He sat down at the table with the others, and played and won, losing

now and then; and so they played until evening came on, and all the

honest folk went home, and then they continued to play by candle-light,

until two other players said: "Come, we've had enough, and must go home

to our wife and children." But Gambler Pete challenged the Stout

Ezekiel to remain. For some time Ezekiel would not consent to do so,

but finally he said: "Very well, I will just count my money and then we

throw for five gulden stakes, for less than that would be child's

play." He took out his purse and counted out one hundred guldens, so

Gambler Pete knew how much money he had without troubling himself to

count. But although Ezekiel had won all the afternoon, he now began to

lose throw after throw, and swore fearfully over his losses. If he

threw threes, Peter would immediately throw fives. At last he flung

down his last five guldens on the table, and said: "Once more, and even

if I lose these I won't quit, for you must lend me from your winnings

Peter; one honest fellow should help another!"

"As much as you like, even if it was a hundred guldens," said the

Emperor of the Ball, pleased with his gains; and the Stout Ezekiel

shook the dice and threw fifteen. "Three fives!" cried he, "now we will

see!" But Pete threw eighteen, and a hoarse well-known voice behind him

said: "There, that was the last!"

He turned about, and behind him stood the giant form of Dutch Michel.

Horrified, he let the money he had just grasped fall from his hand.

Ezekiel, however, did not see Michel, but requested a loan of ten

guldens from Gambler Pete. Quite dazed, Peter put his hand in his

pocket, but found no money there. He searched his other pocket but

found none there; he turned his pockets inside out, but not a farthing

rolled out. Now for the first time he remembered that his first wish

had been to always have as much money in his pocket as the Stout

Ezekiel had. It had all disappeared like smoke.

The landlord and Ezekiel looked on in surprise while he was searching

for his money; they would not believe him when he declared that he had

no more money, but finally, when they felt in his pockets themselves,

they got very angry and denounced him as a base sorcerer who had wished

all his winnings and his own money at home. Peter defended himself as

well as he could, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel declared

that he would tell this terrible tale to every body in the Black

Forest, and the landlord promised Ezekiel that he would go to town

early in the morning and enter a complaint against Peter Munk as a

sorcerer, and he would live to see Peter burned, he added. Thereupon

they fell upon Peter, tore off his jacket, and pitched him out of

doors.

Not a star was to be seen in the sky as Peter stole sadly back towards

his home; yet in spite of the darkness he could perceive a form that

walked near him, and finally heard it say: "It's all up with you, Peter

Munk! All your magnificence is at an end; and I could have told you how

it would turn out when you would not listen to me but ran over to the

Little Glass-Man. Now you can see what comes of despising my advice.

But try me once; I have pity on your hard fate. Not one who has come to

me has regretted it; and if you are not afraid of the road, you can

speak to me any time to-morrow in the Tannenbuehl."

Peter knew well who it was that spoke to him, and he shuddered. He made

no reply, but walked on to his house.

The story-teller was interrupted just here by a commotion before the

inn. A wagon was heard to drive up; several voices called for a light;

there was a loud rapping on the yard gate, and the barking of several

dogs. The room occupied by the wagoner and the journeymen looked out on

the street. The four men sprang up and rushed in there in order to see

what had happened. As nearly as they could make out by the gleam of a

lantern, a large traveling carriage stood before the inn, and a tall

man was assisting two veiled ladies to alight from it, while a coachman

in livery was taking out the horses and a servant was unstrapping the

trunk. "God be merciful to them!" sighed the wagoner. "If they leave

this inn with a whole skin I shall cease to feel uneasy about my cart."

"Keep still!" whispered the student. "I have a suspicion that it is not

for us, but for these ladies that the ambush has been laid. Probably

the people below had information of the journey these ladies were to

take. If we could only contrive to warn them of their danger! Stop a

moment. In the whole inn there is but one room that would be fit for a

lady, and that one adjoins mine. They will be conducted there. Remain

quietly in this room, and I will try to let their servants know the

state of affairs."

The young man stole silently to his room and blew out the wax candles,

leaving only the light that the landlady had given them. Then he

listened at the door.

Presently the landlady came up the stairs with the ladies, and

conducted them in a most obsequious manner to their room. She besought

her guests to retire soon, as they must be exhausted by their ride, and

then went down-stairs again. Soon afterwards, the student heard the

heavy steps of a man ascending the stairs; he opened the door

cautiously a little ways, and peering through the crack saw the tall

man who had helped the ladies from the wagon. He wore a hunter's

costume, with a hunting knife in his belt, and was most likely the

equerry of the ladies.

As soon as the student could make sure that this man was alone, he

opened his door quickly and beckoned the man to come in. The equerry

came up to him with a surprised look, but before he could ask what was

wanted, the student whispered to him: "Sir, you have been led into a

den of thieves to-night."

The man shrank back, but the student drew him inside of the room and

related to him all the suspicious circumstances about the house.

The huntsman was much alarmed as he heard this, and informed the young

man that the ladies, a countess and her maid, were at first anxious to

travel right through the night; but they were met a short distance from

this inn by a horseman who had hailed them and asked where they were

bound. When he learned that their intention was to travel through the

Spessart all night, he advised them against doing so, as being very

unsafe at the present time. "If you will take the advice of an honest

man," he had added, "you will give up that purpose; there is an inn not

far from here, and poor and inconvenient as you may find it, it is

better for you to pass the night there than to expose yourself

unnecessarily to danger." The man who thus advised them appeared to be

honest and respectable, and the countess, fearing an assault from

robbers, had given orders to have the carriage stopped at this inn.

The huntsman considered it his duty to inform the ladies of the danger

that threatened them. He went into their room, and shortly afterwards

opened the door connecting with the student's room. The countess, a

lady some forty years of age, came in to the student, pale with terror,

and had him repeat his suspicions to her. Then they consulted together

as to what steps they had better take in this critical situation,

finally deciding to summon the two servants, the wagoner and the

journeymen, so that in case of an attack they might all make common

cause.

The door that opened on the hall in the countess's room was locked and

barricaded with tables and chairs. She, with her maid, sat down on the

bed, and the two servants kept watch by her, while the huntsman, the

student, the journeyman and the wagoner sat around the table in the

student's room, and resolved to await their fate.

It was now about ten o'clock; every thing was quiet in the house,

and still no signs were made of disturbing the guests, when the

compass-maker said: "In order to remain awake it would be best for us

to take up our former mode of passing the time. We were telling all

kinds of stories; and if you, Mr. Huntsman, have no objections, we

might continue." The huntsman not only had no objections, but to show

his entire acquiescence he promised to relate something himself, and

began at once with the following tale:

SAID'S ADVENTURES.

In the time of Haroun-al-Raschid, the ruler of Bagdad, there lived in

Balsora a man named Benezar. He was possessed of considerable means,

and could live quietly and comfortably without resorting to trade. Nor

did he change his life of ease when a son was born to him. "Why should

I, at my time of life, dicker and trade?" said he to his neighbors,

"just to leave Said a thousand more gold pieces if things went well,

and if they went badly a thousand less? 'Where two have eaten, a third

may feast,' says the proverb; and if he is only a good boy, Said shall

want for nothing." Thus spake Benezar, and well did he keep his word,

for his son was brought up neither to a trade nor yet to commerce.

Still Benezar did not omit reading with him the books of wisdom, and as

it was the father's belief that a young man needed, with scholarship

and veneration for age, nothing more than a strong arm and courage, he

had his son early educated in the use of weapons, and Said soon passed

among boys of his own age, and even among those much older, for a

valiant fencer, while in horsemanship and swimming he had no superior.

When he was eighteen years old, his father sent him to Mecca, to the

grave of the Prophet, to say his prayers and go through his religious

exercises on the spot, as required by custom and the commandment.

Before he departed, his father called him to his side and praised his

conduct, gave him good advice, provided him with money, and then said:

"One word more, my son Said. I am a man above sharing in the

superstitions of the rabble. I listen with pleasure to the stories of

fairies and sorcerers as an agreeable way of passing the time; still I

am far from believing, as so many ignorant people do, that these genii,

or whatever they may be, exert an influence on the lives and affairs of

mortals. But your mother, who has been dead these twelve years,

believed as devoutly in them as in the Koran; yes, she even confided to

me once, after I had pledged her not to reveal the fact to any one but

her child, that she herself from her birth up had had association with

a fairy. I laughed at her for entertaining such a notion; and yet I

must confess, Said, that certain things happened at your birth that

caused me great astonishment. It had rained and thundered the whole

day, and the sky was so black that nothing could be seen without a

light. But at four o'clock in the afternoon I was told that I was the

father of a little boy. I hastened to your mother's room to see and to

bless our first-born; but all her maids stood before the door, and in

response to my questions, answered that no one would be allowed in the

room at present, as Zemira (your mother) had ordered every body out of

her chamber because she wished to be alone. I knocked on the door, but

all in vain; it remained locked. While I waited somewhat indignantly,

before the door, the sky cleared more quickly than I had ever seen it

do before,--but the most wonderful thing about it was, that it was only

over our loved city of Balsora that the clear blue sky appeared, for

the black clouds rolled back, and lightning flashed on the outskirts of

this circle. While I was contemplating this spectacle curiously, my

wife's door flew open. I ordered the maids to wait outside, and entered

the chamber alone to ask your mother why she had locked herself in. As

I entered, such a stupefying odor of roses, pinks, and hyacinths

greeted me that I almost lost my senses. Your mother held you up to me,

at the same time pointing to a little silver whistle that was attached

to your neck by a golden chain as fine as silk. 'The good woman of whom

I once spoke to you has been here,' said your mother, 'and has given

your boy this present.' 'And was it the old witch also who swept away

the clouds and left this fragrance of roses and pinks behind her?' said

I with an incredulous laugh. 'But she might have left him something

better than this whistle: say a purse full of gold, a horse, or

something of the kind.' Your mother besought me not to jest, because

the fairies, if angered, would transform their blessings into

maledictions. To please her, and because she was sick, I said no more;

nor did we speak again of this strange occurrence until six years

afterwards, when, young as she was, she felt that she was going to die.

She gave me then the little whistle, charging me to give it to you only

when you had reached your twentieth year, and before that hour not to

let it go out of my possession. She died. Here now is the present,"

continued Benezar, producing from a little box a small silver whistle,

to which was attached a long gold chain; "and I give it to you in your

eighteenth, instead of your twentieth year, because you are going away,

and I may be gathered to my fathers before you return home. I do not

see any sensible reason why you should remain here another two years

before setting out, as your anxious mother wished. You are a good

and prudent young man, can wield your weapons as bravely as a man of

four-and-twenty, and therefore I can as well pronounce you of age

to-day as if you were already twenty; and now go in peace, and think,

in fortune and misfortune--from which last may heaven preserve you--on

your father."

