The Four Feathers

The year was 1898. The Mahdi had taken Khartoum, wiping out the British contingent. Although I, Harry Faversham, my friends, Castleton, Willoughby, and Durrance, were British Officers, I was against our involvement in Sudan. We had no business being there. I couldn’t blame the Mahdi, or the people of Sudan, for wanting the English to leave their country. I couldn’t, in good conscience, go with my regiment to kill and oppress the people of Sudan. When we were told that our regiment was shipping out, I resigned my commission.

Durrance, Castleton, and Willoughby accused me of cowardliness. I tried to explain my reasons for not going, but they wouldn’t listen. When I packed to leave, I found three letters addressed to me on the table. They were from my three friends. Inside each was a feather, a symbol of cowardliness.

I was hurt deeply that they couldn’t understand my motives. At least, surely my fiancee, Ethne, would understand. When I went to her father’s home, though, he told that she refused to see me. I was handed a letter. It said, “Harry, I cannot marry a coward.” It was signed, “Ethne.” Inside was a fourth feather.

Some months later we received word that my old regiment had been massacred. The officers, the ones not killed, were being kept in a prison in Khartoum. It was believed-information received from those who escaped-that my three friends were in the prison.

I knew that I had to do something to save them. They would die in that prison.

Our family firm traded with Sudan. We had ties to merchants there. I went to Roggers. He had been to Sudan often-he had many contacts there. He gave me a name-Faoud. I was told that I could trust him.

I took a ship to Sudan. When I arrived, I went to see Faoud.

“Faoud, I want to save my friends. They’re currently in prison in Khartoum. Help me.”

He replied, “You cannot even get close to Khartoum. Do you think that they would let an Englishman just walk into the city?”

“I’ll do anything, Faoud, pay anything. Can’t I disguise myself as an Arab.”

“Can you speak Arabic?”

I admitted that I couldn’t.

He said, “There is one way, but you would have to pay too high a price. No man could be asked, nor expected to pay so high a price.”

“I’ll do anything, Faoud, just tell me what I have to do.”

“There’s a group of people, the Asari, who because of crimes against the Sultan, were punished. They are known by a brand on their forehead. They cannot speak. Some of them have had their tongues cut out Others, by a blow to the throat, have had their voice boxes destroyed. If we placed the same brand upon your forehead, no one would expect you to speak.”

“How big is the brand,” I asked.

“It’s fairly small. It’s placed on the forehead, between the eyes.”

“I’ll do it. I said that I’d do anything to save my friends.”

“There is one more requirement. I hesitate to even mention it.”

“What is it,” I asked?

“They are all castrated.”

“Wha...What? Can’t I just not show myself?”

“No, they always checked, if for no other reason than for ridicule. If you were found with the mark, but with your balls intact, you would be castrated, then killed.”

“Is there no other way?

He replied, “There is no other way. I suggest that you abandon any hope of saving your friends.”

“But, if I got into the prison, could I rescue them?”

“I’ll provide you with a tool with which you can free yourselves from the shackles. With enough money I can provide for the cell door to be unlocked. It would be extremely risky, but it could be done.”

I couldn’t make a decision that day.

I lay awake all night. How could I give up my testicles in a risky attempt to save my friends, one that might fail anyway? No one would expect that of me. But...I was willing to give my life for them, weren’t my balls less to give? Wouldn’t I truly be the coward they thought me to be-if I didn’t?”

I returned to Faoud’s the next day.

“I’ve decided to do it, Faoud. Brand me and cut off my balls.”

Faoud must have respected my determination. He didn’t attempt to dissuade me. They held me down-branded me on the forehead. The pain was intense. There was worse to come.... Four men held me down, my legs spread apart. Faoud, himself, picked up a knife. He split my sack. My orbs dangled free. He stretched the cords, then picking up a hot iron, burned through the cords, freeing my balls from my body. I no longer noticed the pain in my forehead. As I fainted, I thought I saw a smile on Faoud’s face.

After I healed, I began my trip to Khartoum. The brand worked. No one expected me to talk. I thought it strange that no one checked to see if I was castrated, but everything was in turmoil. A new British army was on its way to Khartoum. I had to get there first. When the British attacked, all the British prisoners would be killed.

Finally I was in Khartoum. I committed a small offense to get thrown into the prison. They didn’t search me. I still had the tool to release the shackles.

Good old Willoughby, Durrance, and Castleton, they were there! They were alive!

They didn’t recognize me. I had a beard, my skin was dyed, and there was the brand on my forehead.

“Willoughby, Durrance, Castleton...it’s me, Harry Faversham.”

In unison they cried, “Faversham...what are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I’ve come to save you. I’ve got a tool that will free us from our shackles, then we can make our escape, go back to England.”

“We don’t want to escape, Faversham. We’re never going back to England. There’s nothing for us there,” Willoughby replied. Castleton and Durrance nodded.

“You’re crazy,” I said. “Do you know what I’ve given up to get you out-to save you?

I dropped my thong, showing them my empty sack.

They stared with a dull expression on their faces. I saw no concern, no sympathy. Willoughby dropped his ragged pants. He had no balls either.

“They took ours soon after we were captured. That’s why we’re not going back-why we don’t want to be rescued. We’d rather die than return to England like this-to have everyone know that we’re no longer men.”

I freed myself from the shackles, determined to escape, even it the others wouldn’t. When I attempted to open the cell door, it was still locked. In the distance, I heard laughter.

I’m still in the cell, along with Willoughby, Durrance and Castleton. The British army is approaching Khartoum. I expect that we’ll all soon be killed. I pray that we will. I’ve learned that, although the Asari are branded and cannot speak, they are never castrated. Damn that Faoud. May he rot in Hell.