CHAPTER V.

When the storks heard this through their chasm in the wall, they

became almost beside themselves with joy. They ran so quickly with

their long feet to the door of the ruin, that the owl could scarcely

keep up with them. Thereupon spoke the Caliph to her: "Preserver of my

life and that of my friend, in token of our eternal thanks for what

thou hast done for us, take me as thy husband." Then he turned to the

East: three times they bowed their long necks towards the sun, which

was even now rising above the mountains, and at the same moment

exclaimed "MUTABOR!" In a twinkling they were restored, and in the

excessive joy of their newly-bestowed life, alternately laughing and

weeping, were folded in each other's arms. But who can describe their

astonishment when they looked around? A beautiful woman, attired as a

queen, stood before them. Smiling, she gave the Caliph her hand, and

said, "Know you your screech-owl no longer?" It was she; the Caliph

was in such transports at her beauty and pleasantness, as to cry out,

that it was the most fortunate moment in his life, when he became a

stork.

The three now proceeded together to Bagdad. The Caliph found in his

dress, not only the box of magic powder, but also his money-bag. By

means thereof, he purchased at the nearest village what was necessary

for their journey, and accordingly they soon appeared before the gates

of the city. Here, however, the arrival of the Caliph excited great

astonishment. They had given out that he was dead, and the people were

therefore highly rejoiced to have again their beloved lord.

So much the more, however, burned their hatred against the impostor

Mizra. They proceeded to the palace, and caught the old magician and

his son. The old man the Caliph sent to the same chamber in the ruin,

which the princess, as a screech-owl, had inhabited, and there had

him hung; unto the son, however, who understood nothing of his

father's arts, he gave his choice,--to die, or snuff some of the

powder. Having chosen the latter, the Grand-Vizier presented him the

box. A hearty pinch, and the magic word of the Caliph converted him

into a stork. Chasid had him locked up in an iron cage, and hung in

his garden.

Long and happily lived Caliph Chasid with his spouse, the Princess;

his pleasantest hours were always those, when in the afternoon the

Vizier sought him; and whenever the Caliph was in a very good humor,

he would let himself down so far, as to show Mansor how he looked,

when a stork. He would gravely march along, with rigid feet, up and

down the chamber, make a clattering noise, wave his arms like wings,

and show how, in vain, he had prostrated himself to the East, and

cried out, MU--MU. To the Princess and her children, this imitation

always afforded great amusement: when, however, the Caliph clattered,

and bowed, and cried out, too long, then the Vizier would threaten him

that he would disclose to his spouse what had been proposed outside

the door of the Princess Screech-owl!

[Illustration]

* * * * *

When Selim Baruch had finished his story, the merchants declared

themselves delighted therewith. "Verily, the afternoon has passed away

from us without our having observed it!" exclaimed one of them,

throwing back the covering of the tent: "the evening wind blows cool,

we can still make a good distance on our journey." To this his

companions agreed; the tents were struck, and the Caravan proceeded on

its way in the same order in which it had come up.

They rode almost all the night long, for it was refreshing and

starry, whereas the day was sultry. At last they arrived at a

convenient stopping-place; here they pitched their tents, and composed

themselves to rest. To the stranger the merchants attended, as a most

valued guest. One gave him cushions, a second covering, a third

slaves; in a word, he was as well provided for as if he had been at

home. The hottest hours of the day had already arrived, when they

awoke again, and they unanimously determined to wait for evening in

this place. After they had eaten together, they moved more closely to

each other, and the young merchant, turning to the oldest, addressed

him: "Selim Baruch yesterday made a pleasant afternoon for us; suppose

Achmet, that you also tell us something, be it either from your long

life, which has known so many adventures, or even a pretty Märchen."

Upon these words Achmet was silent some time, as if he were in doubt

whether to tell this or that; at last he began to speak: "Dear

friends, on this our journey you have proved yourselves faithful

companions, and Selim also deserves my confidence; I will therefore

impart to you something of my life, of which, under other

circumstances, I would speak reluctantly, and, indeed, not to any one:

THE HISTORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP."

THE HISTORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP.

[Illustration]

My father had a little shop in Balsora; he was neither rich, nor poor,

but one of those who do not like to risk any thing, through fear of

losing the little that they have. He brought me up plainly, but

virtuously, and soon I advanced so far, that I was able to make

valuable suggestions to him in his business. When I reached my

eighteenth year, in the midst of his first speculation of any

importance, he died; probably through anxiety at having intrusted a

thousand gold pieces to the sea. I was obliged, soon after, to deem

him happy in his fortunate death, for in a few weeks the intelligence

reached us, that the vessel, to which my father had committed his

goods, had been wrecked. This misfortune, however, could not depress

my youthful spirits. I converted all that my father had left into

money, and set out to try my fortune in foreign lands, accompanied

only by an old servant of the family, who, on account of ancient

attachment, would not part from me and my destiny.

