“You know how I was driven from society by injustice. I feel that the
advice which you give is kindly meant, and I thank you for it; but we
who are children of the desert attach no dishonour to the life that I
now lead: it is such as our fathers have led before us for centuries.”
“But you are not in the desert, Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe gently; “those
to whom your band is a terror are merchants, villagers, and travellers.
Even now it was only at the risk of your life that you saved us and our
property from the ferocity of those who call you chief. Can you wonder
that the daughter of Delì Pasha should weep when your name is
mentioned?”
“Did she weep? when and where?” said Hassan.
“Yes; she wept in my daughter’s arms. She could not speak, but her
altered appearance shows how much she has suffered.”
“Allah! Allah!” said Hassan, hiding his face for a moment in his hands;
then, as if ashamed of his emotion, he wrung Mr Thorpe’s hand with an
energy that nearly dislocated the worthy antiquary’s fingers, and
hastily uttering, “Farewell, sir; I will not forget what you have said,”
he leapt ashore, followed by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, and rejoined his
band beyond the copse whence they had attacked the dahabiah.
For many days the life of Abou-Hashem was despaired of, and even when by
slow degrees he recovered somewhat of his strength, and was able to sit
on horseback, his senses seemed wavering and unsettled. Many amongst the
band wore a sulky and dissatisfied air, and Hassan saw that on the first
favourable opportunity they were not unlikely to desert or betray him.
With the bold frankness which formed the leading feature of his
character, he resolved to come to an open explanation with them, and
then to resign the office which they had conferred on him. Having called
them all together, he said—
“My men, I see that you are still vexed at my having disappointed you of
the spoil of those dahabiahs. As for the blow which I gave to
Abou-Hashem, I speak not of it: you saw that he attempted to take my
life, and I defended it. How much, think you, would you have obtained
had I permitted you to plunder those Franks?”
“We might have divided perhaps twenty purses [£100], besides the Franghi
clothes, which were indeed of little value to us,” replied one fellow,
in a sulky tone.
“How much have you belonging to me?” said Hassan to Abou-Hamedi, who had
charge of that portion of the spoil which had fallen to his share as
leader.
“I have forty purses,” replied Abou-Hamedi, after examining the contents
of a bag which he carried in his belt.
“Here then, my comrades, are thirty purses,” said Hassan, again
addressing the freebooters; “take them and divide them among you: they
will compensate for your disappointment. Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, you
have both been true and faithful to me; here are five purses for each of
you. Now I resign my command, and leave you to follow your own counsel
and your own path. We part as friends, I hope?”
“Mashallah! your hand is always open,” shouted the freebooters, ashamed
of their late conduct. “Stay with us, and be still our leader; we will
never disobey you again.”
“It cannot be,” said Hassan; “my destiny compels me to go to Cairo,
where certain death would await you all, and where it is not unlikely to
await me also: but what is written must come to pass—there is neither
power nor strength but in Allah. Abd-hoo, bring me my horse. Farewell,
comrades; may happiness attend your path.”
So saying, he vaulted on the back of Shèitan and rode slowly away in a
southerly direction.
It was evident to all the band, from his abstracted air and the grave
melancholy of his voice, that something weighed heavily on his spirits,
and they noticed also that although he spoke of going to Cairo, the path
he had taken went in the direction precisely opposite.
For an hour he rode slowly forward, revolving in his mind the last words
addressed to him by Mr Thorpe, when, hearing behind him the sound of
horses’ feet, he turned and found he was followed by Abou-Hamedi and
Abd-hoo, the latter driving a mule laden with saddle-bags containing
Hassan’s clothes and spare arms.
“What is this?” said Hassan; “did I not bid you farewell?”
“And did you think,” said Abou-Hamedi, in a tone in which indignation
almost mastered his habitual respect for his chief, “that Abd-hoo and I
would take your money and leave you thus? What have we done that you
should think so meanly of us?”
“Forgive me,” said Hassan, “I have done you wrong; but my heart was
heavy, misfortune hangs over me, and I thought it best to meet my fate
alone.”
“Be it misfortune, or prison, or death, we will share it with you,” was
the exclamation of Abou-Hamedi, echoed by a hearty “Yes, by Allah!” from
the faithful black.
“Be it so,” said Hassan, much affected by their devoted attachment; “we
will part no more.” So saying, he rode once more forward in the same
direction as before; but Abou-Hamedi, who had in gaining his point
recovered his former spirits and energy of character, came up to him and
said, with a comic gravity—
“Hassan, you told us you were going to Cairo; have you forgotten that
the path we are following will take us to Esnah and Assouan?”
“I know it,” he replied; “but before returning to Cairo I wish to see
El-Uksor[111] and the wonderful monuments of which I have heard so much.
The party of Franks are there, and I must speak to them again before I
visit Cairo.”
“There is a governor at El-Uksor; will the Franks not betray us to him?”
said Abou-Hamedi doubtingly.
“Never!” replied Hassan with something of his former energy. “Allah has
not given them light to dwell in the true faith, but they have hearts
open to kindness and friendship.”
We may here mention that the band lately commanded by Hassan, dispirited
by the loss of a chief who had been the life and soul of every daring
enterprise, and anxious to retain, without molestation from the Egyptian
authorities, the considerable booty which they had amassed, were not
long in breaking up, some seeking concealment among the Arabs bordering
the desert, and the greater number joining a large caravan of pilgrims
returning from Mecca to the west by the route of Cosseir and Keneh.
About a week after the occurrence of these events the Thorpe party were
assembled at Thebes. Mr Thorpe, accompanied by Müller, was busy in
copying hieroglyphic inscriptions. At a little distance from them Emily,
seated on a fragment of stone, was sketching the interior of that
magnificent temple whose massive proportions and antique beauty excited
the admiration of the Romans eighteen centuries ago.
“What a picturesque and appropriate addition to this classic scene!”
said Emily, half aloud to herself, as her eye rested upon the figure of
a stranger who had just entered the temple from the side, and was
looking up, apparently awed and surprised, at its gigantic though
harmonious proportions.
He was a large, powerful man, considerably above middle height. His dark
eye, sparkling with the fire of vigorous manhood, belied the age which
the massive grey beard descending on his breast might seem to indicate,
while the folds of his ample turban, the cashmere shawl around his
waist, in which were two silver-mounted pistols, and the sword that hung
at his side, bespoke at once a man of rank and a soldier.
“Do you know who he is?” said Emily, addressing Demetri.
“Yes, signora,” replied the loquacious interpreter; “though he only
arrived here yesterday, I have found out all about him. His name is
Dervish Bey, known as Es-Seyaf, or the Swordsman. He was one of the most
celebrated warriors in Mohammed Ali’s army of Arabia. He has lately been
Governor of Assouan, but is now on his way to Cairo. His boats are gone
on and wait for him at Keneh, to which place he travels on horseback
attended by two or three mounted followers. They say that with that very
sword now at his side he has often cut off the head of an ox at a single
blow.”
“I hope he will not cut off any of our heads,” replied Emily, smiling.
“Were he to attempt it, lady, you would not be without a defender,” said
a low voice in English immediately behind her. At the sound of that
well-known voice the blood rushed to Emily’s temples as she turned and
saw Hassan before her.
“I beg pardon for having startled you by my sudden appearance,” said
Hassan.
“I was, indeed, surprised at your unexpected appearance,” said Emily,
recovering herself; “but you know we are always glad to see you, Hassan.
Will you come and speak to my father?” and she led the way to the spot
where Mr Thorpe was transferring hieroglyphics to his album.
From him, as well as from Müller, Hassan received a friendly welcome,
and in a brief conversation which ensued our hero informed them that he
had finally quitted his roving life and his lawless band. Whilst they
were still conversing, Dervish Bey approached the party, and observing
that Hassan spoke to them in their own language, saluted him, adding,
“Will you ask the Frank ladies whether one of them has lost a ring?”
