THE BEDOUIN ARABS.
It was one of those soft days, made up of nature's sweetest smiles,
of sunshine and gentle zephyrs, when sky, and sea, and shore were
radiant, and all the earth seemed glad, that a lone horseman sat
with the reins cast loosely upon the arching neck of his proud
Arabian, on the plain beyond the Armenian cemetery, in the suburbs
of Constantinople. The rider was dressed in the plainest attire of a
quiet citizen, though the material of his clothes and the few
ornaments that were visible about his person indicated their owner
to be one who was no meagre possessor of the riches of this world.
Both rider and horse were as still as though they had been carved in
marble instead of being living objects, save the quick, nervous
motion, now and then, of the full-blooded animal's ears, as some
distant sound rose over the Turkish city.
The Mussulman, as he sat there in a thoughtful and silent mood,
stroked slowly the jetty black beard that swept his breast, while he
seemed completely absorbed in contemplating the scene before him. He
had galloped at once from paved streets to the unfenced and
uncultivated desert that stretches away from the seven hills of
Stamboul to the very horizon. No wonder he paused there to gaze upon
the beauties that the eye might take in at a single glance.
Before him lay the city in all its oriental beauty, while, on every
sloping hillside about it, in every rural nook stood a dark
nekropolis, or city of the dead, shadowed by the close growing
cypresses, beneath whose shadows turbaned heads alone are permitted
to rest. From out of these, stretching its slender point away
towards the blue heavens, rose the fairy-like minaret, as if
pointing whither had gone the spirits of the faithful.
There, too, lay the incomparable Bosphorus, stretching away towards
the sea, and the beautiful isles in the sweet waters of Marmora,
with countless boats swarming in the Golden Horn, and then the eye
would turn back again to the city with its thousand minarets. There
lay, too, the velvet-carpeted Valley of Sweet Waters, where was the
Sultan's serai, looking like some fair scene described in the Koran,
so soft, fairy-like, and enticing.
The rider now slowly gathered up the reins from his horse's neck,
and, slightly restraining the spirited animal by a pressure of the
curb, permitted him slowly to walk on while his master appeared
still to be lost in thought. Once or twice he cast his eyes again
towards the city, and then again mused to himself, as though his
cares and thoughts lay there. So much was the rider absorbed within
himself that he did not observe two power Bedouin Arabs of the
desert, who had wandered to the outskirts of the city, and whose
longing eyes were bent, not on him, but upon the horse which he
rode. To the skillful eyes of these children of the desert he was
almost invaluable; every step betrayed his metal, while the clean
limb, nervous action, and distended nostrils told of the fleetness
that was in him!
You may trust an Arab often with gold or precious goods; the very
fact of the confidence, you accord to him makes him faithful. You
may trust your life in his hands, and the laws of hospitality shall
protect you; but trust him not with a fine horse--that will betray
him, though nothing else might do so. Born in the desert where they
are reared and loved so well, he imbibes from childhood a regard for
the full blooded barb, that falls little short of reverence; and
being once possessed of one, no money can part them. The two
Bedouins stealthily watched the Turk as he rode slowly along, and
were evidently only awaiting a favorable moment to attack and
overcome him.
By an ingenious movement they doubled a slight hillock that lay
between them and the woods of Belgrade, and as they came up on the
other side, placed themselves directly in the path of the horseman.
Still they were unobserved by him, and not until one had laid his
hand upon the bridle, and the other violent hands upon his garments,
did he arouse from the dreamy thoughts which had so completely
absorbed him. Thus taken at disadvantage, the horseman was forced
from the saddle before he could offer any resistance, but having
once reached the ground, and being fairly on his feet, his bright
blade glistened in the sun and flashed before the eyes of the Arab
robbers.
"Yield us the horse and go thy way!" said one of the assailants,
soothingly.
"By the Prophet, never!" shouted the Turk, setting upon them
fiercely as he spoke and wounding one severely at the very outset,
while he held the bridle of the horse.