In the harbor of Balsora we embarked, with a favorable wind. The ship,

in which I had taken passage, was bound to India. We had now for

fifteen days sailed in the usual track, when the Captain predicted to

us a storm. He wore a thoughtful look, for it seemed he knew that, in

this place, there was not sufficient depth of water to encounter a

storm with safety. He ordered them to take in all sail, and we moved

along quite slowly. The night set in clear and cold, and the Captain

began to think that he had been mistaken in his forebodings. All at

once there floated close by ours, a ship which none of us had

observed before. A wild shout and cry ascended from the deck, at

which, occurring at this anxious season, before a storm, I wondered

not a little. But the Captain by my side was deadly pale: "My ship is

lost," cried he; "there sails Death!" Before I could demand an

explanation of these singular words, the sailors rushed in, weeping

and wailing. "Have you seen it?" they exclaimed: "all is now over with

us!"

But the Captain had words of consolation read to them out of the

Koran, and seated himself at the helm. But in vain! The tempest began

visibly to rise with a roaring noise, and, before an hour passed by,

the ship struck and remained aground. The boats were lowered, and

scarcely had the last sailors saved themselves, when the vessel went

down before our eyes, and I was launched, a beggar, upon the sea. But

our misfortune had still no end. Frightfully roared the tempest, the

boat could no longer be governed. I fastened myself firmly to my old

servant, and we mutually promised not to be separated from each other.

At last the day broke, but, with the first glance of the morning-red,

the wind struck and upset the boat in which we were seated. After that

I saw my shipmates no more. The shock deprived me of consciousness,

and when I returned to my senses, I found myself in the arms of my old

faithful attendant, who had saved himself on the boat which had been

upturned, and had come in search of me. The storm had abated; of our

vessel there was nothing any more to be seen, but we plainly descried,

at no great distance from us, another ship, towards which the waves

were driving us. As we approached, I recognised the vessel as the same

which had passed by us in the night, and which had thrown the Captain

into such consternation. I felt a strange horror of this ship; the

intimation of the Captain, which had been so fearfully corroborated,

the desolate appearance of the ship, on which, although as we drew

near we uttered loud cries, no one was visible, alarmed me.

Nevertheless this was our only expedient; accordingly, we praised the

Prophet, who had so miraculously preserved us.

From the fore-part of the ship hung down a long cable; for the purpose

of laying hold of this, we paddled with our hands and feet. At last

we were successful. Loudly I raised my voice, but all remained quiet

as ever, on board the vessel. Then we climbed up by the rope, I, as

the youngest, taking the lead. But horror! what a spectacle was there

presented to my eye, as I stepped upon the deck! The floor was red

with blood; upon it lay twenty or thirty corpses in Turkish costume;

by the middle-mast stood a man richly attired, with sabre in hand--but

his face was wan and distorted; through his forehead passed a large

spike which fastened him to the mast--he was dead! Terror chained my

feet; I dared hardly to breathe. At last my companion stood by my

side; he, too, was overpowered at sight of the deck which exhibited no

living thing, but only so many frightful corpses. After having, in the

anguish of our souls, supplicated the Prophet, we ventured to move

forward. At every step we looked around to see if something new,

something still more horrible, would not present itself. But all

remained as it was--far and wide, no living thing but ourselves, and

the ocean-world. Not once did we dare to speak aloud, through fear

that the dead Captain there nailed to the mast would bend his rigid

eyes upon us, or lest one of the corpses should turn his head. At last

we arrived at a staircase, which led into the hold. There

involuntarily we came to a halt, and looked at each other, for neither

of us exactly ventured to express his thoughts.

"Master," said my faithful servant, "something awful has happened

here. Nevertheless, even if the ship down there below is full of

murderers, still would I rather submit myself to their mercy or

cruelty, than spend a longer time among these dead bodies." I agreed

with him, and so we took heart, and descended, full of apprehension.

But the stillness of death prevailed here also, and there was no sound

save that of our steps upon the stairs. We stood before the door of

the cabin; I applied my ear, and listened--there was nothing to be

heard. I opened it. The room presented a confused appearance; clothes,

weapons, and other articles, lay disordered together. The crew, or at

least the Captain, must shortly before have been carousing, for the

remains of a banquet lay scattered around. We went on from room to

room, from chamber to chamber finding, in all, royal stores of silk,

pearls, and other costly articles. I was beside myself with joy at the

sight, for as there was no one on the ship, I thought I could

appropriate all to myself; but Ibrahim thereupon called to my notice

that we were still far from land, at which we could not arrive, alone

and without human help.

We refreshed ourselves with the meats and drink, which we found in

rich profusion, and at last ascended upon deck. But here again we

shivered at the awful sight of the bodies. We determined to free

ourselves therefrom, by throwing them overboard; but how were we

startled to find, that no one could move them from their places! So

firmly were they fastened to the floor, that to remove them one would

have had to take up the planks of the deck, for which tools were

wanting to us. The Captain, moreover, could not be loosened from the

mast, nor could we even wrest the sabre from his rigid hand. We passed

the day in sorrowful reflection on our condition; and, when night

began to draw near, I gave permission to the old Ibrahim to lie down

to sleep, while I would watch upon the deck, to look out for means of

deliverance. When, however, the moon shone forth, and by the stars I

calculated that it was about the eleventh hour, sleep so irresistibly

overpowered me that I fell back, involuntarily, behind a cask which

stood upon the deck. It was rather lethargy than sleep, for I plainly

heard the sea beat against the side of the vessel, and the sails creak

and whistle in the wind. All at once I thought I heard voices, and the

steps of men upon the deck. I wished to arise and see what it was, but

a strange power fettered my limbs, and I could not once open my eyes.

