INVOLVES LANCEY IN GREAT PERPLEXITIES, WHICH CULMINATE IN A VAST
SURPRISE.
No sooner did the dark and unpretending door of Sanda Pasha's konak or
palace open than Lancey's eyes were dazzled by the blaze of light and
splendour within, and when he had entered, accustomed though he was to
"good society" in England, he was struck dumb with astonishment.
Perhaps the powerful contrast between the outside and the interior of
this Eastern abode had something to do with the influence on his mind.
Unbridled luxury met his eyes in whatever direction he turned. There
was a double staircase of marble; a court paved with mosaic-work of
brilliant little stones; splendid rooms, the walls of which were covered
with velvet paper of rich pattern and colour. Gilding glittered
everywhere--on cornices, furniture, and ceilings, from which the eyes
turned with double zest to the soft light of marble sculpture
judiciously disposed on staircase and in chambers. There were soft
sofas that appeared to embrace you as you sank into them; pictures that
charmed the senses; here a bath of snow-white marble, there gushing
fountains and jets of limpid water that appeared to play hide-and-seek
among green leaves and lovely flowers, and disappeared mysteriously,--in
short, everything tasteful and beautiful that man could desire. Of
course Lancey did not take all this in at once. Neither did he realise
the fact that the numerous soft-moving and picturesque attendants, black
and white, whom he saw, were a mere portion of an army of servants,
numbering upwards of a thousand souls, whom this Pasha retained. These
did not include the members of his harem. He had upwards of a hundred
cooks and two hundred grooms and coachmen. This household, it is said,
consumed, among other things, nearly 7000 pounds of vegetables a day,
and in winter there were 900 fires kindled throughout the establishment.
[See note 1.]
But of all this, and a great deal more, Lancey had but a faint
glimmering as he was led through the various corridors and rooms towards
a central part of the building.
Here he was shown into a small but comfortable apartment, very Eastern
in its character, with a mother-of-pearl table in one corner bearing
some slight refreshment, and a low couch at the further end.
"Eat," said the black slave who conducted him. He spoke in English, and
pointed to the table; "an' sleep," he added, pointing to the couch.
"Sanda Pasha sees you de morrow."
With that he left Lancey staring in a bewildered manner at the door
through which he had passed.
"Sanda Pasha," repeated the puzzled man slowly, "will see me `de
morrow,' will he? Well, if `de morrow' ever comes, w'ich I doubt, Sanda
Pasha will find 'e 'as made a most hegragious mistake of some sort.
'Owever that's _'is_ business, not mine."
Having comforted himself with this final reflection on the culminating
event of the day, he sat down to the mother-of-pearl table and did full
justice to the Pasha's hospitality by consuming the greater part of the
viands thereon, consisting largely of fruits, and drinking the wine with
critical satisfaction.
Next morning he was awakened by his black friend of the previous night,
who spread on the mother-of-pearl table a breakfast which in its
elegance appeared to be light, but which on close examination turned
out, like many light things in this world, to be sufficiently
substantial for an ordinary man.
Lancey now expected to be introduced to the Pasha, but he was mistaken.
No one came near him again till the afternoon, when the black slave
reappeared with a substantial dinner. The Pasha was busy, he said, and
would see him in the evening. The time might have hung heavily on the
poor man's hands, but, close to the apartment in which he was confined
there was a small marble court, open to the sky, in which were
richly-scented flowers and rare plants and fountains which leaped or
trickled into tanks filled with gold-fish. In the midst of these things
he sat or sauntered dreamily until the shades of evening fell. Then the
black slave returned and beckoned him to follow.
He did so and was ushered into a delicious little boudoir, whose
windows, not larger than a foot square, were filled with pink, blue, and
yellow glass. Here, the door being softly shut behind him, Lancey found
himself in the presence of the red-bearded officer whom he had met on
board the Turkish monitor.
Redbeard, as Lancey called him, mentally, reclined on a couch and smoked
a chibouk.
"Come here," he said gravely, in broken English. Lancey advanced into
the middle of the apartment. "It vas you what blew'd up de monitor," he
said sternly, sending a thick cloud of smoke from his lips.
"No, your--." Lancey paused. He knew not how to address his
questioner, but, feeling that some term of respect was necessary, he
coined a word for the occasion--
"No, your Pashaship, I did nothink of the sort. I'm as hinnocent of
that ewent as a new-born babe."