The horseman was one used to the weapon he wielded, and the Arabs
saw that they had no easy enemy to conquer. He who held the horse
was forced to unloose the bridle to defend himself, while the other
was now striving to use the gun that was strapped to his back; but
they were at too close quarters for the employing of such a weapon,
and the stout, iron-like frames of the Arabs were fast conquering
the skill and endurance of the Turk. But that bright sword was not
wielded so skillfully for naught, and one of the robbers was already
glad to creep from without its reach, just as his companion
succeeded in breaking the finely-tempered blade with his gun barrel,
leaving the Turk comparatively at his mercy; and again he bade him
surrender the horse, the animal trained to the nicest point of
perfection, still remaining quiet close to the spot where the
encounter had taken place. The clashing of the weapons had startled
him, and he breathed quick, and his ears showed that the nervous
energy of his frame was aroused, but a spear point thrust into his
very flanks would not have started him away until his master bade
him to go.
"Yield thou now, or die!" shouted the excited Bedouin, drawing his
long dagger.
"By the Prophet, never!" again exclaimed the Turk, with vehemence,
though he panted sorely from the extraordinary exertion he had made
to defend himself from the attack of his two assailants.
All this had transpired in far less time than we have occupied in
the relation, and once more now having him greatly at disadvantage,
the Bedouins rushed upon him.
But there came now upon the scene a third party, at this excited
moment, from out the forest of Belgrade. He seemed but a weary
traveller, though when his eyes rested upon the scene we have
described, an instantaneous change came over him, and he appeared at
once to comprehend the meaning of the whole affair. Just at the very
moment when the Arab, who had been partially vanquished and somewhat
severely wounded, regained his feet, and was coming once more to the
contest, the traveller, espousing the side of the weaker party, who
was now indeed unarmed, fiercely attacked the robbers with a heavy
staff that he carried, and in a moment, being comparatively fresh,
and aided by the surprise as well as the lusty blows that he dealt
about him, he caused the two Bedouins to retreat precipitately,
though they made a last and nearly successful effort to carry off
the horse, but this the ready arm of the traveller prevented.
A moment sufficed to put both the Turk and his deliverer in breath
once more.
"Who art thou that hast been so opportunely sent to rescue me?"
asked the Turk, at he called his horse by his name, and the
beautiful animal came quietly to his side.
"A poor traveller, well nigh wearied by the long way," answered the
other.
"Thy habiliments bespeak thee as coming from the North, and they
look as though want had been thy companion on the way," continued he
whom the traveller had rescued.
"It has, indeed," said the other; "fatigue and want have kept me
company these many long days." As he answered thus, he wiped the
perspiration that his late exertion had caused, from his brow.
"I owe you my hearty thanks for this timely service," said the Turk.
"A trifling deed that any man in my place would have performed."
"Take this," replied the Turk, depositing a purse, heavy with gold,
in the stranger's hands. "Use the contents as you will, and when you
have need of further assistance, if there be aught that one
possessing some influence can serve thee in, present that purse at
the gates of the seraglio gardens, and you will find me."
"Thanks! a thousand thanks!" said the stranger, "though I must look
upon this as a gift, a charity, not in the light of a payment. The
service I have rendered might have been afforded by the meanest
slave."
"I know well how to esteem a favor, and how to pay it," answered the
Turk, as he mounted his spirited horse and turned his head towards
the entrance of the city of Constantine. He rode with a free rein
now, and the horse dashed over the level plain like an antelope,
while his rider sat in the saddle like a Marmaluke.
The traveller poured out a quantity of the gold from the purse to
assure himself of its value, and weighing the whole together, said
to himself, "A few moments since and I was a beggar, now I am rich;
after starving for many long weeks, fortune fills my hand with gold,
as if to show me the contrast. It was a piece of singular good luck
for me to meet with that rich old Turk; those fellows from the
desert were giving him sharp practice; it was only the barb that
they wanted. What a cunning eye those rascals have for horseflesh!"
Talking thus to himself, he placed the gold in a secure part of his
dress, though he need hardly have feared that any one would suspect
him of possessing so much of value.
The traveller turned once more to look after the Turk, but he was
already far away, though he could still make out his bearing and
stately carriage as he disappeared. Picking up the staff that had
just served him to such good purpose, he followed in the same path,
which would lead him to Constantinople, ere the sun should set in
the west.