But still more distinct became the voices; it appeared to me as if a

merry crew were moving around upon the deck. In the midst of this I

thought I distinguished the powerful voice of a commander, followed by

the noise of ropes and sails. Gradually my senses left me; I fell into

a deep slumber, in which I still seemed to hear the din of weapons,

and awoke only when the sun was high in the heavens, and sent down his

burning rays upon my face. Full of wonder, I gazed about me; storm,

ship, the bodies, and all that I had heard in the night, recurred to

me as a dream; but when I looked around, I found all as it had been

the day before. Immoveable lay the bodies, immoveably was the Captain

fastened to the mast; I laughed at my dream, and proceeded in search

of my old companion.

The latter was seated in sorrowful meditation in the cabin. "O

master," he exclaimed as I entered, "rather would I lie in the deepest

bottom of the sea, than pass another night in this enchanted ship." I

asked him the reason of his grief, and thus he answered me:--

"When I had slept an hour, I awoke, and heard the noise of walking to

and fro over my head. I thought at first that it was you, but there

were at least twenty running around; I also heard conversation and

cries. At length came heavy steps upon the stairs. After this I was no

longer conscious; but at times my recollection returned for a moment,

and then I saw the same man who is nailed to the mast, sit down at

that table, singing and drinking; and he who lies not far from him on

the floor, in a scarlet cloak, sat near him, and helped him to drink."

Thus spoke my old servant to me.

You may believe me, my friends, that all was not right to my mind;

for there was no delusion--I too had plainly heard the dead. To sail

in such company was to me horrible; my Ibrahim, however, was again

absorbed in deep reflection. "I have it now!" he exclaimed at length;

there occurred to him, namely, a little verse, which his grandfather,

a man of experience and travel, had taught him, and which could give

assistance against every ghost and spectre. He also maintained that we

could, the next night, prevent the unnatural sleep which had come upon

us, by repeating right fervently sentences out of the Koran.

The proposition of the old man pleased me well. In anxious expectation

we saw the night set in. Near the cabin was a little room, to which we

determined to retire. We bored several holes in the door, large enough

to give us a view of the whole cabin; then we shut it as firmly as we

could from within, and Ibrahim wrote the name of the Prophet in all

four corners of the room. Thus we awaited the terrors of the night.

It might again have been about the eleventh hour, when a strong

inclination for sleep began to overpower me. My companion, thereupon,

advised me to repeat some sentences from the Koran, which assisted me

to retain my consciousness. All at once it seemed to become lively

overhead; the ropes creaked, there were steps upon the deck, and

several voices were plainly distinguishable. We remained, a few

moments, in intense anxiety; then we heard something descending the

cabin stairs. When the old man became aware of this, he began to

repeat the words which his grandfather had taught him to use against

spirits and witchcraft:

"Come you, from the air descending,

Rise you from the deep sea-cave,

Spring you forth where flames are blending,

Glide you in the dismal grave:

Allah reigns, let all adore him!

Own him, spirits--bow before him!"

I must confess I did not put much faith in this verse, and my hair

stood on end when the door flew open. The same large, stately man

entered, whom I had seen nailed to the mast. The spike still passed

through the middle of his brain, but he had sheathed his sword. Behind

him entered another, attired with less magnificence, whom also I had

seen lying on the deck. The Captain, for he was unquestionably of this

rank, had a pale countenance, a large black beard, and wildly-rolling

eyes, with which he surveyed the whole apartment. I could see him

distinctly, for he moved over opposite to us; but he appeared not to

observe the door which concealed us. The two seated themselves at the

table, which stood in the centre of the cabin, and spoke loud and

fast, shouting together in an unknown tongue. They continually became

more noisy and earnest, until at length, with doubled fist, the

Captain brought the table a blow which shook the whole apartment. With

wild laughter the other sprang up, and beckoned to the Captain to

follow him. The latter rose, drew his sabre, and then both left the

apartment. We breathed more freely when they were away; but our

anxiety had still for a long time no end. Louder and louder became the

noise upon deck; we heard hasty running to and fro, shouting,

laughing, and howling. At length there came an actually hellish sound,

so that we thought the deck and all the sails would fall down upon us,

the clash of arms, and shrieks--of a sudden all was deep silence.

When, after many hours, we ventured to go forth, we found every thing

as before; not one lay differently--all were as stiff as wooden

figures.

[Illustration]

Thus passed we several days on the vessel; it moved continually

towards the East, in which direction, according to my calculation, lay

the land; but if by day it made many miles, by night it appeared to go

back again, for we always found ourselves in the same spot when the

sun went down. We could explain this in no other way, than that the

dead men every night sailed back again with a full breeze. In order to

prevent this, we took in all the sail before it became night, and

employed the same means as at the door in the cabin; we wrote on

parchment the name of the Prophet, and also, in addition, the little

stanza of the grandfather, and bound them upon the furled sail.

Anxiously we awaited the result in our chamber. The ghosts appeared

this time not to rage so wickedly; and, mark, the next morning the

sails were still rolled up as we had left them. During the day we

extended only as much as was necessary to bear the ship gently along,

and so in five days we made considerable headway.

