LADY CICELY (getting up to look and uttering a cry of admiration). Oh, how lovely!
SIR HOWARD (also rising). What are those hills over there to the southeast?
RANKIN. They are the outposts, so to speak, of the Atlas Mountains.
LADY CICELY. The Atlas Mountains! Where Shelley’s witch lived! We’ll make an excursion to them tomorrow, Howard.
RANKIN. That’s impoassible, my leddy. The natives are verra dangerous.
LADY CICELY. Why? Has any explorer been shooting them?
RANKIN. No. But every man of them believes he will go to heaven if he kills an unbeliever.
LADY CICELY. Bless you, dear Mr. Rankin, the people in England believe that they will go to heaven if they give all their property to the poor. But they don’t do it. I’m not a bit afraid of that.
RANKIN. But they are not accustomed to see women going about unveiled.
LADY CICELY. I always get on best with people when they can see my face.
SIR HOWARD. Cicely: you are talking great nonsense and you know it. These people have no laws to restrain them, which means, in plain English, that they are habitual thieves and murderers.
RANKIN. Nay, nay: not exactly that.
LADY CICELY (indignantly). Of course not. You always think, Howard, that nothing prevents people killing each other but the fear of your hanging them for it. But what nonsense that is! And how wicked! If these people weren’t here for some good purpose, they wouldn’t have been made, would they, Mr. Rankin?
RANKIN. That is a point, certainly, Leddy Ceecily.
SIR HOWARD. Oh, if you are going to talk theology —
LADY CICELY. Well, why not? theology is as respectable as law, I should think. Besides, I’m only talking commonsense. Why do people get killed by savages? Because instead of being polite to them, and saying Howdyedo? like me, people aim pistols at them. I’ve been among savages — cannibals and all sorts. Everybody said they’d kill me. But when I met them, I said Howdyedo? and they were quite nice. The kings always wanted to marry me.
SIR HOWARD. That does not seem to me to make you any safer here, Cicely. You shall certainly not stir a step beyond the protection of the consul, if I can help it, without a strong escort.
LADY CICELY. I don’t want an escort.
SIR HOWARD. I do. And I suppose you will expect me to accompany you.
RANKIN. ’Tis not safe, Leddy Ceecily. Really and truly, ’tis not safe. The tribes are verra fierce; and there are cities here that no Christian has ever set foot in. If you go without being well protected, the first chief you meet well seize you and send you back again to prevent his followers murdering you.
LADY CICELY. Oh, how nice of him, Mr. Rankin!
RANKIN. He would not do it for your sake, Leddy Ceecily, but for his own. The Sultan would get into trouble with England if you were killed; and the Sultan would kill the chief to pacify the English government.
LADY CICELY. But I always go everywhere. I KNOW the people here won’t touch me. They have such nice faces and such pretty scenery.
SIR HOWARD (to Rankin, sitting down again resignedly). You can imagine how much use there is in talking to a woman who admires the faces of the ruffians who infest these ports, Mr. Rankin. Can anything be done in the way of an escort?
RANKIN. There is a certain Captain Brassbound here who trades along the coast, and occasionally escorts parties of merchants on journeys into the interior. I understand that he served under Gordon in the Soudan.
SIR HOWARD. That sounds promising. But I should like to know a little more about him before I trust myself in his hands.
RANKIN. I quite agree with you, Sir Howrrd. I’ll send Felix Drinkwotter for him. (He claps his hands. An Arab boy appears at the house door.) Muley: is sailor man here? (Muley nods.) Tell sailor man bring captain. (Muley nods and goes.)
SIR HOWARD. Who is Drinkwater?
RANKIN. His agent, or mate: I don’t rightly know which.
LADY CICELY. Oh, if he has a mate named Felix Drinkwater, it must be quite a respectable crew. It is such a nice name.
RANKIN. You saw him here just now. He is a convert of mine.
LADY CICELY (delighted). That nice truthful sailor!
SIR HOWARD (horrified). What! The Hooligan!
RANKIN (puzzled). Hooligan? No, my lord: he is an Englishman.
SIR HOWARD. My dear Mr. Rankin, this man was tried before me on a charge of street ruffianism.
RANKIN. So he told me. He was badly broat up, I am afraid. But he is now a converted man.
LADY CICELY. Of course he is. His telling you so frankly proves it. You know, really, Howard, all those poor people whom you try are more sinned against than sinning. If you would only talk to them in a friendly way instead of passing cruel sentences on them, you would find them quite nice to you. (Indignantly) I won’t have this poor man trampled on merely because his mother brought him up as a Hooligan. I am sure nobody could be nicer than he was when he spoke to us.
SIR HOWARD. In short, we are to have an escort of Hooligans commanded by a filibuster. Very well, very well. You will most likely admire all their faces; and I have no doubt at all that they will admire yours.
Drinkwater comes from the house with an Italian dressed in a much worn suit of blue serge, a dilapidated Alpine hat, and boots laced with scraps of twine. He remains near the door, whilst Drinkwater comes forward between Sir Howard and Lady Cicely.
DRINKWATER. Yr honor’s servant. (To the Italian) Mawtzow: is lawdship Sr Ahrd Ellam. (Marzo touches his hat.) Er Lidyship Lidy Winefleet. (Marzo touches his hat.) Hawtellian shipmite, lidy. Hahr chef.
LADY CICELY (nodding affably to Marzo). Howdyedo? I love Italy. What part of it were you born in?
DRINKWATER. Worn’t bawn in Hitly at all, lidy. Bawn in Ettn Gawdn (Hatton Garden). Hawce barrer an street pianner Hawtellian, lidy: thet’s wot e is. Kepn Brarsbahnd’s respects to yr honors; an e awites yr commawnds.
RANKIN. Shall we go indoors to see him?
SIR HOWARD. I think we had better have a look at him by daylight.
RANKIN. Then we must lose no time: the dark is soon down in this latitude. (To Drinkwater) Will ye ask him to step out here to us, Mr. Drinkwotter?
DRINKWATER. Rawt you aw, gavner. (He goes officiously into the house.)
Lady Cicely and Rankin sit down as before to receive the Captain. The light is by this time waning rapidly, the darkness creeping west into the orange crimson.
LADY CICELY (whispering). Don’t you feel rather creepy, Mr. Rankin? I wonder what he’ll be like.
RANKIN. I misdoubt me he will not answer, your leddyship.
There is a scuffling noise in the house; and Drinkwater shoots out through the doorway across the garden with every appearance of having been violently kicked. Marzo immediately hurries down the garden on Sir Howard’s right out of the neighborhood of the doorway.
DRINKWATER (trying to put a cheerful air on much mortification and bodily anguish). Narsty step to thet ere door tripped me hap, it did. (Raising his voice and narrowly escaping a squeak of pain) Kepn Brarsbahnd. (He gets as far from the house as possible, on Rankin’s left. Rankin rises to receive his guest.)
An olive complexioned man with dark southern eyes and hair comes from the house. Age about 36. Handsome features, but joyless; dark eyebrows drawn towards one another; mouth set grimly; nostrils large and strained: a face set to one tragic purpose. A man of few words, fewer gestures, and much significance. On the whole, interesting, and even