Thus spake Benezar of Balsora, as he dismissed his son. Said took leave

of him with much emotion, hung the chain about his neck, stuck the

whistle in his sash, swung himself on his horse, and rode to the place

where the caravan for Mecca assembled. In a short time eighty camels

and many hundred horsemen had gathered there; the caravan started off,

and Said rode out of the gate of Balsora, his native city, that he was

destined not to see again for a long time.

The novelty of such a journey, and the many strange objects that

obtruded themselves upon his attention, at first diverted his mind; but

as the travelers neared the desert and the country became more and more

desolate, he began to reflect on many things, and among others, on the

words with which his father had taken leave of him. He drew out his

whistle, examined it closely, and put it to his mouth to see whether it

would give a clear and fine tone; but, lo! it would not sound at all.

He puffed out his cheeks, and blew with all his strength; but he could

not produce a single note, and vexed at the useless present, he thrust

the whistle back into his sash. But his thoughts shortly returned to

the mysterious words of his mother. He had heard much about fairies,

but he had never learned that this or that neighbor in Balsora had had

any relations with a supernatural power; on the contrary, the legends

of these spirits had always been located in distant times and places,

and therefore he believed there were to-day no such apparitions, or

that the fairies had ceased to visit mortals or to take any interest in

their fate. But although he thought thus, he was constantly making the

attempt to believe in mysterious and supernatural powers, and wondering

what might have been their relations with his mother; and so he would

sit on his horse like one in a dream nearly the whole day, taking no

part in the conversation of the travellers, and deaf to their songs and

laughter.

Said was a very handsome youth; his eye was clear and piercing, his

mouth wore a pleasing expression, and, young as he was, he bore himself

with a certain dignity that one seldom sees in so young a man, and his

grace and soldierly appearance in the saddle commanded the attention of

many of his fellow-travellers. An old man who rode by his side was much

pleased with his manner, and sought by many questions to become more

acquainted with him. Said, in whom reverence for old age had been early

inculcated, answered modestly, but wisely and with circumspection, so

that the old man's first impressions of him were strengthened. But as

the young man's thoughts had been occupied the whole day with but one

subject, it followed that the conversation between the two soon turned

upon the mysterious realm of the fairies; and Said finally asked the

old man bluntly whether he believed in the existence of fairies, who

took mortals under their protection, or sought to injure them.

The old man shook his head thoughtfully, and stroked his beard, before

replying: "It can not be disputed that there have been instances of the

kind, although I have never seen a dwarf of the spirits, a giant of the

genii, a sorcerer, or a fairy." He then began to relate so many

wonderful stories that Said's head was fairly in a whirl, and he could

believe nothing else than that everything, which had happened at his

birth--the change in the weather, the sweet odor of roses and

hyacinths--were the signs that he was under the special protection of a

kind and powerful fairy, and that the whistle was given him for no less

a purpose than to summon the fairy in case of need. He dreamed all

night of castles, winged horses, genii and the like, and dwelt in a

genuine fairy realm.

But, sad to relate, he was doomed to experience on the following day

how perishable were all his dreams, sleeping or waking. The caravan had

made its way along in easy stages for the greater part of the day, Said

keeping his place at the side of his elderly companion, when a dark

cloud was seen on the horizon. Some held it to be a sand-storm, others

thought it was clouds, and still others were of opinion that it was

another caravan. But Said's companion, who was an old traveller, cried

out in a loud voice that they should be on their guard, for this was a

horde of Arab robbers approaching. The men seized their weapons, the

women and the goods were placed in the centre, and everything made

ready against an attack. The dark mass moved slowly over the plain,

resembling an immense flock of storks taking their flight to distant

lands. By-and-by, they came on faster, and hardly was the caravan able

to distinguish men and lances, when, with the speed of the wind, the

robbers swarmed around them.

The men defended themselves bravely, but the robbers, who were over

four hundred strong, surrounded them on all sides, killed many from a

distance, and then, made a charge with their lances. In this fearful

moment, Said, who had fought among the foremost, was reminded of his

whistle. He drew it forth hastily, put it to his lips, and blew; but

let it drop again in disappointment, for it gave out not the slightest

sound. Enraged over this cruel disillusion, he took aim at an Arab

conspicuous by his splendid costume, and shot him through the breast.

The man swayed in his saddle, and fell from his horse.

"Allah! what have you done, young man?" exclaimed the old man at his

side. "Now we are all lost!" And thus it seemed, for no sooner did the

robbers see this man fall, than they raised a terrible cry, and closed

in on the caravan with such resistless force that the few who remained

unwounded were soon scattered. In another moment. Said found himself

surrounded by five or six of the enemy. He handled his lance so

dexterously, however, that not one of them dared approach him very

closely; at last one of them bent his bow, took aim, and was just about

to let the arrow fly, when another of the robbers stopped him. The

young man prepared for some new mode of attack; but before he saw their

design, one of the Arabs had thrown a lasso over his head, and, try as

he might to remove the rope, his efforts were unavailing--the noose was

drawn tighter and tighter, and Said was a prisoner.

The caravan was finally captured, and the Arabs, who did not all belong

to one tribe, divided the prisoners and the remaining booty between

them, and left the scene of the encounter, part of them riding off to

the South and the remainder to the East. Near Said rode four armed

guards, who often glared at him angrily, uttering savage oaths. From

all this, Said concluded, that it must have been one of their leaders,

very likely a prince, whom he had slain. The prospect of slavery was to

him much worse than that of death; so he secretly thanked his stars

that he had drawn the vengeance of the whole horde on himself, for he

did not doubt that they would kill him when they reached their camp.

The guards watched his every motion, and if he but turned his head,

they threatened him with their spears; but once, when the horse of one

of his guards stumbled, he turned his head quickly, and was rejoiced at

the sight of his fellow-traveller whom he had believed was among the

dead.

Finally, trees and tents were seen in the distance; and as they drew

nearer, they were met by a crowd of women and children, who had

exchanged but a few words with the robbers, when they broke out into

loud cries, and all looked at Said, shook their fists, and uttered

imprecations on his head. "That is he," shrieked they, "who has killed

the great Almansor, the bravest of men! he shall die, and we will throw

his flesh to the jackals of the desert for prey." Then they rushed at

Said so ferociously, with sticks and whatever missiles they could lay

their hands on, that the robbers had to throw themselves between the

women and the object of their wrath. "Be off, you scamps! away you

women!" cried they, dispersing the rabble with their lances; "he has

killed the great Almansor in battle, and he shall die; not by the hand

of a woman, but by the sword of the brave."

On coming to an open place surrounded by the tents, they halted. The

prisoners were bound together in pairs, and the booty carried into the

tents, while Said was bound separately and led into a tent larger than

the others, where sat an elderly and finely dressed man, whose proud

bearing denoted him to be the chief of this tribe. The men who had

brought Said in approached the chief with a sad air and with bowed

heads. "The howling of the women has informed me of what has happened,"

said their majestic leader, looking from one to the other of his men;

"your manner confirms it--Almansor has fallen."

"Almansor has fallen," repeated the men, "but here, Selim, Ruler of the

Desert, is his murderer, and we bring him here that you may decide as

to the form of death that shall be inflicted on him. Shall we make a

target of him for our arrows? shall we force him to run the gauntlet of

our lances? or do you decree that he shall be hung or torn asunder by

horses?"

"Who are you?" asked Selim, looking darkly at the prisoner, who,

although doomed to death, stood before his captors with a courageous

air.

Said replied to his question briefly and frankly.

"Did you kill my son by stealth? Did you pierce him from behind with an

arrow or a lance?"

"No, Sire!" returned Said. "I killed him in an open fight, face to

face, while he was attacking our caravan, because he had killed eight

of my companions before my eyes."

"Does he speak the truth?" asked Selim of the men who had captured

Said.

"Yes, Sire, he killed Almansor in a fair fight," replied one of the

men.

"Then he has done no more and no less than we should have done in his

place," returned Selim; "he fought his enemy, who would have robbed him

of liberty and life, and killed him; therefore, loose his bonds at

once!"

The men looked at him in astonishment, and obeyed his order in a slow

and unwilling manner.

"And shall the murderer of your son, the brave Almansor, not die?"

asked one of them, casting a look of hate at Said. "Would that we had

disposed of him on the spot!"

"He shall not die!" exclaimed Selim. "I will take him into my own tent,

as my fair share of the booty, and he shall be my servant."

Said could find no words in which to express his thanks. The men left

the tent grumbling; and when they communicated Selim's decision to the

women and children, who were waiting outside, they were greeted by

terrible shrieks and lamentations, and threats were made that they

would avenge Almansor's death on his murderer themselves, because his

own father would not take vengeance.

The other captives were divided among the tribe. Some were released, in

order that they might obtain ransom for the rich merchants; others were

sent out as shepherds with the flocks; and many who had formerly been

waited upon by ten slaves, were doomed to perform menial services in

this camp. Not so with Said, however. Was it his courageous and heroic

manner, or the mysterious influence of a kind fairy, that attached

Selim to him so strongly? It would be hard to say; but Said lived in

the chief's tent more as a son than as servant. Soon, however, the

strange partiality of the old chief drew down on Said the hatred of the

other servants. He met everywhere only savage looks, and if he went

alone through the camp he heard on all sides curses and threats

directed against him, and more than once arrows had flown by close to

his breast--and that they did not hit him he ascribed to the silver

whistle that he wore constantly in his bosom. He often complained to

Selim of these attempts on his life; but the chiefs efforts to discover

the would-be assassin were in vain, for the whole tribe seemed to be in

league against the favored stranger. So Selim said to him one day: "I

had hoped that you might possibly replace the son who fell by your

hand. It is not your fault or mine that this could not be. All feel

bitter hatred toward you, and it is not in my power to protect you for

the future, for how would it benefit either you or myself to bring the

guilty ones to punishment after they had stealthily killed you?

Therefore, when the men return from their present expedition, I will

say to them that your father has sent me a ransom, and I will send you

by some trusty men across the desert."

"But could I trust myself with any of these men?" asked Said in

amazement. "Would they not kill me on the way?"

"The oath that they will take before me will protect you; it has never

yet been broken," replied Selim calmly.

Some days after this the men returned to camp, and Selim kept his

promise. He presented the young man with weapons, clothes and a horse,

summoned all the available men, and chose five of their number to

conduct Said across the desert, and bound them by a formidable oath not

to kill him, and then took leave of Said with tears.

The five men rode moodily and silently through the desert with Said,

who noticed how unwillingly they were fulfilling their commission; and

it caused him not a little anxiety to find that two of them were

present at the time he killed Almansor. When they were about an eight

hours' journey from the camp. Said heard the men whispering among

themselves, and remarked that their manner was more and more sullen. He

tried to catch what they were saying, and made out that they were

conversing in a language understood only by this tribe, and only

employed by them in their secret or dangerous undertakings. Selim,

whose intention it had been to keep the young man permanently with him

in his tent, had devoted many hours to teaching the young man these

secret words; but what he now overheard was not of the most comforting

nature.