At last, on the morning of the sixth day, we espied land at a short

distance, and thanked Allah and his Prophet for our wonderful

deliverance. This day and the following night we sailed along the

coast, and on the seventh morning thought we discovered a city at no

great distance: with a good deal of trouble we cast an anchor into the

sea, which soon reached the bottom; then launching a boat which stood

upon the deck, we rowed with all our might towards the city. After

half an hour we ran into a river that emptied into the sea, and

stepped ashore. At the gate we inquired what the place was called, and

learned that it was an Indian city, not far from the region to which

at first I had intended to sail. We repaired to a Caravansery, and

refreshed ourselves after our adventurous sail. I there inquired for a

wise and intelligent man, at the same time giving the landlord to

understand that I would like to have one tolerably conversant with

magic. He conducted me to an unsightly house in a remote street,

knocked thereat, and one let me in with the injunction that I should

ask only for Muley.

In the house, came to me a little old man with grizzled beard and a

long nose, to demand my business. I told him I was in search of the

wise Muley; he answered me that he was the man. I then asked his

advice as to what I should do to the dead bodies, and how I must

handle them in order to remove them from the ship.

He answered me that the people of the ship were probably enchanted on

account of a crime somewhere upon the sea: he thought the spell would

be dissolved by bringing them to land, but this could be done only by

taking up the planks on which they lay. In the sight of God and

justice, he said that the ship, together with all the goods, belonged

to me, since I had, as it were, found it; and, if I would keep it very

secret, and make him a small present out of my abundance, he would

assist me with his slaves to remove the bodies. I promised to reward

him richly, and we set out on our expedition with five slaves, who

were supplied with saws and hatchets. On the way, the magician Muley

could not sufficiently praise our happy expedient of binding the

sails around with the sentences from the Koran. He said this was the

only means, by which we could have saved ourselves.

It was still pretty early in the day when we reached the ship. We

immediately set to work, and in an hour placed four in the boat. Some

of the slaves were then obliged to row to land to bury them there.

They told us, when they returned, that the bodies had spared them the

trouble of burying, since, the moment they laid them on the earth,

they had fallen to dust. We diligently set to work to saw off the

bodies, and before evening all were brought to land. There were, at

last, no more on board than the one that was nailed to the mast.

Vainly sought we to draw the nail out of the wood, no strength was

able to start it even a hair's-breadth. I knew not what next to do,

for we could not hew down the mast in order to bring him to land; but

in this dilemma Muley came to my assistance. He quickly ordered a

slave to row to land and bring a pot of earth. When he had arrived

with it, the magician pronounced over it some mysterious words, and

cast it on the dead man's head. Immediately the latter opened his

eyes, drew a deep breath, and the wound of the nail in his forehead

began to bleed. We now drew it lightly forth, and the wounded man fell

into the arms of one of the slaves.

"Who bore me hither?" he exclaimed, after he seemed to have recovered

himself a little. Muley made signs to me, and I stepped up to him.

"Thank thee, unknown stranger; thou hast freed me from long torment.

For fifty years has my body been sailing through these waves, and my

spirit was condemned to return to it every night. But now my head has

come in contact with the earth, and, my crime expiated, I can go to my

fathers!"

I entreated him, thereupon, to tell how he had been brought to this

horrible state, and he began--

"Fifty years ago, I was an influential, distinguished man, and resided

in Algiers: a passion for gain urged me on to fit out a ship, and turn

pirate. I had already followed this business some time, when once, at

Zante, I took on board a Dervise, who wished to travel for nothing. I

and my companions were impious men, and paid no respect to the

holiness of the man; I, in particular, made sport of him. When,

however, on one occasion he upbraided me with holy zeal for my wicked

course of life, that same evening, after I had been drinking to excess

with my pilot in the cabin, anger overpowered me. Reflecting on what

the Dervise had said to me, which I would not have borne from a

Sultan, I rushed upon deck, and plunged my dagger into his breast.

Dying, he cursed me and my crew, and doomed us not to die and not to

live, until we should lay our heads upon the earth.

"The Dervise expired, and we cast him overboard, laughing at his

menaces; that same night, however, were his words fulfilled. One

portion of my crew rose against me; with terrible courage the struggle

continued, until my supporters fell, and I myself was nailed to the

mast. The mutineers, however, also sank under their wounds, and soon

my ship was but one vast grave. My eyes also closed, my breath

stopped--I thought I was dying. But it was only a torpor which held me

chained: the following night, at the same hour in which we had cast

the Dervise into the sea, I awoke, together with all my comrades;

life returned, but we could do and say nothing but what had been done

and said on that fatal night. Thus we sailed for fifty years, neither

living nor dying, for how could we reach the land? With mad joy we

ever dashed along, with full sails, before the storm, for we hoped at

last to be wrecked upon some cliff, and to compose our weary heads to

rest upon the bottom of the sea; but in this we never succeeded. Now I

shall die! Once again, unknown preserver, accept my thanks, and if

treasures can reward thee, then take my ship in token of my

gratitude."

