Complete works of hall c.., p.439
Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 439
She was breathing hard and biting her under lip.
“Your happiness is dearer to me than anything else in life, dear; but I am a man, not a child, and if I am to follow your father in order not to lose you, I must know why. Will you tell me?”
Without raising her eyes, Helena answered, “No!”
“Very well!” he said. “In that case it must be as the fates determine.” And, straightening his sword-belt, he stepped to the door.
Helena looked up at him and in a fluttering voice called, “Gordon!”—’
He turned, with his hand on the handle. “What is it?”
For one instant she had an impulse to break her promise and tell him of her father’s infirmity, but at the next moment she thought of the Egyptian and her pride and jealousy conquered.
“What is it, Helena?”
“Nothing,” she said, and fled into her bedroom.
Gordon looked after her until she had disappeared, and then — hot, angry, nervous, less able than before to meet the ordeal before him — he turned the handle of the door and entered the General’s office.
XXIII
THE Consul-General, the General, and the Egyptian pasha in his tarboosh were sitting in a half-circle. The General’s Military Secretary, Captain Graham, was writing at the desk, and his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Robson, was standing beside it. Nobody was speaking as Gordon entered, and the air of the room had the dumb emptiness which goes before a storm. The General signalled to Gordon to sit, requested his aide-de-camp to step out but wait in his own office, and then said, speaking in a jerky, nervous way:
“Gordon, I have an order of the utmost importance to give you, but before I do so your father has something to say.”
With that he took a seat by the side of the desk, while the Consul-General, without changing the direction of his eyes, said, slowly and deliberately:
“I need hardly tell you, Gordon, that the explanation I am about to make would be quite unnecessary in the case of an ordinary officer receiving an ordinary command, but I have decided to make it to you out of regard to the fact of who you are and what your relation to the General is to be.” Gordon bowed without speaking. He was struggling to compose himself, and something was whispering to him, “Above all things, be calm!”
“I regret to say the Ulema have ignored the order which His Excellency sent to them,” said the Consul-General, indicating the pasha.
“Ignored?”
“That’s what it comes to, though it’s true they asked me to receive the man Ishmael Ameer and to consider a suggestion.”
“You did, sir?”
“I did. The man came, I saw him, and heard what he had to say — and now I am more than ever convinced that he is a public peril.”
“A peril?”
“First, because he advises officers and men to abstain from military service on the ground that war is incompatible with religion. That is opposed to the existing order of society, and therefore harmful to good government.”
“I agree,” said the General, swinging restlessly in his revolving chair.
“Next, because he tells the Egyptian people that where the authority of the law is opposed to what he is pleased to consider the commandments of God, they are to obey God and not the Government. That is to make every man a law to himself and to cause the rule of the Government to he defied.”
The pasha smiled and bowed his thin face over his hands, which were clasped at his breast.
“Finally, because he says openly that in the time to come Egypt will he a separate State with a peculiar mission, and that means Nationalism and the end of the rule of England in the Valley of the Nile.”
Gordon made an effort to speak, but his father waved him aside.
“I am not here to argue with you about the man’s teaching, but merely to define it. He is one of the mischievous people who, taking no account of the religious principles which lie at the root of civilisation, would use religion to turn the world back to barbarism. What is true in his doctrines is not new, and what is new is not true. As for his reforms of polygamy, divorce, seclusion of women, and so forth, I have no use for the people who, in Cairo or in London, are for ever correcting the proof-sheets of the Almighty by reading their holy book as they please, whether it is the Koran or the Bible. And as for his prophecies, there are such things as mental strong drinks, and a man like this is providing them.”
“You spoke of a suggestion, sir,” said Gordon, who was still struggling to keep calm.
“His suggestion,” said the Consul-General, with icy composure—” his suggestion was an aggravation of his offence. He proposed that we should leave El Azhar unmolested on condition that the Ulema opened it to the public. That meant that the Government must either countenance his sedition or suppress it by the stupid means of discussing his principles in courts of law.”
The pasha smiled and the General laughed, and then in a last word the Consul-General said, quietly:
“General Graves will now tell you what we require you to do.”
The General, still jerky and nervous, then said:
“All the necessary preparations have been made, Gordon. The — the Governor of the city will call you up at your quarters, and on — on receiving his message you will take a regiment of cavalry, which is ready here in the Citadel, and one battalion of infantry, which is under arms at Kasr el Nil, and accompany him to El Azhar. There — as — as commander of the troops, you — at the request of the Governor — you will take such military steps as in your opinion will be required to enter the University — and — and clear out its students and professors. You will cause ten rounds of ammunition to be issued to the men, and you will have absolute discretion as to the way you go to work, and as to the amount of force necessary to be used, but you — of course, you will be responsible for everything that is done — or not done — in carrying out your order. I — I ask you to attend to this matter at once, and to report to me to-night if possible.”