"Vat is your name?"
"Lancey."
"Ha! your oder name."
"Jacob."
"Ho! _My_ name is Sanda Pasha. You have hear of me before?"
"Yes, on board the Turkish monitor."
"Just so; but before zat, I mean," said the Pasha, with a keen glance.
Lancey was a bold and an honest man. He would not condescend to
prevaricate.
"I'm wery sorry, your--your Pashaship, but, to tell the plain truth, I
never _did_ 'ear of you _before_ that."
"Well, zat matters not'ing. I do go now to sup vid von friend, Hamed
Pasha he is called. You go vid me. Go, get ready."
Poor Lancey opened his eyes in amazement, and began to stammer something
about having nothing to get ready with, and a mistake being made, but
the Pasha cut him short with another "Go!" so imperative that he was
fain to obey promptly.
Having no change of raiment, the perplexed man did his best by washing
his face and hands, and giving his hair and clothes an extra brush, to
make himself more fit for refined society. On being called to rejoin
the Pasha, he began to apologise for the style of his dress, but the
peremptory despot cut him short by leading the way to his carriage, in
which they were driven to the konak or palace of Hamed Pasha.
They were shown into a richly-furnished apartment where Hamed was seated
on a divan, with several friends, smoking and sipping brandy and water,
for many of these _eminent_ followers of the Prophet pay about as little
regard to the Prophet's rules as they do to the laws of European
society.
Hamed rose to receive his brother Pasha, and Lancey was amazed to find
that he was a Nubian, with thick lips, flat nose, and a visage as black
as coal. He was also of gigantic frame, insomuch that he dwarfed the
rest of the company, including Lancey himself.
Hamed had raised himself from a low rank in society to his present high
position by dint of military ability, great physical strength, superior
intelligence, reckless courage, and overflowing animal spirits. When
Sanda Pasha entered he was rolling his huge muscular frame on the divan,
and almost weeping with laughter at something that had been whispered in
his ear by a dervish who sat beside him.
Sanda introduced Lancey as an Englishman, on hearing which the black
Pasha seized and wrung his hands, amid roars of delight, and torrents of
remarks in Turkish, while he slapped him heartily on the shoulder.
Then, to the amazement of Lancey, he seized him by the collar of his
coat, unbuttoned it, and began to pull it off. This act was speedily
explained by the entrance of an attendant with a pale blue loose
dressing-gown lined with fur, which the Pasha made his English guest put
on, and sit down beside him.
Having now thoroughly resigned himself to the guidance of what his
Turkish friends styled "fate," Lancey did his best to make himself
agreeable, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of the hour.
There were present in the room, besides those already mentioned, a
Turkish colonel of cavalry and a German doctor who spoke Turkish
fluently. The party sat down to supper on cushions round a very low
table. The dervish, Hadji Abderhaman, turned out to be a gourmand, as
well as a witty fellow and a buffoon. The Pasha always gave the signal
to begin to each dish, and between courses the dervish told stories from
the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, or uttered witticisms which kept the
Nubian Pasha in roars of laughter. They were all very merry, for the
host was fond of boisterous fun and practical jokes, while his guests
were sympathetic. Lancey laughed as much as any of them, for although
he could not, despite his previous studies, follow the conversation, he
could understand the pantomime, and appreciated the viands highly. His
red-bearded friend also came to his aid now and then with a few
explanatory remarks in broken English.
At such times the host sat with a beaming smile on his black face, and
his huge mouth half-expanded, looking from one to another, as if
attempting to understand, and ready at a moment's notice to explode in
laughter, or admiration, or enthusiasm, according to circumstances.
"Hamed Pasha wants to know if you is in do army," said Sanda Pasha.
"Not in the regulars," replied Lancey, "but I _'ave_ bin, in the
militia."
The Nubian gave another roar of delight when this was translated, and
extended his great hand to one whom he thenceforth regarded as a
brother-in-arms. Lancey grasped and shook it warmly.
"Let the Englishman see your sword," said Sanda in Turkish to Hamed.
Sanda knew his friend's weak point. The sword was at once ordered in
for inspection.