With these words the Captain let his head drop, and expired. Like his

companions, he immediately fell to dust. We collected this in a little

vessel, and buried it on the shore: and I took workmen from the city

to put the ship in good condition. After I had exchanged, with great

advantage, the wares I had on board for others, I hired a crew, richly

rewarded my friend Muley, and set sail for my fatherland. I took a

circuitous route, in the course of which I landed at several islands

and countries, to bring my goods to market. The Prophet blessed my

undertaking. After several years I ran into Balsora, twice as rich as

the dying Captain had made me. My fellow-citizens were amazed at my

wealth and good fortune, and would believe nothing else but that I had

found the diamond-valley of the far-famed traveller Sinbad. I left

them to their belief; henceforth must the young folks of Balsora, when

they have scarcely arrived at their eighteenth year, go forth into the

world, like me, to seek their fortunes. I, however, live in peace and

tranquillity, and every five years make a journey to Mecca, to thank

the Lord for his protection, in that holy place, and to entreat for

the Captain and his crew, that He will admit them into Paradise.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

The march of the Caravan proceeded the next day without hinderance,

and when they halted, Selim the Stranger began thus to speak to Muley,

the youngest of the merchants:

"You are, indeed, the youngest of us, nevertheless you are always in

fine spirits, and, to a certainty, know for us, some right merry

story. Out with it then, that it may refresh us after the heat of the

day."

"I might easily tell you something," answered Muley, "which would

amuse you, nevertheless modesty becomes youth in all things; therefore

must my older companions have the precedence. Zaleukos is ever so

grave and reserved; should not he tell us what has made his life so

serious? Perhaps we could assuage his grief, if such he have; for

gladly would we serve a brother, even if he belong to another creed."

The person alluded to was a Grecian merchant of middle age, handsome

and strongly built, but very serious. Although he was an unbeliever,

(that is, no Mussulman,) still his companions were much attached to

him, for his whole conduct had inspired them with respect and

confidence. He had only one hand, and some of his companions

conjectured that, perhaps, this loss gave so grave a tone to his

character. Zaleukos thus answered Muley's friendly request:

"I am much honored by your confidence: grief have I none, at least

none from which, even with your best wishes, you can relieve me.

Nevertheless, since Muley appears to blame me for my seriousness, I

will relate to you something which will justify me when I am more

grave than others. You see that I have lost my left hand; this came

not to me at my birth, but I lost it in the most unhappy days of my

life. Whether I bear the fault thereof, whether I am wrong to be more

serious than my condition in life would seem to make me, you must

decide, when I have told you the STORY OF THE HEWN-OFF HAND."

[Illustration]

THE STORY OF THE HEWN OFF HAND.

I was born in Constantinople; my father was a Dragoman of the Ottoman

Porte, and carried on, besides, a tolerably lucrative trade in

essences and silk goods. He gave me a good education, since he partly

superintended it himself, and partly had me instructed by one of our

priests. At first, he intended that I should one day take charge of

his business: but since I displayed greater capacity than he expected,

with the advice of his friends, he resolved that I should study

medicine; for a physician, if he only knows more than a common quack,

can make his fortune in Constantinople.

Many Frenchmen were in the habit of coming to our house, and one of

them prevailed upon my father to let me go to the city of Paris, in

his fatherland, where one could learn the profession gratuitously, and

with the best advantages: he himself would take me with him, at his

own expense, when he returned. My father, who in his youth had also

been a traveller, consented, and the Frenchman told me to hold myself

in readiness in three months. I was beside myself with delight to see

foreign lands, and could not wait for the moment in which we should

embark. At last the stranger had finished his business, and was ready

to start.

On the evening preceding our voyage, my father conducted me into his

sleeping apartment; there I saw fine garments and weapons lying on the

table; but what most attracted my eye was a large pile of gold, for I

had never before seen so much together. My father embraced me, and

said,

"See, my son, I have provided thee with garments for thy journey.

These weapons are thine; they are those which thy grandfather hung

upon me, when I went forth into foreign lands. I know thou canst wield

them; but use them not, unless thou art attacked; then, however, lay

on with right good-will. My wealth is not great; see! I have divided

it into three parts: one is thine; one shall be for my support, and

spare money in case of necessity; the third shall be sacred and

untouched by me, it may serve thee in the hour of need." Thus spoke my

old father, while tears hung in his eyes, perhaps from a presentiment,

for I have never seen him since.

Our voyage was favorable; we soon reached the land of the Franks, and

six days' journey brought us to the large city, Paris. Here my French

friend hired me a room, and advised me to be prudent in spending my

money, which amounted to two thousand thalers. In this city I lived

three years, and learned all that a well-educated physician should

know. I would be speaking falsely, however, if I said that I was very

happy, for the customs of the people pleased me not; moreover, I had

but few good friends among them, but these were young men of

nobility.

The longing after my native land at length became irresistible; during

the whole time I had heard nothing from my father, and I therefore

seized a favorable opportunity to return home. There was going an

embassy from France to the Supreme Porte: I agreed to join the train

of the ambassador as surgeon, and soon arrived once more at Stamboul.

My father's dwelling, however, I found closed, and the neighbors,

astonished at seeing me, said that my father had been dead for two

months. The priest, who had instructed me in youth, brought me the

key. Alone and forsaken, I entered the desolate house. I found all as

my father had left it; but the gold which he promised to leave to me,

was missing. I inquired of the priest respecting it, and he bowed and

said:

"Your father died like a holy man, for he left his gold to the

Church!"