When the General’s flurried words were spoken there was silence for a moment, and then Gordon, trying in vain to control his voice, said, haltingly:
“You know I don’t want to do this work, General, and if it must be done I beg of you to order some one else to do it.”
“That is impossible,” replied the General. “You are the proper person for this duty, and to give it to another officer would be to — to strengthen the party of rebellion by saying in so many words that there is disaffection in our own ranks.”
“Then permit me to resign my appointment on your staff, sir. I don’t want to do so — God knows I don’t. My rank as a soldier is the one thing in the world I’m proudest of, but I would rather resign it—”
“Resign it if you please — if you are so foolish. Send in your papers; but until they are accepted you are my officer, and I must ask you to obey my order.”
Gordon struggled hard with himself, and then said, boldly:
“General, you must pardon me if I tell you that you don’t know what you are asking me to do.”
The three old men looked sharply round at him, but he was now keyed up and did not care.
“No, sir — none of you! You think you are merely asking me to drive out of El Azhar a number of rebellious students and their teachers. But you are really asking me to kill hundreds, perhaps thousands, of them.”
“Fudge! Fiddlesticks!” cried the General, and then, forgetting the presence of the pasha, he said: “These people are Egyptians — miserable, pigeon-livered Egyptians! Before you fire a shot they’ll fly away to a man. But even if they stay, the responsibility will be their own — so what the dev—”
“That’s just where we join issue, General,” said Gordon. “There isn’t a worm that hasn’t a right to resent a wrong, and this will be a wrong, and the people will be justified in resenting it.”
The General, who was breathing hard, turned to the Consul-General and said, “I’m sorry, my lord, very sorry, but you see—”
There was a short silence, and then the Consul-General, still calm on the outside as a frozen lake, said, “Gordon, I presume you know what you will be doing if you refuse to obey your General’s order?”
Gordon did not answer, and his father, in a biting note, continued:
“I dare say you suppose you are following the dictates of conscience, and I don’t question your sincerity. I’m beginning to see that this Empire of ours is destined to be destroyed in the end by its humanitarians, its philanthropists, its foolish people who are bewitched by good intentions.”
The sarcasm was cutting Gordon to the bone, but he did not reply, and presently the old man’s voice softened.
“I presume you know that if you refuse to obey your General’s order you will he dealing a blow at your father — dishonouring him, accusing him. Your refusal will go far. There will be no hushing it up. England as well as Egypt will hear of it.”
A deep flush overspread the Proconsul’s face.
“For forty years I’ve been doing the work of civilisation in this country. I think progress has received a certain impetus. And now, when I am old and my strength is not what it was once, my son — my only son — is pulling the lever that is to bring my house down over my head.”
The old man’s voice trembled and almost broke.
“You’ve not thought of that, I suppose?”
Gordon’s emotions almost mastered him. “Yes, sir,” he said, “I have thought of it, and it’s a great grief to me to oppose you. But it would be a still greater grief to help you — to help you to undo all the great work you have ever done in Egypt. Father, believe me, I know what I’m saying. There will be bloodshed, and as sure as that happens there will be an outcry all over the Mohammedan world. The prestige of England will suffer — in India — in Europe — America — everywhere. And you, father, you alone will be blamed.”
At that the General rose in great wrath, but the Consul-General interposed.
“One moment, please! I am anxious to make allowances for fanaticism, and at a moment of tension I could wish to avoid any act that might create a conflagration. Therefore,” he said, turning to Gordon, “if you are so sure that there will be bloodshed, I am willing to hold my hand, on one condition — that the man Ishmael, the mouthpiece of the sedition we wish to suppress, should leave Egypt without delay.”
Gordon did not reply immediately, and his father continued: “Why not? It is surely better that one man should go than that the whole nation should suffer. Send him out, drive him out, walk him over the frontier, and for the present I am satisfied.”
“Father,” said Gordon, “what you ask me to do is impossible. The Egyptians believe Ishmael to be one of the prophets who are sent into the world to keep the souls of men alive. He is like the Mahdi to them, and — who knows? — they may come to think of him as the Redeemer, the Christ, who is to pacify the world. Right or wrong, they think of him already as a living protest against that part of Western civilisation which is the result of force and fraud. Therefore, to drive him out of the country would be the same thing to them as to drive out religion. In their view it would be a sin against humanity — a sin against God.”
But the General could bear no more. Rising from the desk, he said, contemptuously:
“All that’s very fine, very exalted, I dare say, but we are plain soldiers, you and I, and we cannot follow the flights of great minds like these Mohammedan Sheikhs. So without further argument I ask you if you are willing to carry out the order I have given you.”
“It would be a crime, sir.”
“Crime or no crime, it would be no concern of yours. Do you refuse to obey my order?”
“Recall your order, sir, and I shall have no reason to refuse to obey it.”
“Do you refuse to obey my order?”
“It would be against my conscience, General.”
“Your conscience is not in question. Tour only duty is to carry out the will of your superior.”