As he drew nearer to the city he too paused to drink in of the
beauties of that twilight hour. The scene was new to him, and his
eye was filled with delight and surprise as it roamed over that
oriental sunset view. As he came down the side of the gently sloping
hill beyond Pera, he paused for a moment in the cemetery there, and
among the deep shadows of the heavy funereal cypresses and the tall,
white gravestones that thickly overspread the ground, he felt a
chill of loneliness that made him to hasten on to a spot where he
could catch the last lingering rays of the setting sun kissing the
waves of the Bosphorus.
He hurried on now into the city proper, though seemingly without any
fixed purpose, and strolled carelessly along, gazing with interest
upon all that met his curious eye; now pausing before some rich
Persian fountain half as large as a church, covered with curious
inscriptions and ornaments of gold; now regarding some sequestered
mosque almost hidden in cypresses; and now watching a cluster of
indolent-looking, large-trowsered, and moustached, but often
handsome men.
Here he was jostled by a bevy of females, shuffling along in their
yellow slippers, their faces shrouded to the eyes in that
never-forgotten covering with the Turkish wives, the yashmach; now
crowded one side by an armed kervos who is clearing the way for some
dignitary to follow; and now forced here and there by, Jew, Turk or
Armenian. But still, while he regarded intently this busy scene, he
yielded the way to all, for he was wearied and his spirits were
evidently depressed both by physical and mental suffering.
The traveller was started from his reverie by the attack upon him of
some hundred dogs, who saluted his ears with such a volley of howls
as nearly to stun him. These natural scavengers are protected by the
laws here, and whenever a stranger is seen, one whose dress or
manner betrays him as such, they set upon him like mad, but the
staff that had stood him in such good service not long before, soon
dispersed his canine tormentors, though he showed that even this
little circumstance annoyed him seriously; it was a sad welcome to a
stranger.
Perhaps there is no feeling more desolate and forsaken in its
promptings than that realized by one who finds himself alone in a
crowd. His inward solitude is more acutely realized by the contrast
he sees about him, and he feels how much he is alone. Thus it was
with the young traveller who had made his way into the city as we
have described; he was indeed solitary though surrounded by hosts,
for he was a stranger and knew no one in the Sultan's beautiful
capital.
Still he wandered on amid the crowd until at last he found himself
in the drug bazaar, where a scene so peculiarly oriental and rich
met his observation as to make him forget for a while his own sad
and weary mood. Strange and antique jars of every shape crowded the
shelves of the various stalls, their edges turned over with
brilliant colored paper, each drug bearing its own appropriate one.
The shelves were bending under the weight of rich gums, spices,
incense-wood, medicinal roots, and cunning dyes. The sedate Turk
who presides over each stall at this hour, sits with his legs
crossed and his eyes rolling in a sort of dreamy languor from the
powerful narcotic of his opium-drugged pipe. He is happy and
thoughtless in the dissipation that sooner or later hurries him to
the grave.
It was the corflew hour, and from out the lofty spires of the
neighboring mosques there came a voice that called to prayer. Each
Mussulman prostrated himself, no matter in what occupation he was
engaged, and bowing his head towards Mecca, the tomb of the Prophet,
performing his silent devotion. In famine, in pestilence, or in
plenty, five times a day the Turk finds time for this solemn
religious duty; whether right or wrong in creed, what a lesson it is
to the Christian. And so thought the lonely traveller, for he bent
his own head upon his breast in respectful awe at the exhibition he
beheld.
Pausing in silence until the scene had changed from the solemn act
of prayer to that of busy life, he passed out of the dim-lighted
bazaar once more into the open street. Night was fast creeping over
the city, and he remembered how much he required rest and
refreshment, and availing himself of the proffered services of a
Jewish interpreter, he told his wants, and not long after found
himself seated in one of the little Armenian houses of resort in the
outskirts of Stamboul.
Here again he found enough of character to study in the singular and
medley company that resorted thither, but wayworn and weary, after
partaking of some refreshment, he soon lost himself in sleep.
It was late on the subsequent morning when the traveller awoke,
greatly refreshed by his night's rest, and once more refreshing the
inner man with meats and such coffee as one gets only in Turkey, he
roamed again into the streets, where we must leave him to pursue his
purpose, be it what it might, while we turn to other scenes in our
story, taking the reader across the sea, to another, but no less
interesting land.