This was incomprehensible to me; nevertheless, what could I do? I had

no proofs against the priest, and could only congratulate myself that

he had not also looked upon the house, and wares of my father, in the

light of a legacy. This was the first misfortune that met me; but after

this came one upon another. My reputation as a physician would not

extend itself, because I was ashamed to play the quack; above all, I

missed the recommendation of my father, who had introduced me to the

richest and most respectable families; but now they thought no more of

the poor Zaleukos. Moreover, the wares of my father found no sale, for

his customers had been scattered at his death, and new ones came only

after a long time. One day, as I was reflecting sorrowfully upon my

situation, it occurred to me that in France I had often seen countrymen

of mine, who travelled through the land, and exposed their goods at the

market-places of the cities: I recollected that people gladly purchased

of them, because they came from foreign lands; and that by such a

trade, one could make a hundred-fold. My resolution was forthwith

taken; I sold my paternal dwelling, gave a portion of the money

obtained thereby to a tried friend to preserve for me, and with the

remainder purchased such articles as were rare in France,--shawls,

silken goods, ointments, and oils; for these I hired a place upon a

vessel, and thus began my second voyage to France. It appeared as if

fortune became favorable to me, the moment I had the Straits of the

Dardanelles upon my back. Our voyage was short and prosperous. I

travelled through the cities of France, large and small, and found, in

all, ready purchasers for my goods. My friend in Stamboul continually

sent me fresh supplies, and I became richer from day to day. At last

when I had husbanded so well, that I believed myself able to venture on

some more extensive undertaking, I went with my wares into Italy. I

must, however, mention something that brought me in no little money; I

called my profession also to my assistance. As soon as I arrived in a

city I announced, by means of bills, that a Grecian physician was

there, who had already cured many; and, truly, my balsam, and my

medicines, had brought me in many a zechin.

Thus at last I reached the city of Florence, in Italy. I proposed to

myself to remain longer than usual in this place, partly because it

pleased me so well, partly, moreover, that I might recover from the

fatigues of my journey. I hired myself a shop in the quarter of the

city called St. Croce, and in a tavern not far therefrom, took a

couple of fine rooms which led out upon a balcony. Immediately I had

my bills carried around, which announced me as a physician and

merchant. I had no sooner opened my shop than buyers streamed in upon

me, and although I asked a tolerably high price, still I sold more

than others, because I was attentive and friendly to my customers.

Well satisfied, I had spent four days in Florence, when one evening,

after I had shut my shop, and according to custom was examining my

stock of ointment-boxes, I found, in one of the smaller ones, a letter

which I did not remember to have put in. I opened it and found therein

an invitation to repair that night, punctually at twelve, to the

bridge called the Ponte Vecchio. For some time I reflected upon this,

as to who it could be that had thus invited me; as, however, I knew

not a soul in Florence, I thought, as had often happened already, that

one wished to lead me privately to some sick person. Accordingly I

resolved to go; nevertheless, as a precautionary measure, I put on

the sabre which my father had given me. As it was fast approaching

midnight, I set out upon my way, and soon arrived at the Ponte

Vecchio; I found the bridge forsaken and desolate, and resolved to

wait until it should appear who had addressed me.

It was a cold night; the moon shone clear as I looked down upon the

waters of the Arno, which sparkled in her light. On the church of the

city the twelfth hour was sounding, when I looked up, and before me

stood a tall man, entirely covered with a red cloak, a corner of which

he held before his face. At this sudden apparition I was at first

somewhat startled, but I soon recovered myself and said--

"If you have summoned me hither, tell me, what is your pleasure?"

The Red-mantle turned, and solemnly ejaculated, "Follow!"

My mind was nevertheless somewhat uneasy at the idea of going alone

with this Unknown; I stood still and said, "Not so, dear sir; you will

first tell me whither; moreover, you may show me your face a little,

that I may see whether you have good intentions towards me."

The Stranger, however, appeared not to be concerned thereat. "If thou

wishest it not, Zaleukos, then remain!" answered he, moving away. At

this my anger burned.

"Think you," I cried, "that I will suffer a man to play the fool with

me, and wait here this cold night for nothing?" In three bounds I

reached him; crying still louder, I seized him by the cloak, laying

the other hand upon my sabre; but the mantle remained in my hand, and

the Unknown vanished around the nearest corner. My anger gradually

cooled; I still had the cloak, and this should furnish the key to this

strange adventure. I put it on, and moved towards home. Before I had

taken a hundred steps, somebody passed very near, and whispered in the

French tongue, "Observe, Count, to-night, we can do nothing." Before I

could look around, this somebody had passed, and I saw only a shadow

hovering near the houses. That this exclamation was addressed to the

mantle, and not to me, I plainly perceived; nevertheless, this threw

no light upon the matter. Next morning I considered what was best to

be done. At first I thought of having proclamation made respecting

the cloak, that I had found it; but in that case the Unknown could

send for it by a third person, and I would have no explanation of the

matter. While thus meditating I took a nearer view of the garment. It

was of heavy Genoese velvet, of dark red color, bordered with fur from

Astrachan, and richly embroidered with gold. The gorgeousness of the

cloak suggested to me a plan, which I resolved to put in execution. I

carried it to my shop and offered it for sale, taking care, however,

to set so high a price upon it, that I would be certain to find no

purchaser. My object in this was to fix my eye keenly upon every one

who should come to inquire after it; for the figure of the Unknown,

which, after the loss of the mantle, had been exposed to me distinctly

though transiently, I could recognise out of thousands. Many merchants

came after the cloak, the extraordinary beauty of which drew all eyes

upon it; but none bore the slightest resemblance to the Unknown, none

would give for it the high price of two hundred zechins. It was

surprising to me, that when I asked one and another whether there was

a similar mantle in Florence, all answered in the negative, and

protested that they had never seen such costly and elegant

workmanship.

