“It is right that your Highness should know that I understand Turkish,
lest you should say anything not intended for my ear.”[36]
“Ha! ha! I forgot that he had been in Alexandria some years,” said the
Viceroy in a low tone. He then added aloud, “Hassan—for so I hear you
are called—whence do you come?”
“I was bred in the tents of your friends the Oulâd-Ali,” replied the
youth.
“A proud and a stubborn set of rogues they are,” muttered the Viceroy in
an undertone. He then continued aloud, knitting his shaggy brows as he
spoke, “You are accused of having struck and nearly killed one of my
_kawàsses_. What have you to say to the charge?”
“It is true, and he deserved it,” replied Hassan.
“Deserved it!” repeated Mohammed Ali, his eye kindling with fire. “Do
you dare, youngster, to laugh at my beard, and to correct my servants at
your pleasure?”
“Mohammed Ali,” said the youth, with manly simplicity, “I have been
taught to venerate and not to laugh at a beard silvered by time. How,
then, should I not honour yours, for I have longed to see you from my
childhood, having heard of your skill and courage in war and your
generosity in peace? But your Highness cannot know and cannot be
answerable for the insolence of all your servants. Had you been where I
was when that cowardly fellow threw a stone at the head of the young
lady beside you, you would not have beaten him—you would have cut his
head off.”
“By the head of my father!” said the Viceroy, pleased rather than
offended at the unusual boldness of Hassan’s speech—“By the head of my
father! I believe the boy is right. I have heard the whole story from
these strangers and from the _rais_, and though I was prepared to be
angry with you, I now acquit you from blame. Where are you going to in
Cairo, and what commission have you from our good merchant the Hadji?”
“I am going with a letter from him,” said Hassan, “to Delì Pasha.”
“Delì [mad], well named,” said the Viceroy. “I can guess; it is about
horses. Have you the letter with you? Let me see it.”
Hassan with some hesitation withdrew the letter from a small silk bag
which he carried in the folds of his girdle, and handed it to the
Viceroy, who, without the slightest ceremony, opened it, and gave it to
the interpreter to read to him, which he did in a tone audible only to
the Viceroy himself.
“It is all right,” he said. “Give it back to Hassan, and let him take it
on to Delì Pasha.”
“Pardon me,” said Hassan; “I cannot receive it so. Delì Pasha might
suspect me of having opened it. Let your Highness’s secretary write in
the margin that it was opened by your order, and reseal it with your
seal.”
“By Allah!” said Mohammed Ali, “the youth has brains, as well as goodly
limbs. Call the _khaznadâr_.”[37] When that officer entered, the
Viceroy, giving him the letter, whispered a few instructions in his ear,
and he left the room.
It had not escaped the Viceroy’s quick eye that Hassan had evinced some
awkwardness or constraint in opening the silk bag containing the letter
and replacing it in his girdle, and he said to him—
“These Frank travellers tell me that, while you were attacking the
_kawàss_ on that boat, you received some blows and a stab from one of
the crew. Is this so?”
“It is true,” replied Hassan; “but the blows were nothing, and the stab
was of little consequence; the bleeding from it was soon stopped.”
“Does it hurt you now?” demanded the Pasha.
“A little,” he replied. “But it is not worth your Highness’s notice.”
“You are a madcap,” said the Viceroy; “and young blood thinks nothing of
wounds. Raise up your left arm to your head.”
Hassan tried to obey, but the arm fell powerless at his side.
“Ha!” said the Pasha, “I knew it was so.” Then turning to his
interpreter, who was also a Doctor, he continued, “Hakim Bashi, take him
into another room and examine his wound, and while you are away let that
Greek come in again to interpret. His tongue will not run so fast now.”
The Doctor conveyed Hassan to his own apartment, and the conversation
was resumed through the medium of Demetri, who had been so thoroughly
abashed by his first rebuff that he would not risk a second, but
performed his interpreting duties with an accuracy which surprised
himself—for he did not add more than one-third from his own head.