"This is the spot," said one; "here we attacked the caravan, and here

fell the bravest of men by the hand of a boy."

"The wind has covered the tracks of his horse," continued another, "but

I have not forgotten them."

"And shall he who laid hands on him still live and be at liberty, and

thus cast reproach on us? When was it ever heard before that a father

failed to revenge the death of his only son? But Selim grows old and

childish."

"And if the father neglects it," said a fourth, "then it becomes the

duty of the fallen man's friends to avenge him. We should cut the

murderer down on this spot. Such has been our law and custom for ages."

"But we have bound ourselves by an oath to the chief not to kill this

youth," said the fifth man, "and we cannot break our oath."

"It is true," responded the others; "we have sworn, and the murderer is

free to pass from the hands of his enemies."

"Stop a moment!" cried one, the most sullen of them all. "Old Selim has

a wise head, but is not so shrewd as he is generally credited with

being. Did we swear to him that we would take this boy to this or that

place? No; our oath simply bound us not to take his life, and we will

leave him that; but the blistering sun and the sharp teeth of the

jackals will soon accomplish our revenge for us. Here, on this spot, we

can bind and leave him."

Thus spake the robber; but Said had now prepared himself for a last

desperate chance, and before the final words were fairly spoken he

suddenly wheeled his horse to one side, gave him a sharp blow, and flew

like a bird across the plain. The five men paused for a moment in

surprise; but they were skilled in pursuit, and spread themselves out,

chasing him from the right and left, and as they were more experienced

in riding on the desert, two of them had soon overtaken the youth, and

when he swerved to one side he found two other men there, while the

fifth was at his back. The oath they had taken prevented them from

using their weapons against him, so they lassoed him once more, pulled

him from his horse, beat him unmercifully, bound his hands and feet,

and laid him down on the burning sands of the desert.

Said begged piteously for mercy; he promised them a large ransom, but

with a laugh they mounted their horses and galloped off. He listened

for some moments to the receding steps of their horses, and then gave

himself up for lost. He thought of his father and of the old man's

sorrow if his son should never more return; he thought on his own

misery, doomed to die so young; for nothing was more certain than that

he must suffer the torments of suffocation in the hot sands, or that he

should be torn to pieces by jackals.

[Illustration]

The sun rose ever higher, and its hot rays burnt into his forehead;

with considerable difficulty he rolled over, but the change of position

gave him but little relief. In making this exertion, the whistle fell

from his bosom. He moved about until he could seize it in his mouth,

then he attempted to blow it; but even in this terrible hour of need it

refused to respond to his will. In utter despair, he let his head fall

back, and before long the sun had robbed him of his senses.

After many hours, Said was awakened by sounds close by him, and

immediately after was conscious that his shoulder had been seized. He

uttered a cry of terror, for he could believe nothing else than that a

jackal had attacked him. Now he was grasped by the legs also, and

became sensible that it was not the claws of a beast of prey but the

hands of a man who was trying to restore his senses, and who was

speaking with two or three other men. "He lives," whispered they, "but

he believes that we are his foes."

At last Said opened his eyes, and perceived above his own the face of a

short, stout man, with small eyes and a long beard, who spoke kindly to

him, helped him to get up, handed him food and drink, and while he was

partaking of the refreshments told him that he was a merchant from

Bagdad, named Kalum-Bek, and dealt in shawls and fine veils for ladies.

He had made a business journey, and was now on his way home, and had

seen Said lying half-dead in the sand. The splendor of the youth's

costume, and the sparkling stone in his dagger had attracted his

attention; he had done all in his power to revive him, and his efforts

had finally succeeded. The youth thanked him for his life, for he saw

clearly that without the interposition of this man he would have

perished miserably; and as he had neither the means of getting away,

nor the desire to wander over the desert on foot and alone, he

gratefully accepted the offer of a seat on one of the merchant's

heavily-laden camels, and decided to go to Bagdad with the merchant,

with the chance of finding there a company bound for Balsora, which he

could join.

On the journey, the merchant related to his travelling companion

a great many stories about the excellent Ruler of the Faithful,

Haroun-al-Raschid. He told anecdotes showing the caliph's love of

justice and his shrewdness, and how he was able to smooth out the

knottiest questions of law in a simple and admirable way; and among

others he related the story of the rope-maker, and the story of the jar

of olives,--tales that every child now knows, but which astonished

Said.

"Our master, the Ruler of the Faithful," continued the merchant, "is a

wonderful man. If you have an idea that he sleeps like the common

people, you are very much mistaken. Two or three hours at day-break is

all the sleep he takes. I am positive of that, for Messour, his head

chamberlain, is my cousin; and although he is as silent as the grave

concerning the secrets of his master, he will now and then let a hint

drop, for kinship's sake, if he sees that one is nearly out of his

senses with curiosity. Instead, then, of sleeping like other people,

the caliph steals through the streets of Bagdad at night; and seldom

does a week pass that he does not chance upon an adventure; for you

must know--as is made clear by the story of the jar of olives, which is

as true as the word of the Prophet,--that he does not make his rounds

with the watch, or on horseback in full costume, his way lighted by a

hundred torch-bearers, as he might very well do if he chose, but he

goes about disguised sometimes as a merchant, sometimes as a mariner,

at other times as a soldier, and again as a mufti, and looks around to

see if every thing is right and in order. And therefore it happens that

in no other town is one so polite towards every fool upon whom he

stumbles on the street at night, as in Bagdad; for it would be as

likely to turn out the caliph as a dirty Arab from the desert, and

there is wood enough growing round to give every person in and around

Bagdad the bastinado."

Thus spake the merchant; and Said, strong as was his desire to see his

father once more, rejoiced at the prospect of seeing Bagdad and its

famous ruler, Haroun-al-Raschid.

After a ten-days' journey, they arrived at their destination; and Said

was astonished at the magnificence of this city, then at the height of

its splendor. The merchant invited him to go with him to his house, and

Said gladly accepted the invitation; as it now occurred to him for the

first time, among the crowd of people, that with the exception of the

air, the water of the Tigris, and a lodging on the steps of the mosque,

nothing could be had without money.

The day after his arrival in Bagdad, as soon as he had dressed

himself--thinking that he need not be ashamed to show himself on the

streets of Bagdad in his splendid soldierly costume--the merchant

entered his room, looked at the handsome youth with a knavish smile,

stroked his beard and said: "That's all very fine, young man! but what

shall be done with you? You are, it appears to me, a great dreamer,

taking no thought for the morrow; or have you money enough with you to

support such style as that?"

"Dear Kalum-Bek," replied the young man, greatly disconcerted, "I

certainly have no money, but perhaps you will furnish me with the means

to reach home; my father would surely repay you."

"Your father, fellow?" cried the merchant, with a loud laugh. "I think

the sun must have scorched your brain. Do you think I would take your

simple word for that yarn you spun me in the desert--that your father

was a rich citizen of Balsora, you his only son?--and about the attack

of the robbers, and your life with the tribe, and this, that, and the

other? Even then I felt very angry at your frivolous lies and utter

impudence. I know that all the rich people in Balsora are traders; I

have had dealings with all of them, and should have heard of a Benezar,

even if he had not been worth more than six thousand Tomans. It is,

therefore, either a lie that you hail from Balsora, or else your father

is a poor wretch, to whose runaway son I would not lend a copper. Then,

too, the attack in the desert! Who ever heard, since the wise Caliph

Haroun has made the trade routes across the desert safe, that robbers

dared to plunder a caravan and lead the men off into captivity? And

then, too, it would have been known; but on my entire journey, as well

as here in Bagdad, where people gather from all parts of the world,

there has not been a word said about it. That is the second lie, you

shameless young fellow!"

Pale with anger, Said tried to interrupt the wicked little man, but the

merchant talked still louder, and gesticulated wildly with his arms.

"And the third lie, you audacious liar, is the story of your life in

Selim's camp. Selim's name is well known by every body who has ever

seen an Arab, but Selim has the reputation of being the most cruel and

relentless robber on the desert, and you pretend to say that you killed

his son and was not at once hacked to pieces; yes, you even pushed your

impudence so far as to state the impossible,--that Selim had protected

you against his own tribe, had taken you into his own tent, and let you

go without a ransom, instead of hanging you up to the first good tree;

he who has often hanged travellers just to see what kind of faces they

would make when they were hung up. O you detestable liar!"

"And I can only repeat," cried the youth, "that by my soul and the

beard of the Prophet, it was all true!"

"What! you swear by your soul?" shouted the merchant, "by your

black, lying soul? Who would believe that? And by the beard of the

Prophet,--you that have no beard? Who would put any trust in that?"

"I certainly have no witnesses," continued Said; "but did you not find

me bound and perishing?"

"That proves nothing to me," replied the merchant. "You were yourself

dressed like a robber, and it might easily have happened that you

attacked some one stronger than yourself, who conquered and bound you."

"I should like to see any one, or even two," returned Said, "who could

floor and bind me, unless they came up behind me and flung a noose over

my head. Staying in your bazar as you do, you cannot have any notion of

what a single man is able to do when he has been brought up to arms.

But you saved my life, and my thanks are due you. What would you have

me do? If you do not support me I must beg; and I should not care to

ask a favor of any one of my station. I will go to see the caliph."

"Indeed!" sneered the merchant, "you will ask assistance of no one but

our most gracious master? I should call that genteel begging! But look

you, my fine young gentleman! access to the caliph can be had only

through my cousin Messour, and a word from me would acquaint him with

your capacity for lying. But I will take pity on your youth, Said. You

shall have a chance to better yourself, and something may be made out

of you yet. I will take you into my shop at the bazar; you can serve me

there for a year; and when that time is past, if you don't choose to

remain with me any longer, I will pay you your wages and let you go

where you will, to Aleppo or Medina, to Stamboul or Balsora, or, for

aught I care, to the Infidels. I will give you till noon to decide; if

you agree to my proposal, well and good; if you do not, I will make out

an estimate of the expense you put me to on the journey, and for your

seat on the camel, pay myself by taking your clothes and all you

possess, and then throw you into the street; then you can beg where you

like, of the caliph or the mufti, at the mosque or in the bazar."

With these words the wicked man left the unfortunate youth. Said looked

after him with loathing. He rebelled against the wickedness of this

man, who had designedly taken him to his house so that he might have

him in his power. He looked about to see if he could escape, but found

the windows grated and the door locked. Finally, after his spirit had

long revolted at the idea, he decided to accept the merchant's proposal

for the present. He saw clearly that nothing better remained for him to

do; for even if he were to run away, he could not reach Balsora without

money. But he made up his mind to seek the caliph's protection as soon

as possible.

