed by a knife and was bleeding profusely, while I stared around in surprise at our easy victory. Uncle Naboth had not taken part in the fray, but now appeared seated calmly upon the prostrate form of the Arab whom Joe had vanquished, and his two hundred and odd pounds rendered the prisoner fairly secure.

Our blacks raised the little man to his feet, where he ceased squirming but stood weakly leaning against Nux and trembling like a leaf.

“Are you hurt, sir?” asked Ned.

The stranger shook his head. It was so dark in this spot that we could not distinguish his features very clearly.

“I—I think not,” he gasped. “But they nearly had me, that time. If you hadn’t come up as you did, I—I——”

He broke off abruptly and leaned over to peer at the Arab Uncle Naboth was sitting upon.

“That’s him! That’s Abdul Hashim himself! Kill him—kill him quick, some one!” he yelled, in a sudden frenzy.

The cry seemed to rouse the Arab to life. Like an eel he twisted, and Uncle Naboth slid off his back and bumped upon the sidewalk. The next moment we Americans were alone, for Abdul Hashim had saved his bacon by vanishing instantly.

“Oh, why—why did you let him go?” wailed the little man, covering his face with his hands. “He’ll get me again, some day—he’s sure to get me again!”

“Never mind that,” said Ned, gruffly, for we were all disgusted at this exhibition of the fellow’s unmanly weakness. “You can thank God you’re out of his clutches this time.”

“I do, sir—I do, indeed!” was the reply. “But don’t leave me just now, I beg of you.”

We looked at Uncle Naboth for advice. Bry had slit my sleeve with his pocketknife and was binding a handkerchief tightly around my wound, for he was something of a surgeon as well as a cook.

“We’re going aboard our ship,” said my uncle, shortly. “You’re welcome to come along, my man, an’ stay till mornin’.”

The stranger accepted the invitation with alacrity and we started again for the quay, which was reached without farther incident. Our boat was waiting and we were soon rowed where the Seagull was anchored and climbed aboard.

Under the clear light of the cabin lamp we looked at the person we had rescued with natural curiosity, to find a slender man, with stooping shoulders, a red Van Dyke beard, bald head and small eyes covered with big spectacles. He was about forty years of age, wore European clothes somewhat threadbare and faded in color, and his general appearance was one of seedy respectability.

“Gentlemen,” said he, sitting in an easy chair and facing the attentive group before him, “I am Professor Peter Pericles Van Dorn, of the University of Milwaukee.”

I had never heard of such a university; but then, Milwaukee is a good way inland. Neither had any of us before heard the name so unctuously announced; though we were too polite to say so, and merely nodded.

“It will please me,” continued the Professor, “to be informed of your station and the business that has brought you to Egypt.”

My uncle laughed and looked at me quizzically, as if inviting me to satisfy the stranger. Captain Steele scowled, resenting the implied impertinence. The only others present were Archie and Ned Britton.

I told Van Dorn we were a merchant ship from Boston, and had casually touched at the port of Alexandria to unload some wares belonging to Mr. Ackley, who was going to ship his property to Luxor and deliver it to merchants there.

“What sort of wares?” demanded the stranger.

“Scarabs, funeral figures, and copies of antique jewelry,” replied Archie, a bit uneasily.

“The curse of the country,” snapped the little man, scornfully. “There ought to be a law to prevent such rubbish being shipped into Egypt—except,” pausing to continue with a touch of bitterness, “that there are too many laws in this beastly country already.”

“The poor tourists must have scarabs to take home with them,” said Archie, with a grin. “About fifteen thousand travelers come to Egypt every year, and your Khedive won’t let any genuine scarabs leave Egypt.”

“Don’t call him my Khedive, sir!” cried the little professor. “I detest—I hate the government here, and everything connected with it. But you are not interested in that. Gentlemen,” assuming a pompous tone, “I am glad to meet you. You have arrived in the very nick of time to save me from assassination, or at least from utter failure in my great work. I am sure it was an All-wise Providence that directed you to stop at Alexandria.”

“Disguised as old Ackley’s mud scarabs,” added my uncle, dryly.

“And what are your future plans?” inquired the Professor, eagerly.

“To return to America at once,” I replied.

“No! A thousand times no!” shouted little Van Dorn, banging his fist on the table, “I charter you from this minute. I engage this ship—at your own price—to transport me and my treasure to New York!”

“Treasure!” we exclaimed, incredulously.

The Professor glanced around and lowered his voice.

“The greatest treasure, gentlemen, that has ever been discovered in Egypt. I have found the place where the priests of Karnak and Luxor hid their vast wealth at the invasion of Cambyses the Persian.”

He paused impressively. My father looked at his watch and Uncle Naboth yawned. For myself, I should have liked to hear more, but my wound was paining me and Bry awaited my coming to dress it properly. So I said to our guest:

“If you please, Professor, we will hear your story in the morning. It is now late, and we are all longing for our berths. So we will bid you good-night and wish you pleasant dreams.”

He glared at me indignantly.

“Can you sleep after what I have told you?” he demanded.

“I hope so, sir,” I replied, and turned away to call Joe to show the man to his room. He made no farther protest, but going away and looking rather thoughtful.

Bry found that the knife had merely inflicted a flesh wound on my arm, and promised it would give me little trouble. The bleeding had stopped, so my black surgeon washed the cut thoroughly, bandaged and plastered it quite professionally, and sent me to bed to sleep soundly until morning.

Really, I forgot all about the Professor, who looked the part of a savant much better than he acted it, it seemed to me.