Hassan having repeated the question, Emily, looking at her hand,
observed that in the surprise which his sudden appearance had occasioned
a ring had dropped from her finger. “Yes,” she replied, “I see that I
have lost my small emerald ring.”
“I have had the good fortune to find it,” said Dervish Bey, “near to the
spot where the Khanum was sitting.” So saying, he handed it to Hassan,
who delivered it to the owner.
“Pray express my thanks to him,” said Emily.
In obeying this command Hassan employed language so correct and
courteous that the Bey’s curiosity was excited, and he fixed upon him a
glance of keen scrutiny. His eye was met by one frank and fearless as
his own; and while the Bey looked with admiration at the noble features
and commanding form of the young Bedouin, our hero thought that he had
never seen the vigour of manhood so happily united to a snowy beard—that
object of profound reverence to youth in the East.
No sooner had the Bey left than Mr Thorpe asked Hassan if they had ever
met before.
“No,” he replied; “I am only just arrived, and know not who he is.” They
then communicated to him the intelligence which Demetri had obtained
respecting his name and history.
“What!” exclaimed Hassan, “is that the famous Dervish, the swordsman?
Often have I heard Delì Pasha speak of his gallant feats in Arabia, and
he looks like what they say of him: would that I had met him when he was
twenty years younger!”
“Wherefore, Hassan?” inquired Emily, timidly.
“That I might have proved my sword against his,” replied Hassan, his
eyes flashing as he spoke.
“Surely, Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe, mildly, “you could not indulge in
hostile feelings towards one whose manner and appearance entitle him to
respect.”
“I was wrong, sir,” replied Hassan; “I should ask pardon for my hasty
speech. I have lived so much of late among those who are always engaged
in strife, that I almost forgot that life has any other occupation.
Believe me that I pay due honour to his white beard, and in the hasty
words which I spoke I only meant that I envied him the honourable fame
that his sword has obtained for him.”
A moonlight November evening at Thebes—who that has once enjoyed can
ever forget it? The mild and temperate air; the noble river—the author
and nourisher of all the fertility of Egypt—rolling its majestic tide
beneath the time-honoured remains of the temple of Luxor; a mile or two
to the northward the yet more ancient and magnificent ruins of Karnak;
while at some distance inland, on the opposite banks of the Nile, are
dimly discernible the Memnonium, celebrated in classic fable, and the
hills, within whose chambered sides repose the ashes of the mighty of
olden time—monarchs who had conquered kingdoms and raised imperishable
monuments of architecture and art ere Greece or Rome had emerged from
the insignificance of barbarism.
Such was the scene where the Thorpes were assembled on the evening which
followed the events just related. Hassan was with them, and had already
during the day drawn from Mr Thorpe a detailed account of the ladies’
visit to Amina; and as he heard recounted the deep emotion caused by the
mention of his name, hope had once more arisen within his breast. Near,
too, sat Dervish Bey, who had deferred his departure, and had
courteously accepted Mr Thorpe’s invitation to take a cup of coffee with
their party. None of them failed to observe with how scrutinising a
glance his eye rested upon Hassan, and Mr Thorpe felt convinced that the
ex-Governor either had learnt or suspected that the young Bedouin before
him was no other than Hassan, the far-famed outlaw. Upon Mr Thorpe’s
hinting as much to Hassan, he replied with a smile—
“If it be so, there is no harm. Dervish Bey is a brave soldier, not a
spy or informer.”
On the following morning Abou-Hamedi, who had been absent the greater
part of the night, reported to Hassan that he had obtained information
of a band of thieves in the neighbourhood who seemed to have evil
intentions towards Dervish Bey. He had accidentally fallen in with one
of these fellows at a small coffee-house in the village of Luxor, and
suspecting from casual expressions that he belonged to some band who
meant mischief, he plied him so well with arrack and the intoxicating
drug called _hashish_ that he was able to learn from the man that he was
associated with a body of thieves and _moharrabin_, the latter of whom
had escaped from the conscription lately issued in Upper Egypt for the
levy of troops to march into Sennaar. Several of these fellows had been
flogged for insubordination by Dervish Bey, who was a severe
disciplinarian, and having ascertained that he was travelling down to
Keneh on horseback with only a few followers, the greater part of his
suite being on board his boats, they had laid a plot to waylay and rob
him in some unfrequented part of the road. Abou-Hamedi encouraged his
tipsy friend to believe that he highly approved the scheme, and hoped to
participate in its execution.
Hassan lost no time in returning to Luxor in order to put Dervish Bey on
his guard, and was disappointed to find that the old soldier had started
at daybreak, and was already some miles on his way.
Hassan resolved to follow him immediately. Before doing so he called on
Mr Thorpe, and having informed him of the intelligence that he had
received, recommended him to communicate it without delay to the
Governor of Luxor, and to have the guards doubled for the protection of
his own dahabiahs, lest the predatory band should be tempted to pay him
a visit.
Mr Thorpe thanked him for his warning, and placed in his hands a letter,
which he requested that he would find means to deliver to the Viceroy’s
interpreter, a commission which Hassan promised to fulfil. He was not
aware that it contained an account of the attack made upon his boats by
Abou-Hashem’s band, and of the manner in which his party and his
property had been rescued by Hassan at the imminent risk of his life.
Our hero was so anxious to overtake Dervish Bey, and to warn him of the
plot laid by the _moharrabin_, that, bidding the Thorpes a hasty but
cordial farewell, he galloped off in the direction of Keneh.
Meanwhile Dervish Bey, unsuspicious of any danger, passed the ruins of
Karnak and continued his course to the northward, intending to reach at
nightfall a small village called Solemieh, which belonged to him, and
the rents of which had fallen somewhat in arrear. He was accompanied
only by his _khaznadâr_, his _chibouqchi_, two armed servants, and a
couple of _sàises_, who looked after his baggage-mules, which were three
in number.
He had journeyed about ten miles, and was crossing a desert plain on
which no human habitation was visible, and where the neglected soil
produced nothing but that rank mixture of tall weeds called in Egypt
_khalfah_. His thoughts were dwelling on his unexpected meeting with the
Frank party at Luxor, and, more than all, on the young Bedouin, whose
remarkable appearance and qualities had strongly excited his interest.
That the latter was, indeed, the formidable outlaw of whom he had heard
so much he had no doubt; yet, instead of the fierce, rough bandit whom
he had pictured to himself, he had found a gentle-mannered,
noble-looking youth, speaking the language of the Franks, and evidently
esteemed by them; one, moreover, the characteristic expression of whose
countenance seemed to be a thoughtful melancholy, and whose taste for
poetry and conversation appeared totally at variance with the deeds of
lawless violence and daring attributed to him by report.
Whilst he was riding slowly on, musing on these things with an interest
which he could scarcely explain to himself, his _khaznadâr_ rode up and
called his attention to a party of about twenty men who were
approaching, and whose appearance was anything but reassuring. They were
a strangely-assorted band, half on horseback, half on foot, some armed
with guns, some with lances, and all with swords of different fashion.
From the weather-stained and tattered remains of uniform still visible
in the attire of some of the party, the experienced eye of Dervish Bey
recognised them at once as _moharrabin_,—men who, as they rob and
plunder with a halter round their necks, are generally the most cruel
and bloodthirsty of lawless bands.
Dervish Bey lost not a moment in ordering his small party to get ready
their swords and pistols, and as the robbers drew near he called out to
inquire what they wanted. The only reply was a musket-ball, which passed
close by his cheek.
Regardless of the disproportion of numbers, the brave old soldier struck
his stirrups into his horse’s flanks, and, followed by his attendants,
charged full at the centre of the band. So well did he wield his
once-renowned sword that several had already fallen victims to its edge
when an unlucky ball entered the eye of his horse, which reared and fell
on its side. In vain did he struggle to withdraw his leg from the
carcass of the dead horse, which pinned it to the ground; but his right
arm was free, and he still continued to ward off the cuts which one or
two of the cowardly miscreants on foot were making at his head.