On the following day, Kalum-Bek led his new servant to his shop in the

bazar. He showed Said the shawls, veils, and other wares in which he

dealt, and instructed the youth in his strange duties. These required

that Said, stripped of his soldierly costume and clad like a merchant's

servant, should stand in the doorway of the shop, with a shawl in one

hand and a splendid veil in the other, and cry out his wares to the

passers-by, name the price, and invite the people to buy. And now, too

it became evident to Said why Kalum-Bek had selected him for this

business. The merchant was a short, ugly-looking man, and when he

himself stood at the door and cried his wares, many of the neighbors,

as well as the passersby, would make fun of his appearance, or the boys

would tease him, while the women called him a scarecrow; but everybody

was pleased with the appearance of young Said, who attracted customers

by his graceful deportment and by his clever and tasteful way of

exhibiting his shawls and veils.

When Kalum-Bek saw that customers thronged to his shop since Said had

taken his stand at the door, he became more friendly with the young

man, gave him better things to eat than before, and was careful to keep

him finely dressed. But Said was little touched by this display of

mildness in his master; and the whole day long, and even in his dreams,

tried to hit upon some means of returning to his native city.

One day when the sales had been very large, and all the errand boys who

delivered parcels at the houses were out on their rounds, a woman

entered and made several purchases. She then wanted some one to carry

her packages home. "I can send them all up to you in half an hour,"

said Kalum-Bek; "you will either have to wait that long or else take

some outside porter."

"Do you pretend to be a merchant and advise your customers to employ

strange porters?" exclaimed the woman. "Might not such a fellow run off

with my parcels in the crowd? And then whom should I look to? No, you

are bound by the practice of the bazar to send my bundles home for me,

and I insist on your doing it!"

"But wait for just half an hour, worthy lady!" exclaimed the merchant

excitedly. "All my errand boys have been sent out."

"It's a poor shop that don't have errand boys constantly at

hand," interrupted the angry woman. "But there stands one of your

good-for-nothings now! Come, young fellow, take my parcel and follow

after me."

"Stop! Stop!" cried Kalum-Bek. "He is my signboard, my crier, my

magnet! He cannot stir from the threshold!"

"What's that!" exclaimed the old lady, thrusting her bundle under

Said's arm without further parley. "It is a poor merchant that depends

on such a useless clown for a sign, and those are miserable wares that

cannot speak for themselves. Go, go, fellow; you shall earn a fee

to-day."

"Go then, in the name of Ariman and all evil spirits!" muttered

Kalum-Bek to his magnet, "and see that you come right back; the old hag

might give me a bad name all over the bazar if I refuse to comply with

her demands."

Said followed the woman, who hastened through the square and down the

streets at a much quicker pace than one would have believed a woman

of her age capable of. At last she stopped before a splendid house,

and knocked; the folding doors flew open, and she ascended a marble

stair-case, beckoning Said to follow. They came shortly to a high and

wide salon, more magnificent than any Said had ever seen before. The

old woman sank down exhausted on a cushion, motioned the young man to

lay down his bundle, handed him a small silver coin, and bade him go.

He had just reached the door, when a clear, musical voice called:

"Said!" Surprised that any one there should know him, he looked around

and saw, in place of the old woman, an elegant lady sitting on the

cushion, surrounded by numerous slaves and maids. Said, mute with

astonishment, crossed his arms and made a low obeisance.

"Said, my dear boy," said the lady, "much as I deplore the misfortune

that is the cause of your presence in Bagdad, yet this was the only

place decided on by destiny where you might be released from the fate

that would surely follow you if you left the homestead before your

twentieth year. Said, have you still your whistle?"

"Indeed I have," cried he joyfully, drawing out the golden chain, "and

you perhaps are the kind fairy who gave me this token at my birth?"

"I was the friend of your mother, and will be your friend also as long

as you remain good. Alas! would that your father--unthinking man--had

followed my counsel! You would then have been spared many sorrows."

"Well, it had to come to pass!" replied Said. "But, most gracious

fairy, harness a strong northeast wind to your carriage of clouds, and

take me up with you, and drive me in a few minutes to my father in

Balsora; I will wait there patiently until the six months are passed

that close my nineteenth year."

The fairy smiled. "You have a very proper mode of addressing us,"

answered she; "but, poor Said! it is not possible. I cannot do anything

wonderful for you at present, because you left your homestead. Nor can

I even free you from the power of the wretch, Kalum-Bek. He is under

the protection of your worst enemy."

"Then I have not only a kind female friend but a female enemy as well?"

said Said. "I believe I have often experienced her influence. But at

least you might assist me with your counsel. Had I not better go to the

caliph and seek his protection? He is a wise man, and would protect me

from Kalum-Bek."

"Yes, Haroun is a wise man," replied the fairy; "but, sad to say, he is

also only a mortal. He trusts his head chamberlain, Messour, as much as

he does himself; and he is right in that, for he has tried Messour and

found him true. But Messour trusts his friend Kalum-Bek as he does

himself; and in that he is wrong, for Kalum is a bad man, even if he is

a relative of Messour's. Kalum has a cunning head, and as soon as he

had returned from his trip he made up a very pretty fable about you,

which he confided to his cousin the chamberlain, who in turn told it to

the caliph, so that you would not be very well received were you to go

to the palace. But there are other ways and means of approaching him,

and it is written on the stars that you shall experience his mercy."

"That is really too bad," said Said, mournfully. "I must then serve for

a long time yet as the servant of that scoundrel Kalum-Bek. But there

is one favor, honored fairy, that is in your power to grant me. I have

been educated to the use of arms, and my greatest delight is a

tournament where there are some sharp contests with the lance, bow and

blunt swords. Well, every week just such a tournament takes place in

this city between the young men. But only people of the finest costume,

and besides that only _free_ men will be allowed to enter the lists,

and clerks in the bazar are particularly excluded. Now if you could

arrange that I could have a horse, clothes and weapons every week, and

that my face would not be easily recognizable----"

"That is a wish befitting a noble young man," interrupted the fairy.

"Your mother's father was the bravest man in Syria, and you seem to

have inherited his spirit. Take notice of this house; you shall find

here every week a horse, and two mounted attendants, weapons and

clothes, and a lotion for your face that will completely disguise you.

And now, Said, farewell! Be patient, wise and virtuous. In six months

your whistle will sound, and Zulima's ear will be listening for its

tone."

The youth separated from his strange protectress with expressions of

gratitude and esteem. He fixed the house and street clearly in his

mind, and then went back to the bazar, which he reached just in the

nick of time to save his master from a terrible beating. A great crowd

was gathered before the shop, boys danced about the merchant and jeered

at him, while their elders laughed. He stood just before the shop,

trembling with suppressed rage, and sadly harassed--in one hand a

shawl, in the other a veil. This singular scene was caused by a

circumstance that had occurred during Said's absence. Kalum had taken

the place of his handsome clerk at the door, but no one cared to buy of

the ugly old man. Just then two men came to the bazar wishing to buy

presents for their wives. They had gone up and down the bazar several

times, looking in here and there, and Kalum-Bek, who had observed their

actions for some time, thought he saw his chance, so he called out:

"Here, gentlemen, here! What are you looking for? Beautiful veils,

beautiful wares?"

[Illustration]

"Good sir," replied one of them, "your wares may do very well, but our

wives are peculiar, and it has become the fashion in this city to buy

veils only of the handsome clerk, Said. We have been looking for him

this half-hour, but cannot find him; now if you can tell us where we

will meet him, we will buy from you some other time."

"Allah il Allah!" cried Kalum-Bek with a smirk. "The Prophet has led

you to the right door. You wish to buy veils of the handsome Said?

Good, just step inside; this is his place."

One of the men laughed at Kalum's short and ugly figure, and his

assertion that he was the handsome clerk; but the other, believing that

Kalum was trying to make sport of him, did not remain long in his debt,

but paid the merchant back in his own coin. Kalum-Bek was beside

himself; he called his neighbors to witness that his was the only shop

in the bazar that went by the name of "the shop of the handsome clerk;"

but the neighbors, who envied him the run of custom he had enjoyed for

some time, pretended not to know anything about the matter, and the two

men then made an attack upon the old liar, as they called him. Kalum

defended himself more with shrieks and curses than by the use of his

fists, and thus attracted a large crowd before his shop. Half the city

knew him to be a mean, avaricious old miser, nor did the bystanders

grudge him the cuffs he received; and one of his assailants had just

plucked the old man by the beard, when his arm was seized, and with a

sudden jerk he was thrown to the ground with such violence that his

turban fell off and his slippers flew to some distance.

The crowd, which very likely would have been rejoiced to see Kalum-Bek

well punished, grumbled loudly. The fallen man's companion looked

around to see who it was that had ventured to throw his friend down;

but when he saw a tall, strong youth, with flashing eyes and courageous

mien, standing before him, he did not think it best to attack him,

especially as Kalum regarding his rescue as a miracle, pointed to the

young man and cried: "Now then! what would you have more? There he

stands beyond a doubt, gentlemen; that is Said, the handsome clerk."

The people standing about laughed, while the prostrate man got up

shamefacedly, and limped off with his companion without buying either

shawl or veil.

"O you star of all clerks, you crown of the bazar!" cried Kalum,

leading his clerk into the shop; "really, that is what I call being on

hand at the right time, and the right kind of interference too. Why,

the fellow was laid out as flat on the ground as if he had never stood

on his legs, and I--I should have had no use for a barber again to comb

and oil my beard, if you had arrived two minutes later! How can I

reward you?"

It had been only a momentary sensation of pity which had governed

Said's hand and heart; but now that that feeling had passed, he

regretted that he had saved this wicked man from a good chastisement. A

dozen hairs from his beard, thought Said, would have kept him humble

for twelve days. And now the young man thought best to make use of the

favorable disposition of the merchant, and therefore asked to be given

one evening in each week for a walk or for any other purpose he

pleased. Kalum consented, knowing full well that his clerk was too

sensible to run off without money or clothes.

On the following Wednesday, the day on which the young men of the best

families assembled in the public square in the city to go through their

martial exercises. Said asked Kalum if he would let him have this

evening for his own use; and on receiving the merchant's permission, he

went to the fairy's house, knocked, and the door was immediately

opened. The servants seemed to have prepared everything before his

arrival; for without questioning him as to his desire, they led him

upstairs to a beautiful room, and there handed him the lotion that was

to disguise his features. He moistened his face with it, and then

glanced into a metallic mirror; he hardly recognized himself, for he

was now sunburnt, wore a handsome black beard, and looked to be at

least ten years older than he really was.

He was now conducted into a second room, where he found a complete and

splendid costume, of which the Caliph of Bagdad need not have been

ashamed, on the day when he reviewed his army in all his magnificence.