It was just becoming evening, when at last there came a young man who

had often been in there, and had also that very day bid high for the

mantle; he threw upon the table a bag of zechins, exclaiming--

"By Heaven! Zaleukos, I must have your mantle, should I be made a

beggar by it." Immediately he began to count out his gold pieces. I

was in a great dilemma; I had exposed the mantle, in order thereby to

get a sight of my unknown friend, and now came a young simpleton to

give the unheard-of price. Nevertheless, what remained for me? I

complied, for on the other hand the reflection consoled me, that my

night adventure would be so well rewarded. The young man put on the

cloak and departed; he turned, however, upon the threshold, while he

loosened a paper which was attached to the collar, and threw it

towards me, saying, "Here, Zaleukos, hangs something, that does not

properly belong to my purchase." Indifferently, I received the note;

but lo! these were the contents:--

"This night, at the hour thou knowest, bring the mantle to the Ponte

Vecchio; four hundred zechins await thee!"

I stood as one thunder-struck: thus had I trifled with fortune, and

entirely missed my aim. Nevertheless, I reflected not long; catching

up the two hundred zechins, I bounded to the side of the young man and

said, "Take your zechins again, my good friend, and leave me the

cloak; I cannot possibly part with it."

At first he treated the thing as a jest, but when he saw it was

earnest, he fell in a passion at my presumption, and called me a fool;

and thus at last we came to blows. I was fortunate enough to seize the

mantle in the scuffle, and was already making off with it, when the

young man called the police to his assistance, and had both of us

carried before a court of justice. The magistrate was much astonished

at the accusation, and adjudged the cloak to my opponent. I however,

offered the young man twenty, fifty, eighty, at last a hundred,

zechins, in addition to his two hundred, if he would surrender it to

me. What my entreaties could not accomplish, my gold did. He took my

good zechins, while I went off in triumph with the mantle, obliged to

be satisfied with being taken for a madman by every one in Florence.

Nevertheless, the opinion of the people was a matter of indifference

to me, for I knew better than they, that I would still gain by the

bargain.

With impatience I awaited the night; at the same hour as the preceding

day, I proceeded to the Ponte Vecchio, the mantle under my arm. With

the last stroke of the clock, came the figure out of darkness to my

side: beyond a doubt it was the man of the night before.

"Hast thou the cloak?" I was asked.

"Yes, sir," I replied, "but it cost me a hundred zechins cash."

"I know it," rejoined he; "look, here are four hundred." He moved with

me to the broad railing of the bridge and counted out the gold pieces;

brightly they glimmered in the moonshine, their lustre delighted my

heart--ah! it did not foresee that this was to be its last joy. I put

the money in my pocket, and then wished to get a good view of the

generous stranger, but he had a mask before his face, through which

two dark eyes frightfully beamed upon me.

"I thank you, sir, for your kindness," said I to him; "what further

desire you of me? I told you before, however, that it must be nothing

evil."

"Unnecessary trouble," answered he, throwing the cloak over his

shoulders; "I needed your assistance as a physician, nevertheless not

for a living, but for a dead person."

"How can that be?" exclaimed I in amazement.

"I came with my sister from a distant land," rejoined he, at the same

time motioning me to follow him, "and took up my abode with a friend

of our family. A sudden disease carried off my sister yesterday, and

our relations wished to bury her this morning. According to an old

usage of our family, however, all are to repose in the sepulchre of

our fathers; many who have died in foreign lands, nevertheless sleep

there embalmed. To my relations now I grant the body, but to my father

must I bring at least the head of his daughter, that he may see it

once again."

In this custom of severing the head from near relatives there was to

me, indeed, something awful; nevertheless, I ventured to say nothing

against it, through fear of offending the Unknown. I told him,

therefore, that I was well acquainted with the art of embalming the

dead, and asked him to lead me to the body. Notwithstanding, I could

not keep myself from inquiring why all this must be done so secretly

in the night. He answered me that his relations, who considered his

purpose inhuman, would prevent him from accomplishing it by day; but

only let the head once be cut off, and they could say little more

about it: he could, indeed, have brought the head to me, but a natural

feeling prevented him from cutting it off himself.

These words brought us to a large splendid house; my companion pointed

it out to me as the termination of our nocturnal walk. We passed the

principal door, and entering a small gate, which the stranger

carefully closed after him, ascended, in the dark, a narrow, winding

staircase. This brought us to a dimly-lighted corridor, from which we

entered an apartment; a lamp, suspended from the ceiling, shed its

brilliant rays around.