At this moment a black steed passed like a meteor by the fallen Bey,
while a single groan announced the fate of one of those who had been
cutting at him. Again the black horse wheeled and was at his side, and
the second robber fell dead by his companion.
The Bey caught sight of the rider’s face, changed indeed from what he
had seen on the preceding day. Now the angry veins swelled on the brow,
fire darted from the flashing eyes, and the sweep of the vengeful arm
was like a tempest. Again and again did he charge among the astonished
banditti, shouting and dealing his terrible blows, each of which bore
with it a life or a limb. Cuts and bullets were aimed at him during his
headlong course, but it seemed as if he were proof against lead or
steel.
His impetuosity had carried him to some distance from the prostrate
soldier, when he saw that again several of the miscreants on foot were
approaching to despatch him. Shouting aloud his war-cry of “Hassan
Ebn-el-Heràm” in a voice that rose high above the din of the conflict,
he dashed his stirrups into Shèitan’s flank, and in a few bounds was
again beside the fallen chief.
For a second the sound of that dreaded name seemed to paralyse every
arm, and Hassan had time to throw himself from his panting horse and to
cover with his own person, and with his sweeping sword, the helpless
form of the prostrate Bey.
Indignant at being foiled by a single man, they crowded around him, and
had he not succeeded in snatching from one of the robbers a round shield
of hippopotamus-hide, such as is used by the natives of Soudan, he must
soon have fallen beneath the blows aimed at him from so many quarters.
As it was, he fought like a lion at bay, and, though wounded in several
places, was still maintaining the unequal contest, when Abou-Hamedi and
Abd-hoo, who had been unable to keep up with the furious speed at which
Shèitan had borne his impetuous rider, now appeared on the scene. Two of
the ruffians who were attacking Hassan fell at once beneath the swords
of his faithful followers, and the remainder, astonished and
disheartened at this unexpected reinforcement, slowly retired.
Hassan vaulted once more on the back of Shèitan, refreshed by the short
breathing-time which his rider’s conflict on foot had allowed him, and
again shouting his war-cry, charged the hesitating band, accompanied by
his two brave attendants.
The robbers, not knowing how many more of Hassan’s followers might be
approaching, fled as fast as their legs and horses could carry them.
Several were killed and wounded by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, and two they
seized and brought back prisoners. While thus engaged, Hassan returned
to Dervish Bey and exerted all that remained of his fast-failing
strength in extricating him from the carcass of the dead horse—an object
which he had scarcely effected ere he sank down beside him, weak and
exhausted from loss of blood.
A happy smile passed over his features as he observed that the brave old
soldier was altogether unhurt. The latter, with the ready presence of
mind gained in many a former fight, wasted not a moment in thanking his
deliverer, but busied himself in examining and binding up his wounds.
The worst of these proved to be two deep sabre-cuts, one in the side and
another in the thigh. These he carefully closed and bound, and then he
observed that blood was still trickling down his chest from a cut
between the neck and shoulder-blade. While engaged in stanching and
dressing this, his eye fell upon the amulet which Hassan wore round his
neck, and the trembling hand of the veteran was scarcely able to
accomplish the task ere he whispered with a faltering tone—
“Hassan, whence got you that amulet?”
“It was on my neck when I was left an infant on the base of the
Pyramid,” replied Hassan in a faint voice.
“My son! my son!” ejaculated the old soldier in a voice in which joy,
fear, and tenderness were strangely blended.
“Father! father! Allah be praised and thanked that I have found thee, if
it be only to die on thy breast,” murmured Hassan, as he threw his arms
round the veteran’s neck and fainted.
“Thou shalt not die, my beloved, my gallant boy,” said the Bey, almost
fiercely. “And yet,” he added in a softened tone, as a tear trickled
down his weather-beaten cheek and fell on the unconscious form of
Hassan, “by Allah! and by my father’s grave, wert thou now to die, I
would not change thee for the proudest and noblest of the living.”[112]
Hassan was laid gently on the ground, and Abou-Hamedi brought water from
a neighbouring creek, which they sprinkled on his forehead; while
Dervish Bey produced from one of his saddle-bags a small phial
containing a cordial, which he always carried with him on his journeys,
and a few drops of which soon restored Hassan to consciousness.
“Was it a dream? Father! father!” were the first words he uttered.
Beckoning to Abd-hoo to assist him, Abou-Hamedi collected the mules,
which had strayed to some distance, and placed on them the Bey’s
_khaznadâr_ and _chibouqchi_, who were both severely wounded: then he
carefully reloaded his pistols and made Abd-hoo do the same, with a
significant hint to the two prisoners that if they attempted to escape,
their brains should be blown out. He then came up to the Bey and
whispered to him—
“Excellency, we must lose no time in returning to Luxor: Hassan and the
only two of your followers who survive are badly wounded. The Franks
have always plenty of medicines, and Müller is a skilful hakim; let us
place Hassan on my horse, and Abd-hoo will walk beside his saddle and
support him. You can ride Abd-hoo’s horse and watch the prisoners, while
I follow on foot and look after the mules.”
Dervish Bey, who had somewhat recovered his composure, saw that the
advice was good. The _cortége_ having been organised as Abou-Hamedi
suggested, and Hassan having been gently lifted into the saddle, where
his half-inanimate form was supported by the powerful arm of Abd-hoo,
they set out on their return, Abou-Hamedi bringing up the rear and
leading the faithful Shèitan, who, like his master, was badly wounded
but not disabled. In this guise they returned slowly, but without
accident, to Luxor.
Müller’s surgical practice and readiness of resource were now productive
of the best results. His own bed was given up to Hassan, whose wounds
were skilfully dressed, and who soon fell asleep, although the murmured
words of “Father,” “Shèitan,” and “Amina” which escaped his lips proved
that his wandering thoughts were busy with the past, and that a fever
crisis was yet to be feared.
That evening, after the wounds of all the sufferers had been attended to
and every arrangement made for their comfort, Dervish Bey related to the
Thorpes the strange accident by which he had recognised his long-lost
son, and the heroic gallantry with which he had defended an unknown
father’s life against such overwhelming numbers.
On the following day the Governor of Luxor, who was only a colonel, and
consequently of inferior rank to Dervish Bey, went out by desire of the
latter with a party of soldiers and fellahs to the scene of conflict in
order to bury the dead. They were guided by Abou-Hamedi, who easily
recognised and pointed out the spot where the Bey’s horse had fallen
upon its side, the rider having been unable to withdraw his leg from its
pressure. There still lay the horse, and around it seven dead bodies of
the thieves attested the desperate valour with which Hassan had defended
the fallen Bey.
A very short time elapsed ere Müller was able to assure Dervish Bey that
the youth and vigour of Hassan’s constitution had triumphed over all
dangerous symptoms. His strength was prostrated by great loss of blood;
but this very circumstance saved him from the fever which had threatened
to result from his severe wounds. Hassan learned with grateful pleasure
that his faithful Shèitan had come in for his share of the attendance of
the indefatigable Müller, who had sewed up the sabre-cuts and
successfully extracted two balls which the gallant horse had received in
the affray.
As soon as Hassan was able to sit up, an easy-chair was placed for him
in the open air by his English friends, and daily he sat there with his
father beside him, each looking upon the other with an affection too
deep for words—an affection that seemed as if it were endeavouring by
its intensity to make amends for the long separation to which they had
been exposed by Fate.
This new and blessed sensation of filial love, and the happy feeling
that he had been the fortunate instrument of saving that honoured
parent’s life, gave to Hassan’s mind a feeling that now he had not lived
in vain, and hope whispered to him that the son of Dervish Bey might
aspire without presumption to the hand of Amina.
He was thus gradually recovering his health and strength, and during the
hours of his convalescence listened with eager interest to the history
of his father’s fortunes, a brief abstract of which we will now subjoin.
About seventeen years before the opening of our tale Selim Aga, a young
man of good birth and connections in Constantinople, being a son of a
former Governor of Damascus, came to Egypt in the train of the chief
eunuch, who had been despatched, with a numerous and honourable suite,
as bearer of a diamond-hilted sword and other valuable presents from the
Sultan to Mohammed Ali,—the chief object of his mission being to incite
the warlike Governor of Egypt to undertake an expedition against the
Wahabees, who were threatening to subvert the imperial power in Arabia.