Together with a turban of the finest texture, with a clasp of diamonds

and a long heron's plume, Said found a coat of mail made of silver

rings, so finely worked that it conformed to every movement of his

body, and yet was so firm that neither lance nor sword could find a way

through it. A Damascus blade in a richly ornamented sheath, and with a

handle whose stones seemed to Said to be of priceless value, completed

his warlike appearance. As he came to the door, armed at all points,

one of the servants handed him a silk cloth and told him that the

mistress of the house sent it to him, and that when he wiped his face

with it, the beard and the complexion would disappear.

In the court-yard stood three beautiful horses; Said mounted the

finest, and his attendants the other two, and rode off with a light

heart to the square where the contest was to be held. The splendor of

his costume and the brightness of his weapons drew all eyes upon him,

and a general buzz of astonishment followed his entrance into the ring.

It was a brilliant assemblage of the bravest and noblest youths of

Bagdad, where even the brothers of the caliph were seen flying about on

their horses and swinging their lances. On Said's approach, as no one

seemed to know him, the son of the grand vizier, with some of his

friends, rode up to him, greeted him politely, and invited him to take

part in their contests, at the same time inquiring his name and whence

he came. Said represented to them that his name was Almansor, and he

hailed from Cairo; that he had set out upon a journey, but having heard

so much said about the skill and bravery of the young noblemen of

Bagdad, he could not refrain from delaying his journey in order to get

acquainted with them. The young men were highly pleased with the

bearing and courageous appearance of Said-Almansor; handed him a lance,

and had him select his opponent,--as the whole company were divided

into two parties, in order that they might assault one another both

singly and in groups.

[Illustration]

But the attention which had been attracted by Said was now concentrated

upon the unusual skill and dexterity which he displayed in combat. His

horse was swifter than a bird, while his sword whizzed about in still

more rapid circles. He threw the lance at its mark as easily and with

as much accuracy as if it had been an arrow shot from a bow. He

conquered the bravest of the opposing force, and at the end of the

tournament was so universally recognized as the victor, that one of the

caliph's brothers and the son of the grand vizier, who had both fought

on Said's side, requested the pleasure of breaking a lance with him.

Ali, the caliph's brother, was soon conquered by Said; but the grand

vizier's son withstood him so bravely that after a long contest they

thought it best to postpone the decision until the next meeting.

The day after the tournament, nothing was spoken of in Bagdad but the

handsome, rich, and brave stranger. All who had seen him, even those

over whom he had triumphed, were charmed by his well-bred manners. He

even heard his own praises sounded in the shop of Kalum-Bek, and it was

only deplored that no one knew where he lived.

The next week, Said found at the house of the fairy a still finer

costume and still more costly weapons. Half Bagdad had rushed to the

square, while even the caliph looked on from a balcony; he, too,

admired Almansor, and at the conclusion of the tournament he hung a

large gold medal, attached to a gold chain, about the youth's neck, as

a mark of his favor.

It could not very well be otherwise than that this second and still

more brilliant triumph of Said's should excite the envy of the young

men of Bagdad. "Shall a stranger," said they to one another, "come here

to Bagdad, and carry off all the laurels? He will now boast in other

places that among the flower of Bagdad's youth there was not one who

was a match for him." They therefore resolved, at the next tournament,

to fall upon him, as if by chance, five or six at a time.

These tokens of discontent did not escape Said's sharp eye. He noticed

how the young men congregated at the street corners, whispered to one

another, and pointed angrily at him. He suspected that none of them

felt very friendly toward him, with the exception of the caliph's

brother and the grand vizier's son, and even they rather annoyed him by

their questions as to where they might call on him, how he occupied his

time, what he found of interest in Bagdad, etc., etc. It was a singular

coincidence that one of these young men, who surveyed Said-Almansor

with the bitterest looks, was no other than the man whom Said had

thrown down when the assault was made on Kalum-Bek a few weeks before,

just as the man was about to tear out the unfortunate merchant's beard.

This man looked at Said very attentively and spitefully. Said had

conquered him several times in the tournament; but this would not

account for such hostile looks, and Said began to fear lest his figure

or his voice had betrayed him to this man as the clerk of Kalum-Bek--a

discovery that would expose him to the sneers and anger of the people.

The project which Said's foes attempted to carry out at the next

tournament failed, not only by reason of Said's caution and bravery,

but by the assistance he received from the caliph's brother and the

grand vizier's son. When these two young men saw that Said was

surrounded by five or six who sought to disarm or unseat him, they

dashed up, chased away the conspirators, and threatened the men who had

acted so treacherously with dismissal from the course.

For more than four months, Said had excited the astonishment of Bagdad

by his prowess, when one evening, on returning home from the

tournament, he heard some voices which seemed familiar to him. Before

him walked four men at a slow pace, apparently discussing some subject

together. As Said approached nearer, he discovered that they were

talking in the dialect which the men in Selim's tribe had used in the

desert, and suspected that they were planning some robbery. His first

thought was to draw back from these men; but when he reflected that he

might be the means of preventing some great wrong, he stole up still

nearer to listen to what they were saying.

"The gate keeper expressly said it was the street to the right of the

bazar," said one of the men; "he will certainly pass through it

to-night, in company with the grand vizier."

"Good!" added another. "I am not afraid of the grand vizier; he is old,

and not much of a hero; but the caliph wields a good sword, and I

wouldn't trust him; there would be ten or twelve of the body-guard

stealing after him."

"Not a soul!" responded a third. "Whenever he has been seen and

recognized at night, he was always unattended except by the vizier or

the head chamberlain. He will be ours to-night; but no harm must be

done him."

"I think," said the first speaker, "that the best plan would be to

throw a noose over his head; we may not kill him, for it would be but a

small ransom that they would pay for his body, and, more than that, we

shouldn't be sure of receiving it."

"An hour before midnight, then!" exclaimed they, and separated, one

going this way, another that.

Said was not a little horrified at this scheme. He resolved to hasten

at once to the caliph's palace and warn him of the threatened danger.

But after running through several streets, he remembered the caution

that the fairy had given him--that the caliph had received a bad report

about him. He reflected that his warning might be laughed at, or

regarded as an attempt on his part to ingratiate himself with the

Caliph of Bagdad; and so he concluded that it would be best to depend

on his good sword, and rescue the caliph from the hands of the robbers

himself.

So he did not return to Kalum-Bek's house, but sat down on the steps of

a mosque and waited there until night had set in. Then he went through

the bazar and into the street mentioned by the robbers, and hid himself

behind a projection of one of the houses. He might have stood there an

hour, when he heard two men coming slowly down the street. At first he

thought it must be the caliph and his grand vizier; but one of the men

clapped his hands, and immediately two other men hurried very

noiselessly up the street from the bazar. They whispered together for a

while, and then separated; three hiding not far from Said, while the

fourth paced up and down the street. The night was very dark, but

still, so that Said had to depend almost entirely upon his acute sense

of hearing.

Another half-hour had passed, when footsteps were heard coming from the

bazar. The robber must have heard them too, for he stole by Said

towards the bazar. The steps came nearer, and Said was just able to

make out some dark figures, when the robber clapped his hands, and, in

the same moment, the three men waiting in ambush rushed out. The

persons attacked must have been armed, for Said heard the ring of

clashing swords. At once he drew his own Damascus blade, and sprang

upon the robber's with the cry: "Down with the enemies of the great

Haroun!" He struck one of them to the ground with the first blow, and

turned upon two others, who were just in the act of disarming a man

over whom they had thrown a rope. Said lifted the rope blindly in order

to cut it, but in the effort to use his sword he struck one of the

robber's arms such a blow, as to cut off his hand, and the robber fell

to his knees with cries of pain. The fourth robber, who had been

fighting with another man, now came towards Said, who was still engaged

with the third, but the man who had been lassoed no sooner found

himself free than he drew his dagger, and, from one side, plunged it

into the breast of the advancing robber. When the remaining robber saw

this, he threw away his sword and fled.

Said did not remain long in doubt as to whom he had saved, for the

taller of the two men said: "The one thing is as strange as the other;

this attack upon my life or liberty, as the incomprehensible assistance

and rescue. How did you know who I was? Did you know of the scheme of

these robbers?"

"Ruler of the Faithful," answered Said, "for I do not doubt that you

are he, I walked down the street El Malek this evening behind some men,

whose strange and mysterious dialect I had once learned. They spoke of

taking you prisoner and of killing your vizier. As it was too late to

warn you, I resolved to go to the place where they would lie in ambush

for you, and give you my assistance."

"Thank you," said Haroun; "but it is not best to remain long in this

place; take this ring, and come in the morning to my palace; we will

then talk over this affair, and see how I can best reward you. Come,

vizier, it is best not to stop here; they might come back again."

Thus saying, he placed a ring on Said's finger, and attempted to lead

off the grand vizier, but the latter, begging him to wait a moment,

turned and held out to the astonished Said a heavy purse: "Young man,"

said he, "my master, the caliph, can do anything for you that he feels

inclined to do, even to making you my successor; but I myself can do

but little, and that little had better be done to-day, rather than

to-morrow. Therefore, take this purse. That does not, however, cancel

my debt of gratitude; so whenever you have a wish, come in confidence

to me."

Overpowered with his good fortune, Said hurried home. But here he was

not so well received. Kalum-Bek was at first angry at his long absence,

and then anxious, for the merchant thought he might easily lose the

handsome sign of his shop. Kalum therefore received him with abusive

words, and raved like a madman. But Said--who had taken a look into his

purse and found it filled with gold pieces, and reflected that he could

now travel home, even without the caliph's favor, which was certainly

not worth less than the gratitude of his vizier--declared roundly that

he would not remain in his service another hour. At first Kalum was

very much frightened by this declaration; but shortly he laughed

sneeringly and said:

"You loafer and vagabond! You miserable creature! Where would you run

to, if I were to give up supporting you? Where would you get a dinner

or a lodging?"

"You need not trouble yourself about that, Mr. Kalum-Bek," answered

Said audaciously. "Farewell; you will never see me again!"

With these words, Said left the house, while Kalum-Bek looked after him

speechless with astonishment. The following morning, however, after

thinking over the matter well, he sent out his errand boys, and had the

runaway sought for every-where. For a long time their search was a vain

one; but finally one of the boys came back and reported that he had

seen Said come out of a mosque and go into a caravansary. He was,

however, much changed, wore a beautiful costume, a dagger sword, and

splendid turban.

When Kalum-Bek heard this, he shouted with an oath: "He has stolen from

me, and bought clothes with the money. Oh, I am a ruined man!" Then he

ran to the chief of police, and as he was known to be a relative of

Messour, the head chamberlain, he had no difficulty in having two

policemen sent out to arrest Said. Said sat before a caravansary,

conversing quietly with a merchant whom he had found there, about a

journey to Balsora, his native city, when suddenly he was seized by

some men, and his hands tied behind his back before he could offer any

resistance. He asked them whose authority they were acting under, and

they replied that they were obeying the orders of the chief of police,

on complaint of his rightful master, Kalum-Bek. The ugly little

merchant then came up, abused and jeered at Said, felt in the young

man's pocket, and to the astonishment of the bystanders, and with a

shout of triumph, drew out a large purse filled with gold.

