“How sad it is that young Hassan, who came up with us in the dahabiah
last year, and who seemed so gentle and polite, should now be a
ferocious captain of outlaws and banditti! I hear that he has become a
terror to the whole country.” At these words a burning blush mantled
over Amina’s neck and crimsoned her cheek up to the temples.
“The subject is painful,” she said, in a tone in which anger was
discernible through embarrassment. “You forget, madam, that he risked
his life to save mine, and was afterwards driven from our roof by an act
of cruelty never sanctioned by my father. He is now once more a Bedouin
in his native desert, and an English lady should know that Bedouins,
although wild and warlike in their lives, are not banditti.”
Mrs Thorpe saw by the hurried accent and kindling glance of the Turkish
maiden that she had ventured on dangerous ground, and she and her
daughter rose to take leave, and rejoined their dahabiah on the Nile.
They passed Siout and Keneh, and were already within a day of Thebes. Mr
Thorpe held in his hand a volume of Diodorus Siculus, but his eye
wandered often from its pages and rested on Emily’s countenance, where
he gladly traced the symptoms of improving health which the climate had
produced.
Suddenly were heard loud cries for “help” and “mercy” from the boatmen
on the shore who had been employed in slowly towing the heavy dahabiahs
from the bank against an adverse wind and current. Immediately above the
path was a dense copse of low brushwood, from which twenty or
twenty-five men, well armed, sprang upon them, and in an instant they
were thrown to the ground and secured, whilst the steersman, and the few
others who remained on board, exclaiming, “It is the band of Hassan
Ebn-el-Heràm,” gave themselves up for lost. The dahabiahs having been
hauled up to the bank (during which operation loaded carabines were
presented at the helmsman to warn him of the consequence of resistance),
the freebooters sprang on board, and having bound all the men of the
party, they proceeded to ransack the cabins and collect the spoil with a
coolness and deliberation which could only be the result of long
practice.
“Quick, my men,” shouted Abou-Hashem, for he it was who led the party;
“let us collect the spoil and mount for fear of interruption.”
The last package brought out from the cabin contained Mr Thorpe’s
writing-desk, and he called to Demetri, who was likewise tied on the
deck, to tell them that he would willingly give them his money, but that
the desk contained papers of value to him but of no use to them, for
which reason he hoped they would leave it. While Demetri was explaining
this to Abou-Hashem a crashing noise was heard among the bushes of the
copse on the bank, and in a second Hassan, followed by Abou-Hamedi and
Abd-hoo, stood on the deck of the dahabiah. The perspiration that
streamed from his face, and the crimsoned foam that stained the lower
border of his _serwal_,[108] betokened the furious speed at which he had
ridden; the veins on his forehead were swelled, and there was a
dangerous fire in his eye, which his habitual self-command was unable at
the moment to quell.
“Allah have mercy upon us!” groaned the Arab boatmen, recognising at
once by his haughty look and towering stature the terrible outlaw of
whose predatory feats they had heard so much; “we are all dead men now.”
“Mashallah! what an eye!” muttered another, who had been on hunting
expeditions in Soudan; “it is like that of a lion who has been struck by
a javelin.”
The freebooters dropped the half-raised packets of booty and listened in
sulky silence as, addressing Abou-Hashem, who stood within a few paces
of him, Hassan said—
“How have you dared to disobey my orders? Did I not tell you last night
when our spy reported and described these dahabiahs that they belonged
to Franghis who were my friends, whose bread and salt I had eaten, and
that I would not permit them to be injured?”
“And why are we to be cheated of our spoil?” replied Abou-Hashem,
furious at being called upon to resign so rich a booty; “why are we to
be robbed of the fruit of our risks and toil by your sympathy with these
unbelieving dogs? Am I not right, comrades?” said he, looking round at
the armed men grouped behind him. “We will no longer submit to this
tyranny; our arms shall keep what our arms have won.” A murmur of
applause from his brother-plunderers followed this speech.
“Hark ye, men,” said Hassan in a voice which seemed to gather stern
composure as the danger grew more imminent. “I am your chief, freely
elected by yourselves, and, by Allah! while I live amongst you I will be
obeyed. Not a parcel of booty, not a morsel of bread, shall ye plunder
from these boats.”
“Take, then, example from me,” shouted Abou-Hashem to the freebooters
behind him; and as he spoke he drew a pistol from his belt to level it
at his leader’s breast. But Hassan’s eye had been upon him, and quick as
thought one blow from the mace sent the pistol high into the air, and a
second stretched Abou-Hashem senseless on the deck.
“Take example from him,” said Hassan to the freebooters in a tone of
bitter scorn; “it is a deed worthy of the warriors of the desert to
murder their chief and to plunder those whose bread he has eaten.”
Observing symptoms of hesitation in the fierce and lawless band, he
continued, “Return to your duty, and I may yet forgive you: if you
refuse, the consequences be on your own heads.”