In the suite of the chief eunuch there were also Ingòu Khanum, a young
lady of high rank, who had been betrothed to Mustapha Bey, the Viceroy’s
brother-in-law, and her younger sister, for whom the chief eunuch
proposed to find an honourable alliance in the viceregal family. But by
one of those accidents which occur in voyages, the latter saw Selim Aga,
and they fell in love with each other.
She contrived to escape from the harem to which she had been brought in
Cairo, flew to her lover, who married her secretly and conveyed her to a
house which he had taken for the purpose in Ghizeh.
The rage of the chief eunuch knew no bounds. All Cairo was searched, but
in vain; her disguise as an Egyptian woman, residing in a cottage at
Ghizeh, protected her for a time, and the chief eunuch returned to
Constantinople without having been able to discover her retreat.
The young couple lived for some time happily in their retirement, Selim
Aga continuing to serve the Viceroy in Cairo and visiting his wife by
stealth. However, some one who entertained a spite against him
discovered his secret, and orders were given for the immediate seizure
of his wife and himself: he fortunately received notice of this order in
time to hasten to his cottage at Ghizeh and warn his wife of their
perilous situation.
Not a moment was to be lost: disguised as a fellah, she sought and found
refuge in the house of a kind-hearted neighbour; whilst he, snatching up
their only child, with the few articles of value that he could secrete
about his person, galloped off to the desert and placed his child in the
hands of an Arab woman whom he found seated at the base of the Great
Pyramid. Thence he fled towards Lower Egypt as fast and as far as his
horse could carry him. In the neighbourhood of Alexandria he threw off
his Turkish dress, having procured and assumed that of a wandering
dervish.
When his beard and his hair had become sufficiently long and matted, and
his face stained enough to ensure him against recognition, he ventured
to return to Cairo in order to inquire into the fate of his wife; but
all his researches proved unavailing, although he had the satisfaction
of learning that she had eluded the search of those who were ordered to
seize her.
Still habited and disguised as a dervish, he found his way with a
caravan of pilgrims to Mecca, and thence, following the bent of his
early habits and predilections, joined the army of Ibrahim Pasha,
engaged in hostilities with the Wahabees.
On one occasion, when Ibrahim was nearly surrounded and hard pressed by
a body of the enemy, he was surprised by hearing beside him the loud
shout of a dervish (“Allah-hoo! Allah-hoo!”), who, armed with an
enormous club garnished with iron spikes, came forward to the rescue.
Horse and man went down before the sweeping blows of the dervish’s
terrible weapon. Apparently reckless of life, he went forward striking
to the right and the left, and shouting “Allah-hoo!” in a voice that
terrified the Arabs, who, thinking that he must be a _jinn_ or _afreet_,
fled before him. When the battle was over, Ibrahim sent for him to his
tent and inquired what he could do to reward him.
“Give me a horse and a sword,” was the reply of the dervish; “I ask no
more.”
“That you shall have,” replied Ibrahim; “and, Wallah! if thou canst use
a sword as thou dost handle that knotty club, it will not be long before
thou dost attain to honour and distinction.”
The horse and the sword were given, and in every succeeding action the
dervish, still clothed in the same wild attire, was in the foremost
ranks, shouting “Allah—hoo!” and striking down all before him. Such was
his skill in the use of the sword that he was soon known in the Egyptian
army as Dervish the Swordsman; and although, as he rose in rank, he laid
aside the mendicant dress for that of an officer, he never thought fit
to resume his original name, but retained that under which by his valour
he had attained the rank of bey. He had the rare good fortune to be
equally a favourite with Mohammed Ali and Ibrahim, as he never mixed in
any political intrigues, but simply did his duty as a brave soldier.
“And have you never succeeded in learning what became of my mother?”
inquired Hassan when the veteran had concluded his narrative.
“Never,” he replied. “I learnt indeed that she visited her sister in
disguise, who received her kindly, and procured for her, under a feigned
name, a home in the harem of one of our pashas; but her sister is dead,
and her secret died with her, unless, indeed, it be known to an old
woman who was her favourite slave, and whom, if she be yet alive, I will
try to find in Cairo.”
“Inshallah!” ejaculated Hassan earnestly, “may we find her.”
He then related to his father the incidents of his own brief but
eventful life, which he did with the unassuming simplicity and
truthfulness natural to his character. He made no secret of his
attachment to Amina, or of the circumstances under which it had been
fostered, and renewed hope arose in his breast when he found that his
father and Delì Pasha were old companions in arms and intimate friends.
Hassan’s impatience to reach Cairo, in the hope of seeing Amina and
tracing his mother, became now so great that Dervish Bey could not long
resist it; but before setting out he determined, with the usual energy
of his nature, to break up the band of thieves by whom he had been
attacked, and who, notwithstanding the severe loss they had sustained,
might still be sufficiently strong to do much mischief in the
neighbourhood.
A liberal application of the stick to the two who had been captured soon
induced them to betray the habitual rendezvous of the band, and Dervish
Bey, accompanied by the Governor and a party of fifty horsemen, having
made a rapid night march to the indicated spot, came upon them at dawn
so unexpectedly that they had not time to make an effectual resistance
or escape. A few were killed, and the greater part of the remainder were
led back prisoners to Luxor, whence they were forwarded under a guard to
Cairo, the galleys at Alexandria being their ultimate destination.
Having accomplished this task, Dervish Bey no longer resisted the urgent
entreaties of Hassan that he should proceed to Cairo without delay. Mr
Thorpe having brought up with him two tents, which were pitched on the
river-bank, and sufficed for the accommodation of his party, he was able
to lend his smaller dahabiah to convey Dervish Bey to Keneh, where his
own boats awaited him. It was agreed that Abd-hoo should accompany
Hassan, while Abou-Hamedi led Shèitan by slow stages to the capital.
Before leaving his kind English friends Dervish Bey testified his
gratitude for the care and attention which they had shown to Hassan by
giving them two curious relics which he happened to have with him, and
which Hassan assured him would afford them the greatest pleasure.
To Mr Thorpe he gave a rare antique scarabæus, attached by a gold chain
to a ring of the same metal, with a hieroglyphic inscription: it had
been found near Assouan, and though only of the Ptolemaic date, was a
very fine specimen. To Müller he gave a very old MS. of the New
Testament, found in a ruined Coptic convent in the Said: one-half the
page was written in Coptic and the other half in Greek. To Müller the
volume was a great prize.
When the hour of leave-taking arrived, Hassan shook hands with all the
party after the English fashion, thanking Mr Thorpe and Müller for all
their kindness during his illness in few but feeling words.
Dervish Bey, who had followed close by Hassan in his leave-taking, now
preceded him into the dahabiah, from whence they accomplished the voyage
to Cairo without accident, and proceeded at once to a fine house
belonging to the Bey, situated near the centre of the city, adjoining
the Birket-et-Fil, or the “Lake of the Elephant.”
The old soldier, knowing the severity of Mohammed Ali in all cases where
his authority had been publicly braved, hastened to the Viceroy’s
presence to explain to him the strange circumstances under which he had
recovered his long-lost son, and to solicit a full pardon of the
latter’s offences against the laws in Upper Egypt. He delivered also to
the interpreter the letter written by Müller, which was forthwith read
to the Viceroy. Mohammed Ali, who had listened with grave attention to
all the arguments adduced by Dervish Bey and to the contents of the
letter, said—
“Dervish, you know how highly I regard your services and your long-tried
fidelity, and how willingly I would grant any request of yours. I
rejoice, also, that you have recovered a son who is in many respects so
well worthy of you; for I confess to you that I took a great liking to
the lad, and our good hakim here is always speaking in his favour. I own
that I owe him a debt for saving your life, my faithful old comrade,
when he did not know that you were his father.”