A quarter of an hour, then half an hour, passed away, and still neither
the Doctor nor his patient returned. Several cups of coffee had been
presented, and nearly an hour had elapsed ere the Hakim Bashi entered
the room alone.
“Come here!” cried out the impatient Viceroy. “By Allah! your absence
has been long. Where is the youth?”
“I left him lying on a divan in my room, your Highness, and he must not
be moved for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Was his hurt, then, so bad?” inquired the Pasha.
“It was such,” said the Doctor, “that if your Highness had not desired
me to examine and dress the wound, in a few days the amputation of his
arm at the shoulder might have been necessary. I found on the top of the
shoulder a large blue circle, which convinced me that there was
something seriously wrong below. I was obliged to cut it open, and to
cut deep, too. Then I took my probes and began to examine the bottom of
the wound. As the inflammation was great, the pain must have been most
acute; but, my lord, I never saw such a youth. He remained as firm and
unmoved as if he had been made of wood or stone; and in the middle of
the operation he said to me with a smile, ‘Hakim Bashi, Mashallah! what
an eye our Prince has got.’ At last my instrument met with some hard
substance, which, with some trouble, I succeeded in reaching with a
forceps, and I drew it out. It proved to be the point of the dagger with
which he had been stabbed, and which, encountering the bone, had broken
off. Here it is.” So saying, he produced to the Viceroy about half an
inch of the point of a steel dagger.
“Aferin! aferin!” (bravo! bravo!) said the Viceroy. “Well have you done,
my good Hakim Bashi. The young man will recover the use of his arm now.”
“Yes, if it be the will of Allah. But he must remain at least
twenty-four hours in the position in which I have placed him. I shall
dress the wound once or twice, and at this hour to-morrow I can tell
your Highness whether he is fit to pursue his journey.”
“What do you think?” said Mohammed Ali, addressing Mr Thorpe; “if I had
two or three regiments composed of fellows like this Hassan, might I not
march to—any part of the world?” Another termination was on his lips,
but he checked it, and substituted the vague phrase. A slight smile
might have been noticed on the face of the medical interpreter, who well
knew the word that had nearly escaped his chief, although the idea was
not carried into execution until many years had passed.
“I have travelled in many countries,” replied Mr Thorpe, “and can assure
your Highness that men of the stature, strength, and symmetry of Hassan
are rare everywhere; but your Highness knows better than I do, and has
proved it to the world, that however advantageous to the individual may
be the possession of these qualities, in an army there is nothing but
discipline among the men, and skill in their commander, that can ensure
success.”
“May your life be long!” said the Viceroy, acknowledging the compliment;
“but now you must tell me what you wish to do, for you see this Hassan
cannot go forward for a day or two. Will you wait for him, or will you
pursue your journey, and I will have him sent on in the first boat that
passes?”
“Nay,” said Mr Thorpe, “we are not so hurried but that we can wait for a
day; and it would be unkind to leave him behind, as he received his
wound in defending us.”
“Be it so,” replied the Pasha; “and there is another advantage in your
staying. The Governor of Damietta has written me word that a Christian
_kassis_[38] is coming up the river on his way to the South. They say he
is a very learned man, and has been some years in these countries:
perhaps you might like to join him to your party?”
“Willingly,” replied Mr Thorpe, “if he arrives in time. Meanwhile, I
will take my leave, having trespassed too much on your Highness’s time.”
So saying, he arose, but the Viceroy would not let him go until he had
made him promise to come again on the morrow to breakfast.
The Thorpe party returned to their boat, and spent the remainder of the
day in talking over the occurrences of the morning, and in discussing
the character and qualities of the remarkable man whom they had seen for
the first time.
A few hours later Demetri came into the cabin and stated that the
Viceroy’s interpreter was without, accompanied by a stranger. Orders
having been given for his immediate admission, he came in and said to Mr
Thorpe—
“I have been charged by the Viceroy to present to you Mr Müller,
concerning whom his Highness spoke to you; and I do it with much
pleasure, as he is a friend of mine, and a most worthy person.”