Truly it was a formidable weapon, which might have suited the fist of
Goliath, and was well fitted for the brawny arm that had waved it aloft
many a time in the smoke and din of battle. It was blunt and hacked on
both edges with frequent use, but its owner would not have it sharpened
on any account, asserting that a stout arm did not require a keen
weapon.
While the attention of the company was taken up with this instrument of
death, the dervish availed himself of the opportunity to secure the
remains of a dish of rich cream, to which he had already applied himself
more than once.
The Nubian observed the sly and somewhat greedy act with a twinkling
eye. When the dervish had drained the dish, the host filled a glass
full to the brim with vinegar, and, with fierce joviality, bade him
drink it. The poor man hesitated, and said something about wine and a
mistake, but the Pasha repeated "Drink!" with such a roar, and threw his
sword down at the same time with such a clang on the marble floor, that
the dervish swallowed the draught with almost choking celerity.
The result was immediately obvious on his visage; nevertheless he bore
up bravely, and even cut a sorry joke at his own expense, while the
black giant rolled on his divan, and the tears ran down his swarthy
cheeks.
The dervish was an adventurer who had wandered about the country as an
idle vagabond until the war broke out, when he took to army-contracting
with considerable success. It was in his capacity of contractor that he
became acquainted with the boisterous black Pasha, who greatly
appreciated his low but ready wit, and delighted in tormenting him. On
discovering that the dervish was a voracious eater, he pressed--I might
say forced--him with savage hospitality to eat largely of every dish, so
that, when pipes were brought after supper, the poor dervish was more
than satisfied.
"Now, you are in a fit condition to sing," cried Hamed, slapping the
over-fed man on the shoulder; "come, give us a song: the Englishman
would like to hear one of your Arabian melodies."
Redbeard translated this to Lancey, who protested that, "nothink would
afford 'im greater delight."
The dervish was not easily overcome. Despite his condition, he sang,
well and heartily, a ditty in Arabic, about love and war, which the
Nubian Pasha translated into Turkish for the benefit of the German
doctor, and Sanda Pasha rendered into broken English for Lancey.
But the great event of the evening came, when the English guest, in
obedience to a call, if not a command, from his host, sang an English
ballad. Lancey had a sweet and tuneful voice, and was prone to indulge
in slow pathetic melodies. The black Pasha turned out to be intensely
fond of music, and its effect on his emotional spirit was very powerful.
At the first bar of his guest's flowing melody his boisterous humour
vanished: his mouth and eyes partly opened with a look of pleased
surprise; he evidently forgot himself and his company, and when,
although unintelligible to him, the song proceeded in more touching
strains, his capacious chest began to heave and his eyes filled with
tears. The applause, not only of the host, but the company, was loud
and emphatic, and Lancey was constrained to sing again. After that the
colonel sang a Turkish war-song. The colonel's voice was a tremendous
bass, and he sang with such enthusiasm that the hearers were effectively
stirred. Hamed, in particular, became wild with excitement. He
half-suited his motions, while beating time, to the action of each
verse, and when, as a climax in the last verse, the colonel gave the
order to "charge!" Hamed uttered a roar, sprang up, seized his great
sabre, and caused it to whistle over his friends with a sweep that might
have severed the head of an elephant!
At this point, one of the attendants, who appeared to be newly appointed
to his duties, and who had, more than once during the feast, attracted
attention by his stupidity, shrank in some alarm from the side of his
wild master and tumbled over a cushion.
Hamed glared at him for a moment, with a frown that was obviously not
put on, and half-raised the sabre as if about to cut him down.
Instantly the frown changed to a look of contempt, and almost as quickly
was replaced by a gleam of fun.
"Stand forth," said Hamed, dropping the sabre and sitting down.
The man obeyed with prompt anxiety.
"Your name?"
"Mustapha."
"Mustapha," repeated the Pasha, "I observe that you are a capable young
fellow. You are a man of weight, as the marble floor can testify. I
appoint you to the office of head steward. Go, stand up by the door."
The man made a low obeisance and went.
"Let the household servants and slaves pass before their new superior
and do him honour."
With promptitude, and with a gravity that was intensely ludicrous--for
none dared to smile in the presence of Hamed Pasha--the servants of the
establishment, having been summoned, filed before the new steward and
bowed to him. This ceremony over, Mustapha was ordered to go and make a
list of the poultry. The poor man was here obliged to confess that he
could not write.
"You can draw?" demanded the Pasha fiercely.