So far Mohammed Ali spoke in a kind and friendly tone: he added, with
somewhat of severity in his manner, “But, Dervish, you must not forget
that Hassan for some time openly defied my authority, and I am bound to
listen to the complaints of the villagers and caravans who were
plundered by his band: such deeds cannot go unpunished while I rule in
Egypt. The government of the interior I intrust to the Kiahia Pasha, and
I must consult with him before coming to a decision. Meanwhile go to
your home, and consider Hassan as being under arrest in your house: you
are answerable for his appearance when required, and I will cause the
orders issued for his apprehension to be cancelled. For the present be
satisfied with this. You may retire, and Allah be with you!”
Dervish Bey well knew from the tone in which these words were spoken
that all further appeal at the time was unavailing, so, with a
respectful salam to the Viceroy, he withdrew and returned home to report
to Hassan the result of his interview.
Our hero was by no means discouraged thereby, for he saw that he stood
high in the Viceroy’s opinion, and he felt tolerably sure that both in
Delì Pasha and in the Kiahia himself he would find advocates of his
cause. On the subject his mind was soon made easy by his old friend and
comrade Reschid, who no sooner heard of his arrival in Cairo than he
hastened to him and embraced him heartily.
“Mashallah!” said Reschid, gazing at Hassan, whose countenance was
bronzed and his figure developed by a year passed in constant exercise
and exposure; “I left you a lion, and I find you an elephant. By the
life of the Prophet, Hassan, I have often secretly envied your Bedouin
life. I laughed heartily, and I can tell you that my Pasha in his
private room laughed heartily also, at your having sent that
ill-favoured cur Osman Bey into his own town tied on the back of an
ass!”
“Then you do not think,” said Hassan, “that the Kiahia will be very hard
on my follies? Much will depend upon it, for the Viceroy told my father
that he intended to consult the Kiahia on the subject.”
“In the _mejlis_” (_i.e._, the council), “and in the presence of
others,” replied Reschid, “the Kiahia will talk before Mohammed Ali with
great solemnity and severity about offences against the laws, &c., but
when they are together in private, he will tell him that you were a
hot-blooded youngster, driven mad by the insulting cruelty of Osman Bey;
and it is fortunate that even the merchants and villagers who have sent
in complaints of having been plundered by your band have always written
that you never permitted any bloodshed, and that you often restored to
the poorest the booty taken from them. No, no, Hassan; you have nought
to fear, for we will bring such a battery to bear upon the Viceroy that
he will not be able long to hold out. We will attack him in front, while
a certain Khanum, whom I could mention, will besiege the harem; for we
have all heard how you saved the life of Delì Pasha’s daughter, and as
Fate seems to have destined you to be a robber, you began your trade by
stealing her heart.”
“Not so, Reschid,” replied Hassan, laughing; “I gave her my own first,
and if she would not give it me back, but chose to give me hers in place
of it, you cannot accuse me of theft.”
“I wish some dark-eyed houri would steal mine,” said Reschid, “for it is
a very troublesome article to keep in one’s own possession. I know not
why I should have lent you a large slice of mine from the date of our
first acquaintance, for you do not deserve it; you have not even offered
me your congratulations.”
“On what event?” said Hassan. “On your marriage?”
“Marriage? no,” replied his merry friend; “on becoming a great man! Have
you not heard that since we parted I have been made _khaznadâr_ to the
Kiahia? Mashallah! it is a wonderful office. Bakshishes are plentiful as
petitioners, and if I wanted money I should only have to stand for a
minute before our divan with my hand open and my eyes shut. Wallah!
Hassan, I am in a fair way to become a greater robber than ever you have
been.”
“I will not dispute the precedence with you,” replied Hassan. “I
congratulate you heartily; but as I am now a poor prisoner, and have no
bakshish to offer, I fear I cannot expect that your Excellency will
intercede with the Kiahia on my behalf.”
“Bakkalum! we shall see,” answered Reschid with mock gravity, and took
his leave.
Another of the earliest and most frequent of Hassan’s visitors was his
old friend Ahmed Aga, who brought him many kind messages from Delì
Pasha, although the latter had been forbidden by the Viceroy for the
present to visit Hassan in person. Neither did our hero long remain
without secret communication with his lady-love; for he had not been two
days in Cairo ere the _bowàb_ sent up word that a dumb boy wished to see
him, and Murad rushed into the room and kissed Hassan’s feet and hands
with every demonstration of overflowing attachment.
Our hero was much touched by the grateful affection of his mute
_protégé_, whom he received with all his former kindness, and he soon
found himself seated by the side of the intelligent boy practising over
again the finger-language that he had partially forgotten. His efforts
did not long go unrewarded, for he was soon able to comprehend that his
youthful companion was a frequent visitor to Delì Pasha’s harem, where
he was a great favourite of the old chief eunuch and of Fatimeh Khanum,
and that he sometimes had the honour of being introduced into the
presence of Amina herself. The young lady flattered herself that the
interest which she felt in the dumb boy arose entirely from compassion
for his infirmity, but it _may_ have been partially owing to his having
been a _protégé_ of Hassan.
How happily Hassan made him relate all his little tales of the harem—how
he had bought some fine blue beads for the eunuch and some sweetmeats
for Fatimeh, of which she had given him a portion to eat. “And see what
I got from another,” and as he spoke he pulled out a little bouquet of
flowers.
“Who gave you these? and for whom were they intended?” said Hassan,
impatiently.
“I must not tell,” replied the sly little messenger, giving them to
Hassan; “but I have done with them as I was bid.”
“And I,” replied Hassan, “must not give you any message concerning them,
but you may say what became of them,” and as he spoke he pressed them to
his lips, and opening his vest placed them near his heart. The little
boy smiled, and kissing his protector’s sleeve, withdrew to give an
account of his mission.
Cheered by such visits, Hassan’s time passed agreeably enough. Nor was
his confinement irksome, for at the back of his father’s house was a
space sufficiently large to admit of his taking his favourite exercise,
and he employed several hours in breaking in and training for the jereed
game several high-couraged young colts which he found in his father’s
stable.
Nevertheless, day after day passed without bringing any material change
in his situation. The exertions of his friends seemed to have failed in
inducing Mohammed Ali to grant him a free pardon, and Dervish Bey
refused to make any second application, saying—
“If the fact of the brave boy’s having saved the life of Mohammed Ali’s
faithful soldier and servant does not merit reward in his estimation, I
would rather cut out my tongue than apply to him again.”
Time wore on, and Hassan’s spirits, which had begun to be depressed by
the monotony of his life, were again refreshed by the arrival of
Abou-Hamedi leading Shèitan, who had entirely recovered from his wounds,
and whose coat, saving two or three honourable scars, was as bright and
glossy as ever.
A packet also reached Cairo from Hadji Ismael, the merchant, sent in
reply to a letter written to him by Hassan immediately on his arrival.
The packet contained all the relics which had been found on Hassan’s
infant person. Although not necessary to confirm Hassan’s identity, of
which the veteran had never entertained a doubt, a tear fell as he saw
these reminiscences of his youth and of his long-lost wife.
“Hassan,” said his father, “I have ascertained that the old woman from
whom I had hoped to learn something of your mother’s fate is dead; but
we must not abandon hope. Allah is great, and he is the revealer of
secrets. Our proverb says, ‘Patience is the key of happiness’; let us be
patient, my son, and trust in Allah.”
One day Dervish Bey, in consequence of a message received from Delì
Pasha, had gone to Boulak to pay him a visit. After the interchange of
the customary pipes and compliments the attendants were dismissed, and
Delì Pasha told his old comrade that he had just seen the Kiahia Pasha,
and had learnt from him that he entertained a good hope that Hassan
would soon receive a full pardon from the Viceroy, in confident
anticipation of which he wished to speak with him on the subject of the
marriage of their children, of whose mutual attachment there could be no
doubt.