"Look! He has robbed me of all that, the wicked fellow!" cried he, and

the people looked with abhorrence at the prisoner, saying: "What! so

young, so handsome, and yet so wicked! To the court, to the court, that

he may get the bastinado!" Thus they dragged him away, while a large

procession of people of all ranks followed in their wake, shouting:

"See, that is the handsome clerk of the bazar; he stole from his master

and ran away; he took two hundred gold pieces!"

The chief of police received the prisoner with a dark look. Said tried

to speak, but the official told him to be still, and listened only to

the little merchant. He held up the purse, and asked Kalum whether this

gold had been stolen from him. Kalum-Bek swore that it had; but his

perjury, while it gained him the gold, did not help to restore to him

his clerk, who was worth a thousand gold pieces to him, for the judge

said: "In accordance with a law that my all-powerful master, the

caliph, has recently made, every theft of over a hundred gold pieces

that transpires in the bazar, is punished with banishment for life to a

desert island. This thief comes at just the right time; he makes the

twentieth of his class, and so completes the lot; to-morrow they will

be put on a vessel and taken out to sea."

Said was in despair. He besought the officers to listen to him, to

let him speak only one word with the caliph; but he found no mercy.

Kalum-Bek, who now repented of his oath, also pleaded for him, but the

judge said: "You have your gold back, and should be contented; go home

and keep quiet, or I will fine you ten gold pieces for every

contradiction." Kalum quieted down; the judge made a sign, and the

unfortunate Said was led away.

He was taken to a dark and damp dungeon, where nineteen poor wretches,

scattered about on straw, received him as their companion in

misfortune, with wild laughter and curses on the judge and caliph.

Terrible as was the fate before him, fearful as was the thought of

being banished to a desert island, he still found consolation in the

thought that the morrow would take him out of this horrible prison. But

he was very greatly in error in supposing that his situation would be

bettered on the ship. The twenty men were thrown into the hold, where

they could not stand upright, and there they fought among themselves

for the best places.

The anchor was weighed, and Said wept bitter tears as the ship that was

to bear him far away from his fatherland began to move. They received

bread and fruits, and a drink of sweetened water, but once a day: and

it was so dark in the ship's hold, that lights always had to be brought

down when the prisoners were to be fed. Every two or three days one of

their number was found dead, so unwholesome was the air in this

floating prison, and Said's life was preserved only by his youth and

his splendid health.

They had been on the sea for fourteen days, when one day the waves

roared more violently than ever, and there was much running to and fro

on the deck. Said suspected that a storm was at hand, and he welcomed

the prospect of one, hoping that then he might be released by death.

The ship began to pitch about, and finally struck on a ledge with a

terrible crash. Cries and groans were heard on the deck, intermingled

with the roar of the storm. At last all was still again; but at the

same time one of the prisoners discovered that the water was pouring

into the ship. They pounded on the hatch-door, but could get no answer;

and as the water poured in more and more rapidly, they united their

strength and managed to break the hatch open.

They ascended the steps, but found not a soul on board. The whole crew

had taken to the boats. Most of the prisoners were in despair, for the

storm increased in fury, the ship cracked and settled down on the

ledge. For some hours they sat on the deck and partook of their last

repast from the provisions they found in the ship, then the storm began

to rage again, the ship was torn from the ledge on which it had been

held, and broken up.

Said had climbed the mast, and held fast to it when the ship went to

pieces. The waves tossed him about, but he kept his head up by paddling

with his feet. Thus he floated about, in ever-increasing danger, for

half an hour, when the chain with whistle attached once again fell out

of his bosom, and once more he tried to make it sound. With one hand he

held fast to the mast, and with the other put the whistle to his lips,

blew, and a clear musical tone was the result. Instantly the storm

ceased, and the waves became as smooth as if oil had been poured on

them. He had hardly looked about him, with an easier breath, to see

whether he could discern land, when the mast beneath him began to

expand in a very singular manner, and to move as well; and, not a

little to his terror, he perceived that he was no longer riding on a

wooden mast, but upon the back of an enormous dolphin. But after a few

moments his courage returned; and as he saw that the dolphin swam along

on his course quietly and easily, although swiftly, he ascribed his

wonderful rescue to the silver whistle and to the kind fairy, and

shouted his most earnest thanks into the air.

[Illustration]

His wonderful horse carried him through the waves with the speed of an

arrow; and before night he saw land, and also a broad river, into which

the dolphin turned. Up stream it went more slowly, and, that he might

not starve, Said, who remembered from old stories of enchantment how

one should work a charm, took out the whistle again, blew it loudly and

heartily, and wished that he had a good meal. The dolphin stopped

instantly, and out of the water rose a table, as little wet as if it

had stood in the sun for eight days, and richly furnished with the

finest dishes. Said attacked the food like a famished person, for his

rations during his imprisonment were scant and of miserable quality;

and when he had eaten to his fill, he expressed his thanks; the table

sank down again, while he jogged the dolphin in the side, and the fish

at once responded by continuing on its course up stream.

The sun was setting when Said perceived in the dim distance a large

city, whose minarets seemed to bear a resemblance to those of Bagdad.

This discovery was not a pleasant one; but his confidence in the kind

fairy was so great that he felt sure she would not permit him to fall

again into the clutches of the unscrupulous Kalum-Bek. To one side,

about three miles distant from the city, and close to the river, he

noticed a magnificent country house, and, to his astonishment, the fish

seemed to be making directly towards this house.

Upon the roof of the house stood a group of handsomely dressed men, and

on the bank of the river Said saw a large crowd of servants, who were

looking at him in wonder. The dolphin stopped at some marble steps that

led up to the house, and hardly had Said put foot on the steps when the

dolphin disappeared. A number of servants now ran down the steps, and

requested him in the name of their master to come up to the house, at

the same time offering him a suit of dry clothes. Said dressed himself

quickly, and followed the servants to the roof, where he found three

men, of whom the tallest and handsomest came forward to meet him in a

pleasant manner.

"Who are you, wonderful stranger," said he, "you who tame the fishes of

the sea, and guide them to the right and left, as the best horseman

governs his steed. Are you a sorcerer, or a being like us?"

"Sir," replied Said, "things have gone very badly with me for the last

few weeks; but if it will please you to hear me, I will relate my

story."

Then he told the three men all of his adventures, from the moment of

leaving his father's house up to his wonderful rescue from the sea. He

was often interrupted by their expressions of astonishment; and when he

had ended, the master of the house, who had received him in so kind a

manner, said: "I trust your words, Said; but you tell us that you won a

medal in the tournament, and that the caliph gave you a ring; can you

show them to us?"

"I have preserved them both upon my heart," said the youth, "and would

sooner have parted with my life than with these precious gifts, for I

esteem it my most valiant and meritorious deed that I freed the caliph

from the hands of his would-be murderers." So saying, he drew from his

bosom the medal and ring, and handed them to the men.

"By the beard of the Prophet! It is he! It is my ring!" cried the tall,

handsome man. "Grand vizier, let us embrace him, for here stands our

savior." To Said it was like a dream. The two men embraced him, and

Said, prostrating himself, said:

"Pardon me, Ruler of the Faithful, that I have spoken so freely before

you, for you can be no other than Haroun-al-Raschid, the great Caliph

of Bagdad."

"I am he, and your friend," replied Haroun; "and from this hour forth,

all your sad misfortunes are at an end. Follow me to Bagdad, remain in

my dominion, and become one of my most trustworthy officers; for you

have shown you were not indifferent to Haroun's fate, though I should

not like to put all of my faithful servants to such a severe test."

Said thanked the caliph, and promised to remain with him,--first

requesting permission to make a visit to his father, who must be

suffering much anxiety on his account; and the caliph thought this just

and commendable. They then mounted horses, and were soon in Bagdad. The

caliph showed Said a long suite of splendidly decorated rooms that he

should have, and, more than that, promised to build a house for his own

use.

At the first information of this event, the old brothers-in-arms of

Said's--the grand vizier's son and the caliph's brother--hastened to

the palace and embraced Said as the deliverer of their noble caliph,

and begged him to become their friend. But they were speechless with

astonishment when Said, drawing forth the prize medal, said: "I have

been your friend for a long time." They had only seen him with his

false beard and dark skin; and when he had related how and why he had

disguised himself--when he had the blunt weapons brought to prove his

story, fought with them, and thus gave them the best proof that he was

the brave Almansor--then did they embrace him with joyful exclamations,

considering themselves fortunate in having such a friend.

The following day, as Said was sitting with the caliph and grand

vizier, Messour, the chamberlain, came in and said: "Ruler of the

Faithful, if there is no objection, I would like to ask a favor of

you."

"I will hear it first," answered Haroun.

"My dear first-cousin, Kalum-Bek, a prominent merchant of the bazar,

stands without," said Messour. "He has had a singular transaction with

a man from Balsora, whose son once worked for Kalum-Bek, but who

afterward stole from him and then ran away, no one knows whither. Now

the father of this youth comes and demands his son of Kalum, who hasn't

him. Kalum therefore begs that you will do him the favor of deciding

between him and this man, by the exercise of your profound wisdom."

"I will judge in the matter," replied the caliph. "In half an hour your

cousin and his opponent may enter the hall of justice."

When Messour had expressed his gratitude and gone out, Haroun said:

"That must be your father. Said; and now that I am so fortunate as to

know your story, I shall judge with the wisdom of Salomo. Conceal

yourself, Said, behind the curtain of my throne; and you, grand vizier,

send at once for that wicked police justice. I shall want his testimony

in this case."

Both did as the caliph ordered. Said's heart beat fast as he saw his

father, pale and stricken with grief, enter the hall of justice with

tottering steps; while Kalum-Bek's smile of assurance, as he whispered

to his cousin, made Said so furious that he had difficulty in

refraining from rushing at him from his place of concealment, as his

greatest sufferings and sorrows had been caused by this cruel man.

There were many people in the hall, all of whom were anxious to hear

the caliph speak. As soon as the Ruler of Bagdad had ascended the

throne, the grand vizier commanded silence, and asked who appeared as

complainant before his master.