The new-comer was apparently about forty-five years of age. His
countenance was intelligent and benevolent, and his complexion, from
long exposure to sun and weather, was tanned almost to the hue of an
Arab. On his head he wore what had once been a German cap, but which,
from the folds of grey serge wrapped around it, might almost pass for a
turban; and his beard, which was bushy and slightly grizzled, fell
nearly half-way to his waist. His outer dress was composed of a long
robe or gaberdine of dark-grey cloth, with loose sleeves, and confined
at the waist by a leathern girdle, from which depended a bag, made from
the skin of an antelope, and containing all the sundries which the good
missionary most frequently required in his long excursions in the forest
and desert. His sandals were of undressed hide, and he had made them
himself; and he carried in his hand a stout staff which he had brought
from the Abyssinian woods, and which had been his constant companion in
many a remote peregrination.
The two visitors remained some time, and the conversation turned on
Egypt and the wilder regions to the southward, with all of which Müller
seemed so familiar, and described them with so much truthful simplicity,
that the Thorpe party were delighted with him.
On the following day they returned to breakfast with the Pasha, and were
glad to learn that Hassan had passed a quiet night, and that the
inflammation had so far subsided that he might go on board without risk.
“I have no fear,” said the medical interpreter, “of any bad consequences
now that you have agreed on going with Müller; he has had so much
experience that he is half a Doctor himself: indeed,” he added, smiling,
“I doubt whether he has not more skill than many who hold the diploma.”
The breakfast passed as agreeably as that of the preceding day, and
after it Hassan was summoned into the Pasha’s presence. He came in with
his left arm in a sling. His Highness spoke kindly to him, and after
receiving the thanks of the youth for the attention shown to him by the
interpreter, the latter was desired by the chief to reseal and restore
to Hassan the letter from the merchant to Delì Pasha, adding in the
margin that it had been opened by himself, and, in conclusion, he
whispered a few words in his ear, to which the interpreter only replied
by the customary “On my head be it.”
A few minutes sufficed to execute this order, and when the interpreter
returned the letter to Hassan, he at the same time presented another to
Mr Thorpe, informing him that it contained an order to the Kiahya
Pasha[39] to furnish his party with an escort to the Pyramids, and a
guard while remaining there. His Highness also said that on their return
from Upper Egypt he should probably be at Shoobra,[40] and he hoped they
would come to see him there.
Mr Thorpe having duly expressed his thanks for his Highness’s
hospitality and kindness, now rose to take his departure, and Hassan
came forward and touched his forehead with the skirt of the Viceroy’s
pelisse; Mohammed Ali looked at him with a smile, and said—
“Good fortune attend you, Hassan—a mad follower going to join a mad
lord—but you are a good lad, and I am pleased with you.”
They all retired to their boat, Hassan taking an opportunity before they
left to thank the medical interpreter for the service he had rendered
him in restoring him the use of his arm.
Our party pursued their way merrily towards Cairo, Mr Thorpe’s
impatience to see his beloved pyramids becoming every hour more
uncontrollable.
Müller’s _canjah_[41] kept company with them, and it had been agreed
before they started that he should pass the day on board the large boat
and at night sleep on his own; by this means he was enabled every day to
dress Hassan’s shoulder according to the advice given him by the medical
interpreter.
The voyage was slow, and unaccompanied by incidents of interest to any
excepting our friend Demetri, who daily landed at some village to
purchase milk, fowls, and a lamb for the party; and as he only put them
down in his account at one hundred per cent over the cost price, Mrs
Thorpe, instead of complaining of the charges, only expressed her wonder
at the cheapness of provisions. We shall not be surprised at the good
lady’s satisfaction when we remember that at the period of which we
write one hundred eggs were bought for a piastre,[42] a couple of fowls
for the same amount, and a sheep for five piastres.