Dervish Bey assured his old comrade of the sincere pleasure which the
alliance would give to himself, and after a brief and friendly
discussion respecting the dowry and the provision to be made for the
young couple, which terminated to their mutual satisfaction, Delì Pasha
said—
“Now, Dervish, that we are to be related by the marriage of our
children, and as you have no wife to settle these harem affairs for you,
it is right that you should see your intended daughter-in-law, and I
will send and inquire whether she is in her apartment and can receive us
now.” He clapped his hands and delivered the message to a servant, who
speedily returned from the harem door with the reply, “On our head be
it, we shall be honoured by your visit.”
Amina remained in her inner room. How her heart beat at the thought that
she was going to see Hassan’s father, and as she reflected that her
father could not have brought him to the harem had not the marriage been
agreed upon between them. Fatimeh Khanum was charged to receive them and
pay the first compliments in the outer apartment, after which she was to
introduce both to Amina’s presence.
As soon as they entered the harem curtain-door Fatimeh, in her capacity
of Kiahia Khanum, received them with a courteous salam, and commenced
the usual complimentary phrases of welcome, when her tongue began to
falter: she threw back her veil to see more clearly the features of
Dervish Bey, and then, throwing wide her arms in the attempt to embrace
his knees, she exclaimed, “Selim! Selim!” and fell fainting at his feet.
Raising her gently and placing her on a divan which was near, the
veteran gazed upon her altered but pleasing features, and tears of
joyful emotion started in his eyes as he said, “It is, indeed, my
long-lost Zeinab! Allah be thanked! what blessings has he poured on my
grey head.”
Amina, alarmed at the exclamation and the fall of her faithful friend,
whom she loved almost as a mother, rushed into the room, and giving a
rapid glance of greeting to her father, hastened to the side of the
insensible Khanum.
With what overwhelming emotions did the rude old soldier, who had been
for so many years cast out from all the comforts and tender ties of
domestic life, contemplate the lovely figure bending with all the
anxious care of a daughter over his newly-found wife. She sprinkled her
brow with water, chafed the cold hands within her own, and when she
found that her efforts were successful, and that the Khanum began to
recover her senses, she threw back the redundant tresses that had fallen
over her face and neck, and looking up in her father’s face, said,
almost in a tone of reproach—
“Father, what has been said or done to reduce my dear Khanum to this
state?”
“Come into the next room, my child, and I will tell you all,” said Delì
Pasha, leading her away; and then observing that the Khanum was fast
coming to herself, he added, addressing the other attendants, “Begone,
all of you, and wait without.”
While Delì Pasha was explaining to his daughter the unexpected accident
by which Dervish Bey had found in their Kiahia Khanum, whom they had
always known as Fatimeh, his long-lost wife Zeinab, the reunited couple,
left alone, were recounting to each other the incidents and adventures
that they had met with during their long separation; and when Fatimeh
learnt that Hassan was indeed her son, tears of grateful pride and joy
streamed from her eyes as she said—
“Oh, Selim, a secret voice in my heart whispered this to me, and yet I
dared not believe it. I saw him, and I loved him with an affection that
I could not explain to myself. In fear and terror I was the confidante
of his love for Amina. I thought that I was doing wrong; and yet, while
I warned and reproved them both, Allah knows how my heart bled and
longed to see them united. Allah be praised for all his goodness. They
will yet be happy! for in truth, Selim, there lives not in all Egypt a
maiden so sweet, so adorned with all high and lovable qualities, as my
Amina. Let us go in and see her, and let her know how happy we are.” So
saying, she led the way into the inner room, where Amina threw herself
into the Khanum’s arms. The tender words of “my mother” and “my child”
interchanged between them could scarcely add anything to the affection
which they had borne to each other in their former relation of
instructress and pupil.
Seldom does it happen that a Mohammedan soil, so sterile of domestic
affections, can witness so happy a kindred group as was there assembled;
and the news soon spread throughout the house that their Kiahia Khanum
was the mother of Hassan and the wife of Dervish Bey. All the eunuchs
and slave-girls in the harem crowded round her to kiss her hand, and she
found in their sincere congratulations a reward for the gentle rule that
she had exercised over them.
The other wives of Delì Pasha also sent over from the opposite wing of
the harem a message that they wished to come over and pay her a visit of
felicitation; and as it was contrary to etiquette that Dervish Bey
should see them, he availed himself of the opportunity to rise and take
his leave, saying—
“I must go and communicate this happy news to our dear boy: you know not
how his heart has longed to find and embrace his mother. Amina, may I
take him a message from you? What shall I say to him?”
A blush passed over the face of the maiden as she replied in a low
voice, “Say to him what your kind heart dictates. With my father’s
permission I will not gainsay your words.”
“May I tell him, then,” said the veteran, “that his faithful love is
returned?”
Amina raised her liquid eyes to her father’s face, and meeting there an
approving smile, she murmured, “Now, and for ever!”
With what a light and buoyant heart did the old soldier mount his horse
to return to his house and communicate his budget of glad tidings to his
son; but he was doomed to disappointment, for on inquiring for Hassan he
was nowhere to be found. One of the _sàises_, on being questioned,
stated that he had ridden out early in the morning, accompanied by
Abou-Hamedi, but no one knew whither he had gone.
“Rash boy!” exclaimed Dervish Bey; “now has he overthrown all our plans,
and dipped our hands in scalding water. He was under arrest, and ordered
to remain within these walls. Mohammed Ali will be furious, and Allah
knows how we shall appease his anger.”
Let us now explain the circumstances which had led to Hassan’s sudden
disappearance.
Before the dawn of this same day Hassan had been roused from his sleep
by the entrance of Murad, the dumb boy, who had with the greatest
difficulty awakened the drowsy _bowàb_ and obtained admittance. Our hero
saw at a glance that his young _protégé’s_ countenance was haggard and
careworn, and that he was exhausted by fatigue.
After ordering some bread and a cup of coffee to be brought immediately,
he asked Murad in his usual kindly tone what had led him to come before
daylight, and why he looked so pale and fatigued. The little boy gazed
at him earnestly, and then with his fast-moving fingers said, “A matter
of life and death.”
“Rest and compose yourself for a few moments,” replied Hassan, who saw
that the boy was in a state of nervous excitement, and he would not
permit him to begin his story until he had eaten some bread and drunk
his cup of coffee. But the secret with which Murad’s breast was charged
was of such a nature that he longed to unburden it to his protector,
fearing that the loss even of a few minutes might be productive of
disastrous consequences.
His narrative was as follows: On the preceding day he had accidentally
passed by a café situated near the Bab-en-Nasr (the Gate of Victory),
when he heard a voice within, which he thought he recognised as that of
Osman Bey, in conversation with another man, and he distinguished
plainly the names of Mohammed Ali, Delì Pasha, and that of the Kiahia,
mentioned in rapid and eager tones. In conclusion the one speaker said
to the other—
“It must be done quickly: meet me here again to-night, two hours after
sunset, and bring the others with you.”
Murad felt an irresistible curiosity to learn the subject of this
evening conference, and he did not anticipate much difficulty in doing
so, as he was well known to the keeper of the coffee-shop, a bluff old
Arnàout, who had often allowed the friendless and mutilated child to
earn or beg a few coppers at his door before the kindness of Hassan and
Amina had placed him beyond the reach of absolute want.
Hastening home, Murad took out of his box an old and ragged dress, which
he had not worn for a twelvemonth, and having put it on, hung round his
neck a tablet with which he had formerly solicited the assistance of the
charitable, and on which was written in Turkish and Arabic, “Give a few
_paras_ to the deaf and dumb for the love of Allah!”
He sallied forth about an hour after sunset, and made his way to the
café. Old Arnàout, on noticing him, said, “Murad, poor little fellow, it
is long since I have seen you; where have you been?” Receiving no reply,
he added, “I forgot that he can neither hear nor answer me”; so saying,
he dropped one or two copper coins into his hand, which Murad put into a
little tin box which was slung beside his tablet. He then entered the
café, as had been his custom of old, assisting the urchin who waited on
the guests in carrying them lighted coals for their pipes or taking away
empty _finjâns_ of coffee. But the guests were few, for the café was in
an unfrequented part of the town, and the weather was cold.