“When I accepted my commission in the army did I lose my rights as a human being, sir?”
“Don’t talk to me about losing your rights. In the face of duty an officer loses father and mother, wife and child.
According to the King’s regulations, you are an officer first, remember.”
“No, sir; according to the King’s regulations I am first of all a man.”
The General bridled his gathering anger and answered: “Of course, you can ask for a written order — if you wish to avoid the danger of blame.”
“I wish to avoid the danger of doing wrong, sir,” said Gordon, and then, glancing toward his father, he added: “Let me feel that I’m fighting for the right. An English soldier cannot fight without that.”
“Then I ask you as an English soldier if you refuse to obey my order?” repeated the General. But Gordon, still with his face toward his father, said:
“Wherever the English flag flies men say, ‘Here is justice.’ That’s something to be proud of. Don’t let us lose it, sir.”
“I ask you again,” said the General, “if you refuse to obey my order?”
“I have done wrong things without knowing them,” said Gordon, “but when you ask me to—”
“England asks you to obey your General — will you do it?” said General Graves; and then Gordon faced back to him, and in a voice that rang through the room he said: “No; not for England will I do what I know to be wrong.”
At that the Consul-General waved his hand and said, “Let us have done “; whereupon General Graves, who was now violently agitated, touched a hand-bell on the desk, and when his servant appeared he said:
“Tell my daughter to come to me.”
Not a word more was spoken until light footsteps were heard approaching, and Helena came into the room with a handkerchief in her hand, pale as if she had been crying, and breathless as if she had been running hard. The three old gentlemen rose and bowed to her as she entered, but Gordon, whose face had frowned when he heard the General’s command, rose and sat down again without turning in her direction.
“Sit down, Helena,” said the General; and Helena sat.
“Helena, you will remember that I asked you if you could marry an officer who, for disobedience to his General — and that General your father — had been court-martialled and perhaps degraded?”
In a scarcely audible voice Helena answered, “Yes.”
“Then tell Colonel Lord what course you will take if, by his own deliberate act, that misfortune should befall him.”
A hot blush mounted to Helena’s cheeks, and, looking at the hem of her handkerchief, she said:
“Gordon knows already what I would say, father. There is no need to tell him.”
Then the General turned back to Gordon. “You hear?” he said. “I presume you understand Helena’s answer. For the sake of our mutual peace and happiness I wished to give you one more chance. The issue is now plain. Either you obey your General’s order or you renounce all hope of his daughter — which is it to be?”
The young man swallowed his anger, and answered: “Is it fair, sir — fair to Helena, I mean — to put her to a test like that — either violent separation from her father or from me? But as you have spoken to Helena, I ask you to allow me to do so also.”
“No; I forbid it,” said the General.
“Don’t be afraid, sir. I’m not going to appeal over your head to any love for me in Helena’s heart. That must speak for itself now — if it’s to speak at all. But” — his voice was so soft and low that it could hardly be heard—” I wish to ask her a question. Helena—”
“I forbid it, I tell you,” said the General, hotly.
There was a moment of tense silence, and then Gordon, who had suddenly become hoarse, said: “You spoke about a written order, General. Give it to me.”
“With pleasure!” said the General, and, turning to his Military Secretary at the desk, he requested him to make out an order in the Order Book according to the terms of his verbal command.
Nothing was heard in the silence of the next moment but the spasmodic scratching of Captain Graham’s quill pen. The Consul-General sat motionless, and the pasha merely smoothed one white hand over the other. Gordon tried to glance into Helena’s face, but she looked fixedly before her out of her large, wide-open, swollen eyes.
Only one idea shaped itself clearly through the storm that raged in Gordon’s brain: to secure his happiness with Helena he must make himself unhappy in every other relation, in life — to save himself from degradation as a soldier he must degrade himself as a man.
Presently, through the whirling mist of his half-consciousness, he was aware that the Military Secretary had ceased writing and that the General was offering him a paper.
“Here it is,” the General was saying, with a certain bitterness. “How you may set your mind at ease. If there are any bad consequences you can preserve your reputation as an officer. And if there are any complaints from the War Office, or anywhere else, you can lay the blame on me. You can go on with your duty without fear for your honour, and when—”
But Gordon, whose gorge had risen at every word, suddenly lost control of himself, and, getting up with the paper in his hand, he said:
“No, I will not go on. Do you suppose I have been thinking of myself? Take back your order. There is no obedience due to a sinful command, and this command is sinful. It is wicked, it is mad, it is abominable. You are asking me to commit murder — that’s it — murder — and I will not commit it. There’s your order — take it back, and damn it!”
So saying, he crushed the paper in his hands and flung it on the desk.
At the next instant everybody in the room had risen. There was consternation on every face, and the General, who was choking with anger, was saying, in a half-stifled voice:
“You are no fool — you know what you have done now. You have not only refused to obey orders — you have insulted your General and been guilty of deliberate insubordination.