Kalum-Bek approached with an impudent air, and said: "A few days ago I

was standing before the door of my shop in the bazar, when a crier,

with a purse in his hand, and with this man walking near him, went

among the booths, shouting: 'A purse of gold to him who can give any

information about Said of Balsora.' This Said had been in my service,

and therefore I cried: 'This way, friend! I can win that purse.' This

man, who is now so hostile to me, came up in a friendly way and asked

me what information I possessed. I answered: 'You must be Benezar,

Said's father.' and when he affirmed that he was, I told him how I had

found the young fellow in the desert, rescued him and restored him to

health, and brought him back with me to Bagdad. In the joy of his heart

he gave me the purse. But when now this unreasonable man heard, as I

went on to tell him, how his son had worked for me, had been guilty of

very wicked acts, had stolen from me and then run away, he would not

believe it, and quarrelled with me for several days, demanding his son

and his money back; and I can not return them both, for the gold is

mine as compensation for the news I furnished him, and I can not

produce his ungrateful son."

It was now Benezar's turn to speak. He described his son, how noble and

good he was, and the impossibility of his ever having become so

degraded as to steal. He requested the caliph to make the most thorough

examination of the case.

"I hope," said Haroun, "that you reported the theft, Kalum-Bek, as was

your duty?"

"Why, certainly!" exclaimed that worthy, smiling. "I took him before

the police justice."

"Let the police justice be brought!" ordered the caliph.

To every body's astonishment, this official appeared as suddenly as if

brought by magic. The caliph asked whether he remembered that Kalum-Bek

had come before him with a young man, and the official replied that he

did.

"Did you listen to the young man; did he confess to the theft?" asked

Haroun.

"No, he was actually so obstinate that he would not confess to any one

but yourself," replied the justice.

"But I don't remember to have seen him," said the caliph.

"But why should you? If I were to listen to them, I should have a whole

pack of such vagabonds to send you every day."

"You know that my ear is open for every one," replied Haroun; "but

perhaps the proofs of the theft were so clear that it was not necessary

to bring the young man into my presence. You had witnesses, I suppose,

Kalum, that the money found on this young man belonged to you?"

"Witnesses?" repeated Kalum, turning pale; "no, I did not have any

witnesses, for you know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one gold piece

looks just like another. Where, then, should I get witnesses to testify

that these one hundred gold pieces are the same that were missing from

my cash-box."

"How, then, can you tell that that particular money belonged to you?"

asked the caliph.

"By the purse," replied Kalum.

"Have you the purse here?" continued the caliph.

"Here it is," said the merchant, drawing out a purse which he handed to

the vizier to give to the caliph.

But the vizier cried with feigned surprise: "By the beard of the

Prophet! Do you claim the purse, you dog? Why it is my own purse, and I

gave it filled with a hundred gold pieces, to a brave young man who

rescued me from a great danger."

"Can you swear to that?" asked the caliph.

"As surely as that I shall some time be in paradise," answered the

vizier, "for my daughter made the purse with her own hands."

"Why, look you then, police Justice!" cried Haroun, "you were falsely

advised. Why did you believe that the purse belonged to this merchant?"

"He swore to it," replied the justice, humbly.

"Then you swore falsely?" thundered the caliph, as the merchant, pale

and trembling, stood before him.

"Allah, Allah!" cried Kalum. "I certainly don't want to dispute the

grand vizier's word; he is a truthful man, but alas! the purse does

belong to me and that rascal of a Said stole it. I would give a

thousand tomans if he was in this room now."

"What did you do with this Said?" asked the caliph. "Speak up! where

shall we have to send for him, that he may come and make confession

before me?"

"I banished him to a desert island," said the police justice.

"O Said! my son, my son!" cried the unhappy father.

"Indeed, then he acknowledged the crime, did he?" inquired Haroun.

The police justice turned pale. He rolled his eyes about restlessly,

and finally said: "If I remember rightly--yes."

"You are not certain about it, then?" continued the caliph in a

terrible voice; "then we will ask the young man himself. Step forth,

Said, and you Kalum-Bek, to begin with, will count out one thousand

gold pieces, as Said is now in the room."

Kalum and the police justice thought it was a ghost that stood before

them. They prostrated themselves and cried: "Mercy! Mercy!" Benezar,

half-fainting with joy, fell into the arms of his long-lost son. But,

with great severity of manner, the caliph said: "Police Justice, here

stands Said; did he confess?"

"No," whined the justice; "I listened only to Kalum's testimony,

because he was a respectable man."

"Did I place you as a judge over all that you might listen only to the

people of rank?" demanded Haroun-al-Raschid, with noble scorn. "I will

banish you for ten years to a desert island in the middle of the sea;

there you can reflect on justice. And you, miserable wretch, who bring

the dying back to life, not in order to rescue them, but to make them

your slaves--you will pay down, as I said before, the thousand tomans

that you promised if Said were only present to be called as witness."

Kalum congratulated himself at having got out of a very bad scrape so

easily, and was just going to thank the kind caliph, when Haroun

continued: "For the perjury you committed about the hundred gold

pieces, you will receive a hundred lashes on the soles of your feet.

Further than this Said will have the choice of taking your shop and its

contents and you as a porter, or of contenting himself with ten gold

pieces for every day's work he did for you."

"Let the wretch go, Caliph!" cried the youth; "I would not take

anything that ever belonged to him."

"No," replied Haroun, "I prefer that you should be compensated. I will

choose for you the ten gold pieces a day, and you can reckon up how

many days you were in his claws. Away with this wretch!"

The two offenders were led away, and the caliph conducted Benezar and

Said to another apartment, where he related to Benezar his rescue by

Said, interrupted by the shrieks of Kalum-Bek, upon the soles of whose

feet a hundred gold pieces of full weight were being counted out.

The caliph invited Benezar to come to Bagdad and live with him and

Said. Benezar consented, and made only one more journey home in order

to fetch his large possessions. Said lived in the palace which the

grateful caliph built for him, like a prince. The caliph's brother and

grand vizier's son were his constant companions; and it soon became a

proverb in Bagdad: "I would that I were as good and as fortunate as

Said, the son of Benezar."

"I could keep awake for two or three nights without experiencing the

least sensation of sleepiness, with such entertainment," said

the compass-maker, when the huntsman had concluded. "And I have

often proved the truth of what I say. I was once apprentice to a

bell-founder. The master was a rich man and no miser, and therefore our

wonder was all the more aroused on a certain occasion, when we had a

big job on hand, by a display of parsimony on his part. A bell was

being cast for a new church, and we apprentices had to sit up all night

and keep the fire up. We did not doubt that the master would tap a cask

of the best wine for us. But we were mistaken. He began to talk about

his travels, and to tell all manner of stories of his life; then the

head apprentice's turn came, and so on through the whole row of us, and

none of us got sleepy, so intent were we all in listening. Before we

knew it, day was at hand. Then we perceived the master's stratagem of

keeping us awake by telling stories; for when the bell was done he did

not spare his wine, but brought out what he had wisely saved on those

nights."

"He was a sensible man," said the student. "There is no remedy for

sleepiness like conversation. And I should not have cared to sit alone

to-night, for about eleven o'clock I should have succumbed to sleep."

"The peasantry have found that out also," said the huntsman. "In

the long Winter evenings the women and girls do not remain alone at

home to spin, lest they should fall asleep in the middle of their task;

but a large number of them meet together, in a well-lighted room, and

tell stories over their work."

"Yes," added the wagoner, "and their stories are often of a kind to

make one shudder, for they talk about ghosts that walk the earth,

goblins that create a hubbub in their rooms at night, and spirits that

torment men and cattle."

"They don't entertain themselves very well then, I fear," said the

student. "For my part, I confess that there is nothing so displeasing

to me as ghost stories."

"I don't agree with you at all," cried the compass-maker. "I find a

story that causes one to shudder very entertaining. It is just like a

rain-storm when one is sheltered under the roof. He hears the drops

_tick-tack_, _tick-tack_, on the tiles, and then run off in streams,

while he lies warm and dry in bed. So when one listens to ghost stories

in a lighted room, with plenty of company, he feels safe and at ease."

"But how is it afterwards?" asked the student. "When one has listened

who shares in this silly belief in ghosts, will he not tremble when he

is alone again and in the dark? Will he not recall all the horrible

things he has heard? I can even now work myself into quite a rage over

these ghost stories, when I think of my childhood. I was a cheerful,

lively boy, but perhaps somewhat noisier than was agreeable to my

nurse, who could not think of any other means to quiet me than of

giving me a fright. She told me all sorts of horrible stories about

witches and evil spirits who haunted the house. I was too young then to

know that all these stories were untrue. I was not afraid of the

largest hound, could throw every one of my companions; but whenever I

was alone in the dark, I would shut my eyes in terror. I would not go

outside the door alone after dark without a light; and how often did my

father punish me when he noticed my conduct! But for a long time I

could not free my mind from this childish fear, for which my foolish

nurse was wholly to blame."

"Yes, it is a great mistake," observed the huntsman, "to fill a child's

head with such absurdities. I can answer you that I have known brave,

daring men, huntsmen, who did not fear to encounter several of their

foes at once--who, when they were searching for game at night, or on

the lookout for poachers, would, all of a sudden, lose their courage,

taking a tree for a ghost, a bush for a witch, and a pair of fire-flies

for the eyes of a monster that was lurking for them in the dark."

"And it is not only for children," said the student, "that I hold

entertainment of that kind to be in the highest degree hurtful and

foolish, but for every body; for what intelligent person could amuse

himself with the doings and sayings of things that exist only in the

brain of a fool? There is where the ghost walks, and nowhere else. But

these stories do the most harm among the country people. Their faith in

absurdities of this kind is firm and unwavering, and this belief is

nourished in the inns and spinning rooms, where they huddle close

together and in a timid tone relate the most horrible stories they can

call to mind."

"Yes," responded the wagoner; "many a misfortune has occurred through

these stories, and, indeed, my own sister lost her life thereby."

"How was that? Through these ghost stories, did you say?" exclaimed the

men, in surprise.

"Yes, certainly, by such stories," continued the wagoner. "In the

village where our father lived it was the custom for the wives and

maidens to get together with their spinning on a Winter's evening. The

young men would also be there and tell many stories. So it happened

that one evening when they were speaking about ghosts, the young men

told about an old store-keeper who died ten years before, but found no

rest in his grave. Every night he would throw up the earth, rise from

his grave, steal slowly along to his store, coughing as was his wont in

life, and there weigh out sugar and coffee, mumbling meanwhile:

"Twelve ounces, twelve ounces, at dark midnight,

Equal sixteen, in broad daylight.