The last of them were just retiring when Osman Bey entered, accompanied
by three or four other men, all of whom, like himself, were wrapped in
large cloaks. It was evident that they were desirous of preserving an
incognito, for they had brought with them neither servants nor pipes:
they sipped, however, some coffee, and smoked the rude _chibouques_ of
the café.
After a short time they were joined by another party, consisting also of
four or five men, in the foremost of whom Murad recognised Ali Bey, the
colonel of the regiment of Bashi-Bazouks who were on duty at the
Esbekiah, and guarded Mohammed Ali’s palace in that quarter. For some
time they conversed on indifferent subjects, but ere long they called
for arrack, which seemed to loosen their tongues, while Murad went about
among them renewing their pipes.
“Who is this youngster?” said Ali Bey, catching him by the arm, while he
addressed the coffee-house-keeper.
“He is a poor child whom I have known for several years,” replied the
Arnàout. “He comes here sometimes to earn or beg a few _paras_; he is
deaf and dumb.”
“Is he?” replied Ali Bey, drawing the boy towards him and reading the
tablet on his breast; “then he is just the boy for us. Send out those
lads of yours, and Wallah! if we catch one of them coming within earshot
we will clip their ears for them; we want to talk over our private
affairs.” He added a few words in Greek which Murad did not understand,
to which the Arnàout replied by a wink and disappeared.
“Bring me a pipe,” said Ali Bey, suddenly turning to Murad and speaking
in a loud stern voice. Murad never stirred, but stared in the Colonel’s
face and opened his little tin box.
“Jaffier spoke the truth,” muttered the Colonel half aloud. “I thought
he would not dare to deceive me; the imp is as deaf as a stone.” They
then continued to drink their cans of arrack, which Murad refilled for
them, while they spoke without reserve of the plans which they had met
to arrange, and which were neither more nor less than to seize or kill
Mohammed Ali and overthrow his Government.
“Are you sure of your Bashi-Bazouks, Ali?” inquired Osman Bey.
“Never fear them,” replied Ali; “the dogs are as savage as bears. We
have drawn their pay from the Treasury, but we have not given them a
_para_ of it for some months, and have told them that Mohammed Ali
refuses to pay them and threatens to bastinado any of them that demand
their pay. They are all on guard at the Esbekiah Palace, and if he falls
into their clutches he will not give us much more trouble. The
difficulty is how to bring him there, for the guards at Shoobra are
obstinate fellows, and would fight like devils!”
“I will manage that matter,” said Osman Bey. “Those Shoobra guards are
from Delì Pasha’s regiment. I will go there to-morrow morning and ask an
audience of Mohammed Ali, and will easily persuade him that those guards
are not to be trusted, for that Delì Pasha wants to marry his daughter
to that outlawed robber Hassan, who is now in Cairo, and as they have
not been able to obtain his pardon, they are conspiring against the
Viceroy and tampering with the guards, who are of Delì Pasha’s own
regiment. Mohammed Ali will assuredly believe there is some truth in
this statement, and will agree to my proposal of coming in at once to
his palace at the Esbekiah.”
“Have you succeeded yet in introducing the brother of your man Ferraj
into the household at Shoobra?” inquired another of the conspirators.
“Yes,” replied Osman Bey. “Hadji Mohammed is employed in the house, and
tells me all that goes on. If our other plans fail, that scoundrel can
do the job for us with a cup of coffee; and he _must_ do my bidding, for
he knows that a word of mine can send him when I will to the _gellad_
[executioner] or the galleys.”
“How are your fellows, Nour-ed-din?” said Ali, the Colonel, addressing
one of the conspirators. “Can we count upon them?”
“I am not sure,” replied the officer thus interrogated. “I have kept
back their pay too, and have thrown out a few phrases to stir their
discontent. They grumble enough, and if our first blow succeeds they
will doubtless join us; but they are much afraid of Ibrahim Pasha. How
is he affected in this matter?”
“We must not tell it him beforehand,” replied Osman Bey; “for with all
his cruelty he is a craven at heart and might betray us, not from the
love but the fear that he has for Mohammed Ali. Let us put the Old Lion
out of the way, and I will answer for managing Ibrahim afterwards. He
will not be very angry, depend upon it.”
They then exchanged a few more sentences to regulate their proceedings
for the following day, of which Murad only caught the words, “You all
meet at my house at noon.” This was spoken by Ali Bey, who as he rose up
to go away almost stumbled over the prostrate form of Murad, who had
rolled himself in his old torn cloak and lay on the floor feigning
sleep, but listening with eager anxiety to the dangerous secrets of
which he had accidentally been made the partaker.
“What is this son of a dog doing here?” said Ali Bey, pointing with his
foot to the recumbent form of Murad.
“It is only the deaf and dumb child,” replied one of the others
contemptuously.
“Supposing he should prove to be neither deaf nor dumb, nor asleep?”
said the suspicious Arnàout.
“I will just give him six inches of my dagger in the ribs, and then I
shall be sure that he is deaf and dumb.” So saying, he drew his dagger,
and held over the boy’s face a half-expiring lamp that he snatched from
the table. A start, a tremor, the slightest indication of consciousness,
would have been Murad’s instant death-warrant; but the brave little boy
bore the severe ordeal. Not a muscle nor a quickened respiration
betokened aught but the quiet slumber of youth.
“Pish!” said the rough savage, “his sleep is fast enough, whether he be
deaf or not. Inshallah! before long my dagger will drink better blood
than his.” So saying, he strode out of the café, followed by the other
conspirators, who separated and went to their several homes.
For nearly an hour after they were gone Murad remained motionless
collecting his scattered thoughts, which, unaccustomed as they were to
dwell on conspiracies or political revolutions, seemed oppressed and
overwhelmed by the terrible secret which he bore about him.
No sooner, however, did he recover from the terror which he had endured
from the Arnàout’s dagger than he resolved at once to hasten to Hassan
and tell him everything. This he did before dawn, as we have above
mentioned; and our hero, having heard his tale, and made him repeat
certain portions of it so as to feel assured of the accuracy of his
memory, told Murad to remain in his room till he returned.
Having armed himself with a brace of pocket-pistols and a short dagger,
which he concealed within his vest, he mounted his horse, and,
accompanied by Abou-Hamedi, rode out towards the desert by the Gate of
Victory. After skirting the desert for a couple of miles he turned to
the left, through some cultivated fields and olive-plantations, until he
found himself at the gates of the Shoobra garden. His only fear was that
he might be denied access to the Viceroy; but he had made up his mind to
demand it through his old acquaintance the medical interpreter.
Assuming, therefore, an authoritative air, he said to the gatekeeper in
Turkish, “I wish to see the Hakim-Bashi, and my business with him is
urgent.”
The man, influenced by Hassan’s commanding figure and the use of the
Turkish language, immediately led the way to a small pavilion occupied
by the hakim, and adjoining the private apartments of the Viceroy.
When Hassan entered he found the Doctor sitting in a comfortable
dressing-gown drinking his cup of coffee and looking over the last
Italian journal. When he saw our hero, and received his salutation, he
seemed sorely perplexed, for a year and a half of hardship and exposure
had changed the youth into a powerful man; yet the frank, open
countenance, not easily forgotten, was there unchanged, and it was not
necessary for him to name himself, for the hakim broke out suddenly,
“_Cospetto di Bacco!_ it is Hassan himself. Why, man, I am glad to see
you—no, I am not; I am sorry to see you, for you must be mad. You know
that you are under arrest and forbidden to leave your father’s house—the
Viceroy will never forgive disobedience to his orders.”
“Excellency,” said Hassan gravely, “I have come upon a matter of life
and death, and I must see the Viceroy immediately and alone. It is not
my life or death that is at stake, but one of greater value to me, to
you, and to Egypt.”
