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During the next two years I was twice detached from Shaiba for short periods. First of all I was posted to Baghdad where I was billeted in a camp but by day I was employed in a large private house in Mansoor Street. Military and local civilian staff worked there.
This was Mansoor Shakoor, a young Christian Syrian of good family and education, who, after working for some years as teacher and evangelist in Syria, had become agent in Cairo for the Moslem Mission Society, recently established in England. First of all Yousif Shakoor, brother of Mansoor, came to help her in work.
"Now he's giving orders. What can it be? Here, Mansoor, what is the matter?" The dragoman came running up with the light of hope shining upon his brown face. "I think they have seen something to frighten them. I believe that the soldiers are behind us. They have given the order to fill the water-skins, and be ready for a start when the darkness comes.
I will do all that I can in this matter. Now, Mansoor, you may tell the holy man that I am ready to discuss through you the high matters of his faith with him." And he did it with an ingenuity which amazed his companions. He took the tone of a man who is strongly attracted, and yet has one single remaining shred of doubt to hold him back.
Again he asked a curt question, and Mansoor, kneeling in front of him, answered it. "Tell him that I am a Frenchman, dragoman. Tell him that I am a friend of the Khalifa. Tell him that my countrymen have never had any quarrel with him, but that his enemies are also ours." "The chief asks what religion you call your own," said Mansoor.
How far Mansoor may have gone with his assurances may never be known, but the Mussulman preacher came walking towards them at this moment with a paternal and contented smile upon his face, as one who has a pleasant and easy task before him.
Later Mansoor also entered her employ, and she maintained both the brothers from her private resources. Thus she was provided with devoted and efficient helpers. Under their superintendence a regular school for boys was established, and when in 1863 she again returned to England she left the charge of all her work in their hands.
Again and again they rushed to the edge of the great cliff which rose from the river, but the youngest and most daring of them could never have descended it. The two women clung one on each side of the trembling Mansoor, with a feeling that he was officially responsible for their safety. When he ran up and down in his desperation, his skirts and theirs all fluttered together.
The women said nothing, but the men were all buzzing together. "There's the pistol, Miss Adams," said Belmont. "Give it here! We won't be tortured! We won't stand it!" "Offer them money, Mansoor! Offer them anything!" cried Stephens. "Look here, I'll turn Mohammedan if they'll promise to leave the women alone. After all, it isn't binding it's under compulsion. But I can't see the women hurt."
"What is it?" asked Belmont, who found the dragoman riding at his elbow. "Why are we going out of our course?" "Drift sand," Mansoor answered. "Every sometimes the wind bring it all in one long place like that. To-morrow, if a wind comes, perhaps there will not be one grain left, but all will be carried up into the air again.
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