With a pistol in each hand he calmly awaited the result of the
conference which they held in a few brief and broken sentences. During
this time Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo stood beside their leader, pistol in
hand, and ready to spend the last drop of their blood in saving or
avenging him.
Hassan took advantage of the brief pause to say to Emily, who still
stood trembling near her bound father, “Sit down, sit down, lady, beside
your father; pistol-balls may be flying in a moment, and a stray one
might strike you. It is only my life now that they seek; and if I fall,
tell them in Cairo that Hassan’s death redeemed the last year of his
life.”
Having uttered these words in the low and gentle tone so well preserved
in Emily’s remembrance, he once more addressed the still hesitating
mutineers.
“Quick, men! declare your choice—obedience or death. There is no path
between the two.” None spoke, nor dared to meet the eye of his chief.
“It is enough, my men; I see that you are ashamed, and I may yet forgive
this morning’s work. Abd-hoo, unbind the Franghi bey. Abou-Hamedi, shoot
the first man dead who moves an arm to interrupt him.”
Whilst this order was being obeyed, and Abd-hoo was cutting the cords by
which Mr Thorpe had been bound, Hassan stood silently but keenly
scanning the countenances of the mutineers.
“What, my men,” he called aloud, “still hesitating to repair a fault
into which you were led by this headstrong fool!” pointing to the
motionless form of Abou-Hashem. “Since I have been your chief have I
been last in the attack or first in the flight? Have I been miserly in
spending with you my blood or my money?” A murmur of “Never” broke from
the group. “Why, then, when I have so often led you to plunder and to
victory, did you desire to cover my head with ashes, my name with
infamy? You did not know, what Abou-Hashem knew, that these dahabiahs
belonged to my friends—that I had eaten from their table and shared
their salt! When all the provinces of Egypt are open to our swift horses
and our sharpened steel, could you, brave warriors of the desert, find
no more honourable foray than to attack defenceless strangers, and
those, too, the friends of your leader? If such be your mind, I know you
no more. Go and choose another leader from among thieves and
_moharrabin_,[109] for Hassan will no longer be your chief.”
“We never knew that these Franghis were your friends, or that you had
eaten their salt,” said one, who undertook to be spokesman for the rest.
“I thought so,” replied Hassan; “but he, Abou-Hashem, knew it well. He
deceived you, and he has paid the penalty. Come hither, men, and remove
him to yonder _sant_-tree[110] on the bank: perhaps he yet lives, and
may be wiser hereafter. Remember that not a man is to remove the value
of one _para_ from these boats. I have sworn it, and, Wallah! if I live
I will keep my oath.”
Like hounds chidden by a huntsman, the subdued freebooters mechanically
obeyed.
Whilst they were employed in removing their stunned and still senseless
lieutenant, Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo busied themselves, by Hassan’s
order, in cutting the bonds of the captives, all of whom, Mr Thorpe
included, came to shake hands with Hassan and to thank him for his
generous interposition on their behalf, and would not listen to his
expression of deep regret that they should have been exposed to so much
alarm and inconvenience by his followers. But the victory had been won,
for they slowly left the dahabiahs without attempting to remove one of
the parcels of plunder which they had collected on the deck.
Mr Thorpe, after listening with grave attention to a few words whispered
in his ear by Emily, said to Hassan—
“My brave young friend, we owe all we have on board, perhaps even our
lives, to you, and we cannot bear that you should again incur the risk
of living among those lawless and bloodthirsty men: they will owe you a
spite for depriving them of their spoil, and perhaps when you are off
your guard will assassinate you.”
“Alas! sir, you are in error,” said Hassan, in a voice whose melancholy
and soft cadence contrasted strangely with the stern, deep tones in
which he had lately addressed his followers. “You owe me nothing but
forgiveness; for were it not for me, this lawless band might not have
existed, and you might have pursued your journey without this vexatious
incident. My lot is cast among them for the present; least of all could
I leave them now, when my doing so would be attributed to fear. We all
of us owe a life to destiny, and if a sword or bullet put an end to
mine, where is the father or mother, sister or child, to shed a tear on
the tomb of Hassan. No; these men must know and feel that I am their
master and fear them not! The day will come, Inshallah! before long when
I can part with them without regret or shame. May your journey be
prosperous and your days prolonged.”
As he said these words he bade them adieu, and in the Franghi fashion
shook hands with all the Europeans, without distinction of rank.
“Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe, taking him aside and speaking in a low voice,
“before we left Cairo my wife and Emily paid a visit to the harem of
Delì Pasha: they saw his daughter, and I must tell you that your present
mode of life makes them both most unhappy.” Hassan averted his face and
spoke not. Mr Thorpe continued, “Yes, Hassan, it makes every one unhappy
who has an interest in your welfare. It is a career in which you are
exposed every day to lose your own life, or to take that of others,
without honour or glory. Be persuaded to abandon it ere it is too late.”