"Many claimed that they had seen him, and the maids and wives got quite

frightened. But my sister, a girl of sixteen, wishing to show that she

was less foolish than the others, said: 'I don't believe a word of

that; he who is once dead never comes back!' She said this,

unfortunately, without a conviction of its truth, for she had been

frightened many times herself. Thereupon one of the young people said:

'If you believe that, then you would have no reason to be afraid of

him; his grave is only two paces from that of Kate's, who recently

died. If you dare, go to the church-yard, pick a flower from Kate's

grave, and bring it to us; then we will begin to believe that you are

not afraid of the store-keeper's ghost. My sister was ashamed of being

laughed at by the others, therefore she said: 'Oh, that's easy enough;

what kind of a flower do you want?' 'The only white rose in the village

blooms there; so bring us a bunch of those,' answered one of her

friends. She got up and went out, and all the men praised her spirit;

but the women shook their heads and said: 'If it only ends well!' My

sister passed on to the cemetery; the moon shone brightly, but she

began to tremble as the clock struck twelve while she was opening the

church-yard gate. She clambered over many mounds which she knew, and

her heart beat faster and faster the nearer she came to Kate's white

rose bush and the ghostly store-keeper's grave. At last she reached it,

and kneeled down, trembling with fear, to pluck some roses. Just then

she thought she heard a noise close by; she turned around, and saw the

earth flying out of a grave two steps away from her, and a form

straightened itself up slowly in the grave. It was that of an old,

pale-faced man, with a white night-cap on his head. My sister was

greatly frightened; she turned to look once more to make sure that she

had seen aright; but when the man in the grave began to say, in a nasal

tone: 'Good evening, Miss! where do you come from so late?' she was

seized with a deathly terror, and collecting all her strength, she

sprang over the graves, ran to the house she had just left, and

breathlessly related what she had seen; then she became so weak that

she had to be carried home. Of what use was it that we found out the

next day that it was the grave-digger who was making a grave there, and

who had spoken to my poor sister? Before she could comprehend this she

had fallen into a high fever, of which she died three days afterwards.

She had gathered the roses for her own burial wreath."

A tear dropped from the wagoner's eye as he concluded, while the others

regarded him with sympathy.

"So the poor child died in this implicit faith," said the young

goldsmith. "I recollect a legend in that connection, which I should

like to tell you, and that unfortunately is connected with such a

tragedy."

THE CAVE OF STEENFOLL.

A SCOTTISH LEGEND.

On one of Scotland's rocky islands, there dwelt many years ago, two

fishermen, who lived in complete harmony. Both were unmarried; neither

of them had any relatives living; and their common labor, although

differently directed, sufficed to support them both. They were of about

the same age, but in person and disposition they resembled each other

as little as do an eagle and a sea-calf.

Kaspar Strumpf was a short, stout man, with a broad, fat, full-moon

face, and good-natured, laughing eyes, to which sorrow and care

appeared to be strangers. He was not only fat, but sleepy and lazy as

well; and therefore the house work, cooking and baking, and repairing

of nets for the capture of fish for their own table and for the market,

devolved on him, as well as a large part of the cultivation of the

small field attached to their cabin. Quite the opposite was his

companion--tall and lank, with Roman nose and keen eyes; he was known

as the most industrious and luckiest fisherman, the most daring

cliff-climber after birds and down, the hardest field worker, on the

whole island. Besides all this, he was considered the keenest trader on

the Kirkwall market; but as his wares were good, and his transactions

above reproach, every one dealt willingly with him. Thus William Falcon

and Kaspar Strumpf--with whom the former, avaricious as he was, freely

divided his hardly-earned gains--not only made a good living, but were

in a fair way of acquiring a certain degree of wealth. But a competence

would not satisfy Falcon's covetous soul; he wanted to be rich,

extremely rich, and as he had already found out that riches accumulate

but slowly in the usual course of industry, he at last settled into the

conviction that he should have to attain his riches through some

extraordinary stroke of fortune. When this idea had once taken

possession of his mind, there was no room left for any thing else, and

he began to talk this shadowy windfall over with Kaspar Strumpf, as

though it had already come to pass. Kaspar, who received everything

that Falcon said as scripture, repeated all this to his neighbors: and

so the report was spread abroad that William Falcon had either sold his

soul to the evil one, or had at least received an offer for it from the

prince of the infernal regions.

At first, these reports caused much amusement to Falcon; but gradually

he began to entertain the notion that a spirit might sometime reveal a

treasure to him, and he no longer contradicted his acquaintances when

they twitted him on the subject. He continued his usual occupations,

but with far less zeal than before, and often consumed a great part of

the time, that he had formerly passed in fishing or other useful

avocations, in idle search for some kind of an adventure by which he

should suddenly become rich. To still further complete this unfortunate

tendency of his mind, it happened that as he was standing one day on

the lonely sea-shore, looking out on the restless sea as if he were

expecting his good fortune would come from thence, a large wave rolled

a yellow ball to his feet amongst a mass of moss and loosened stone--a

ball of gold!

Falcon stood as if bewitched. His hopes, then, had not been

unsubstantial dreams; the sea had given him gold, beautiful shining

gold, the fragment probably of a heavy bar of gold which the sea had

rolled on its bottom into the size and shape of a musket ball. And now

it was clear to his mind that somewhere on this coast there must have

been a treasure ship wrecked, and that he had been selected as the

chosen one to raise this buried treasure from the sea. From this time

forth, this search for treasure became the passion of his life. He

strove to conceal the golden nugget even from his friend, so that

others might not discover his purpose. He neglected everything else,

and spent his days and nights on this coast, not casting his net for

fishes, but throwing out a scoop, that he had specially prepared for

the purpose, for gold.

But he found poverty instead of wealth; for he earned nothing now

himself, and Kaspar's sleepy efforts would not support them both. In

the search for the larger mass of gold, not only the nugget was used

up, but the entire property of the two men as well. But as Strumpf had

formerly received the largest part of his living by Falcon's efforts,

taking it all as a matter of course, so now he looked on the profitless

undertaking of his friend silently and without a murmur; and it was

just this meek forbearance on the part of his friend that spurred

Falcon on to continue his restless search for wealth. But what made him

still more active in his search was, that as often as he laid down to

rest and closed his eyes in sleep, a word was sounded in his ear that

he seemed to have heard very plainly, and that always appeared to be

the same word, and yet he could never recall it. To be sure, he did not

see what connection this circumstance, singular as it was, might have

with his present purpose; but upon a spirit like William Falcon's

everything made an impression, and even this mysterious whisper helped

to strengthen his belief that great good luck was in store for him,

which he expected to find only in a heap of gold.

One day he was surprised by a storm on the shore in the same place

where he had found the nugget, and he was forced to take refuge from

its fury in a cave near by. This cave, which the inhabitants called the

cave of Steenfoll, consists of a long underground passage opening on

the sea, with two entrances, and permitting a free passage of the waves

that were continually foaming through them with a loud roar. This cave

could be entered only from one place--through a fissure from above,

that was but seldom approached except by venturesome boys, as in

addition to the natural dangers of the spot, the cavern was reported to

be haunted. Falcon let himself down through this opening with some

difficulty, for about twelve feet, and took a seat on a projecting

piece of rock beneath an overhanging ledge, where, with the roaring

waves beneath his feet and the raging storm above his head, he fell

into his usual train of thought about the wrecked ship and what kind of

a ship it might have been; for in spite of all his inquiries, he could

not obtain any information of a vessel having been wrecked on this

spot, even from the oldest inhabitants. How long he sat thus he did not

know himself; but when he finally awoke from his reveries, he found

that the storm was over, and he was about to clamber up again, when a

voice from out of the depths pronounced the word "_Car-milhan_" very

distinctly. He climbed up to the top again, and looked down into the

abyss once more in great terror. "Great Heavens!" exclaimed he, "that

is the word that disturbs my sleep! What does it mean?" "_Carmilhan!_"

was the sighing response that came once more from the cave; and he fled

to his hut like a frightened deer.

Falcon was no coward; his fright was more from surprise than fear; and,

more than this, the greed for gold was too powerful in him to allow of

his being easily driven from his dangerous path. Once, as he was

fishing with his scoop for treasure by moonlight, opposite the cave of

Steenfoll, his scoop caught on something. He pulled with all his

strength, but the mass was immovable. In the meantime the wind had

risen, dark clouds overcast the sky, the boat rocked and threatened to

turn over; but Falcon did not lose his presence of mind; he pulled and

pulled at his scoop until the resistance ceased, and as he felt no

weight he concluded that his rope had broken. But just as the clouds

were about to obscure the moon's light, a round, black mass appeared on

the surface of the water, and the word that haunted him, "_Carmilhan_,"

was spoken. He made a quick effort to seize the object; but as soon as

he stretched out his arm it disappeared in the darkness, and the coming

storm forced him to seek protection under the rocks near by. Here,

overcome by exhaustion, he fell asleep, only to be tormented in dreams

by an unbridled imagination, and to suffer anew the pangs experienced

in his waking hours, caused by his restless search for wealth.

When Falcon waked, the first rays of the rising sun fell upon the bosom

of the sea, as smooth now as a mirror. He was just about to set out on

his accustomed work, when he saw something coming towards him from the

distance. He soon recognized it as a boat. Within it sat a human

figure; but what aroused his greatest astonishment was that the vessel

came on without the aid of sail or oar, and its prow pointed for land

without the person sitting in the boat paying any attention to the

rudder, if there were one. The boat came nearer, and finally stopped

near William's boat. Its occupant proved to be a little dried-up old

man, dressed in yellow linen, and wearing a red peaked night-cap. His

eyes were closed, and he sat as motionless as a mummy. After vainly

shouting at him and jarring the boat. Falcon was in the act of making a

line fast to the boat to tow it off, when the little man opened his

eyes, and began to bestir himself in such a manner as to fill even the

bold fisherman's mind with dread.

"Where am I?" asked he in Dutch, after a deep sigh. Falcon who had

learned something of that language from the Dutch herring-fishermen,

told him the name of the island, and inquired who he was and what

errand brought him here.

"I have come to look for the _Carmilhan_."

"The _Carmilhan_? for Heaven's sake, what is that?" cried the curious

fisherman.

"I won't give an answer to questions addressed to me in such a manner,"

replied the little man.

"Well then," shouted Falcon, "what is the _Carmilhan_?"

"The _Carmilhan_ is nothing now; but once it was a beautiful ship,

carrying more gold than ever a vessel carried before."

"Where was it wrecked, and when?"

"It was a hundred years ago; where, I do not know exactly. I come to

search for the spot and recover the lost gold; if you will help me we

will divide what we find."

"With my whole heart; only tell me what I must do."

"What you will have to do requires courage. You must go just before

midnight to the wildest and loneliest region on the island, leading a

cow, which you must slaughter there, and get some one to wrap you up in

the cow's fresh hide. Your companion must then lay you down and leave

you alone, and before it strikes one o'clock you will know where the

treasures of the _Carmilhan_ lies."

"It was in just such a way that old Engrol was destroyed, body and

soul!" cried Falcon, with horror. "You are the evil one himself,"

continued he as he rowed quickly away. "Go back to hell! I won't have

anything to do with you."

The little man gnashed his teeth, and cursed him; but Falcon, who had

seized both oars, was soon out of hearing, and on turning round a rocky

promontory was out of sight as well.