“Per Bacco!” said the hakim, “your forehead looks like a thunder-cloud,
and you speak like a man who is in earnest. You wish to see the Viceroy
immediately and alone, you say?”
“Immediately,” repeated Hassan impatiently; “and alone.”
“But,” replied the cautious physician, “Mohammed Ali is a fearless
man—the world knows it; but would it be usual, would it be right, that
he should be left alone with——” Here the worthy physician hesitated as
he cast his eyes upon the powerful figure before him.
“With a freebooter and outlaw, you would say,” interposed Hassan, with
one of his frank smiles. “But I am not an assassin. I only said alone
because I know not who of all his Highness’s attendants are trustworthy!
However, I suppose you are, and therefore if the Viceroy pleases, you
may be present, and you may hold a loaded pistol at my ear all the time
that I am in his Highness’s presence.”
“I ask your pardon,” said the Italian hakim, offering his hand. “I did
not mean to offend or to hint at your being an assassin; but you know
what mischievous tongues wag in these Turkish _serais_, and how I should
be blamed were I not cautious in all that regarded the safety of my
chief. Now help yourself to a cup of coffee, and I will do your
commission at once.” So saying, the hakim disappeared through a
side-door that communicated directly with the Viceroy’s apartment. In
five minutes he reappeared, and making a sign to Hassan to follow, led
him to a small room where Mohammed Ali was seated in the corner on a
divan covered with rich crimson damask.
“You have broken your arrest,” said Mohammed Ali, fixing his piercing
eyes on Hassan as he entered; “I trust you have sufficient reason for
your disobedience.”
“Your Highness shall judge,” replied Hassan, “when you have heard what I
have to tell. I knew that I had already given you such serious ground of
offence that I would not for a light cause have added another to the
list.”
“Wallah! it is true that you have committed enough already in pillaging
my villages and my people,” said Mohammed Ali sternly; “let that pass
for the present, and say what you have to say before the Hakim-Bashi.”
Hassan proceeded to give a clear and distinct account of the conspiracy
as communicated to him by Murad. The expressive features of Mohammed Ali
underwent various changes during the narration, and his fingers more
than once clutched the handle of the sword that lay across his knee when
Hassan mentioned the names of the conspirators.
As soon as Hassan had concluded his narrative, Mohammed Ali, bending his
shaggy brows on the speaker, said, “By the head of my father, if this
tale be true, I will defile the graves of the fathers and mothers of
these ungrateful dogs. But how can I feel assured that the whole is not
an invention of this crazy, mutilated child?”
“I believe it is all true,” said Hassan with simple earnestness, “for
the boy, though dumb, is faithful and intelligent. I am sure he would
not deceive me, neither has he knowledge sufficient to refer to all
these names and plots if he had not heard them as he states. Moreover,
it is easy for your Highness to ascertain some points which may satisfy
you as to the truth of the whole.”
“Which points?” said the Viceroy hastily.
“First,” replied Hassan, “is it true that a man called Hadji Mohammed,
the brother of Osman Bey’s servant, Ferraj, has lately entered your
Highness’s service?”
“That is true,” interrupted the hakim; “for I have seen the fellow, and
an ill-looking dog he is.”
“Secondly,” continued Hassan, “if the boy’s story be correct, Osman Bey
will visit your Highness within an hour or two, and recommend you to
leave Shoobra and go into your palace of the Esbekiah, where Ali Bey’s
Bashi-Bazouks are on guard.”
“That is true,” replied the Viceroy; “a few hours will remove all doubt.
Hakim-Bashi, you remember that only a day or two ago the Kiahia wrote a
note to say that some strange rumours were afloat as to these
Bashi-Bazouks and another regiment being almost in mutiny from not
having received their pay.”
“It is so,” replied the hakim, “and I went to the pay-office, by your
Highness’s order, and got Ali Bey’s receipt for the whole amount due to
them duly sealed and certified. I have it here,” and he produced the
paper in question.
“These hornets must be crushed, and there is no time to be lost,” said
the Viceroy in a musing tone; then suddenly bending his shaggy eyebrows
on Hassan, he added, “Young man, you have done your duty in bringing us
this news, bad though it be. What is the course which it is now best to
pursue?—speak your mind.”
“Nay, your Highness,” said Hassan modestly; “if my arm or my life can be
of use, they are at your service, but I am too young and inexperienced
to offer an opinion in the presence of the best soldier in Islam.”
“Nevertheless,” replied the Viceroy, a certain malicious fun twinkling
in the corner of his keen grey eye, “I would have your opinion, even
though I should not choose to follow it. If all be true that I have
heard, you have shown more skill in eluding or defeating my troops with
your lawless band of vagabonds than could have been expected from so
young a beard. I would see whether your wit be as sharp, now that you
profess a desire to serve me. Speak, therefore, and without fear or
reserve.”
After a few moments of reflection Hassan replied, “Were I to speak as my
own impulse would prompt, I should say to your Highness, Summon to your
side the Pashas, Beys, and regiments in whom you can trust, place me in
the foremost rank, and let us straightway attack, bind, or destroy these
conspirators.”
Mohammed Ali read in his bright, eager glance and bold, open front the
sincerity which dictated these words. Hassan continued, “But I know that
your Highness would gladly avoid, if possible, the bloodshed of your
subjects, and the punishing the ignorant and the misled in the same
degree as the scoundrels who have misled them. I therefore suggest that
we meet stratagem with stratagem, and when Osman Bey comes, let your
Highness pretend to be persuaded by his arguments, and agree to go into
the Esbekiah Palace to-morrow. This will throw them off their guard, and
all the conspirators will be gathered at Ali Bey’s house. Meanwhile I
have a trusty follower here, little known in Cairo, for whose fidelity I
will answer with my life: let him go forthwith to the Kiahia with a few
lines, written by your Highness’s order, instructing him to send a
regiment that he can trust, and two or three hundred horsemen silently
and secretly to the Esbekiah before dawn to-morrow; let two or three
guns be placed there, pointed at Ali Bey’s house and your Highness’s
palace; let Delì Pasha take five hundred men from this regiment at
Shoobra and march it at the same hour and in silence to occupy the
gardens behind Ali Pasha’s house and the road to Boulak; let the guards
in the citadel be doubled at night, and the regiment of Dervish Bey, now
encamped outside of the town, be brought in to keep in check that of
Nour-ed-din, which is supposed to be in a state of mutiny. My follower
shall then pass the night among them, and when they know that they have
been cheated of their pay by their own officers, they will not raise a
musket against your Highness. The most difficult task is to manage these
Bashi-Bazouks, but I am not without hopes of reclaiming them without
bloodshed. Let your Highness give me that receipt of Ali Bey’s for their
money, and let me hide it under my belt; order me now to be seized and
taken by your soldiers into the guard-house of the Esbekiah Palace,
where you intend to have me tried and judged to-morrow. As soon as it is
known that Hassan the outlaw is confined there, they will flock in
numbers to see me; I will talk with them; I will show them the receipt,
and explain to them how they have been cheated and duped by Ali Bey.
Inshallah! at dawn to-morrow, when the troops close in on all sides to
surround the Bey’s house and take prisoner himself and his confederates,
I will have these Bashi-Bazouks’ minds so changed that instead of
fighting against your troops they will cry ‘Long life to Mohammed Ali!’”
While Hassan was speaking the Viceroy never took his piercing eyes off
the young man’s countenance, and when he had concluded he said—
“Hassan, you have not disappointed me: your plan is good, and I will
have it followed out. But I do not like to send you in among those
mutinous Bashi-Bazouks; they are bloodthirsty fellows, and if they find
from your speech that you are exhorting them in my behalf to return to
their duty, they will tear you to pieces.”
“Fear not for me, your Highness,” replied Hassan calmly. “In dealing
with and leading turbulent spirits like these I have had much, too much,
experience; let me try it once more in a good cause, and if my life is
sacrificed, why, Allah is merciful, and your Highness will perhaps tell
Delì Pasha and Dervish Bey that Hassan was not unworthy of your trust.”