In this chamber stood a bed, on which lay the corpse; the Unknown

turned away his face, as if wishing to conceal his tears. He beckoned

me to the bed, and bidding me set about my business speedily yet

carefully, went out by the door.

I seized my knives, which, as a physician, I constantly carried with

me, and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible,

but that was so beautiful that the deepest compassion involuntarily

came over me. In long braids the dark hair hung down; the face was

pale, the eyes closed. At first, I made an incision in the skin,

according to the practice of surgeons when they remove a limb. Then I

took my sharpest knife and cut entirely through the throat. But,

horror! the dead opened her eyes--shut them again--and in a deep sigh

seemed now, for the first time, to breathe forth her life! Straightway

a stream of hot blood sprang forth from the wound. I was convinced

that I had killed the poor girl; for that she was dead there could be

no doubt--from such a wound there was no chance of recovering. I stood

some moments in anxious wo, thinking on what had happened. Had the

Red-mantle deceived me, or was his sister, perhaps, only apparently

dead? The latter appeared to me more probable. Yet I dared not tell

the brother of the deceased, that, perhaps, a less rash blow would

have aroused, without having killed her; therefore I began to sever

the head entirely--but once again the dying one groaned, stretched

herself out in a convulsion of pain, and breathed her last. Then

terror overpowered me, and I rushed shivering out of the apartment.

But outside in the corridor it was dark, for the lamp had died out; no

trace of my companion was perceptible, and I was obliged to move along

by the wall, at hazard in the dark, in order to reach the

winding-stairs. I found them at last, and descended, half falling,

half gliding. There was no one below; the door was only latched, and I

breathed more freely when I was in the street, out of the uneasy

atmosphere of the house. Spurred on by fear, I ran to my dwelling, and

buried myself in the pillow of my bed, in order to forget the horrid

crime I had committed. But sleep fled my eyelids, and soon morning

admonished me again to collect myself. It seemed probable to me, that

the man who had led me to this villainous deed, as it now appeared to

me, would not denounce me. I immediately resolved to attend to my

business in my shop, and to put on as careless an air as possible.

But, alas! a new misfortune, which I now for the first time observed,

augmented my sorrow. My cap and girdle, as also my knives, were

missing; and I knew not whether they had been left in the chamber of

the dead, or lost during my flight. Alas! the former seemed more

probable, and they could discover in me the murderer.

I opened my shop at the usual time; a neighbor stepped in, as was his

custom, being a communicative man. "Ah! what say you to the horrid

deed," he cried, "that was committed last night?" I started as if I

knew nothing. "How! know you not that with which the whole city is

filled? Know you not that last night, the fairest flower in Florence,

Bianca, the daughter of the Governor, was murdered? Ah! only yesterday

I saw her walking happily through the streets with her bridegroom, for

to-day she would have had her nuptial festival!"

Every word of my neighbor was a dagger to my heart; and how often

returned my torments! for each of my customers told me the story, one

more frightfully than another; yet not one could tell it half so

horribly as it had seemed to me. About mid-day, an officer of justice

unexpectedly walked into my shop, and asked me to clear it of the

bystanders.

"Signor Zaleukos," said he, showing me the articles I had lost,

"belong these things to you?" I reflected whether I should not

entirely disown them; but when I saw through the half-opened door, my

landlord and several acquaintances, who could readily testify against

me, I determined not to make the matter worse by a falsehood, and

acknowledged the articles exhibited as my own. The officer told me to

follow him, and conducted me to a spacious building, which I soon

recognised as the prison. Then, a little farther on, he showed me into

an apartment.

My situation was terrible, as I reflected on it in my solitude. The

thought of having committed a murder, even against my wish, returned

again and again. Moreover, I could not conceal from myself that the

glance of the gold had dazzled my senses; otherwise I would not have

fallen so blindly into the snare.

Two hours after my arrest, I was led from my chamber, and after

descending several flights of stairs, entered a spacious saloon.

Around a long table hung with black, were seated twelve men, mostly

gray with age. Along the side of the room, benches were arranged, on

which were seated the first people of Florence. In the gallery, which

was built quite high, stood the spectators, closely crowded together.

As soon as I reached the black table, a man with a gloomy, sorrowful

air arose--it was the Governor. He told the audience that, as a

father, he could not judge impartially in this matter, and that he,

for this occasion, would surrender his seat to the oldest of the

senators. The latter was a gray-headed man, of at least ninety years.

He arose, stooping beneath the weight of age; his temples were covered

with thin white hair, but his eyes still burned brightly, and his

voice was strong and steady. He began by asking me whether I confessed

the murder. I entreated his attention, and with dauntless, distinct

voice, related what I had done and all that I knew. I observed that

the Governor during my recital turned first pale, then red, and when I

concluded, became furious. "How, wretch!" he cried out to me,

"wishest thou thus to lay upon another, the crime thy avarice has

committed?"

The Senator rebuked him for his interruption, after having of his own

free will resigned his right; moreover, that it was not so clear, that

I had done the deed through avarice, for according to his own

testimony, nothing had been taken from the corpse. Yes, he went still

further; he told the Governor that he must give an account of his

daughter's early life, for in this way only could one conclude whether

I had told the truth or not. Immediately he closed the court for that

day, for the purpose, as he said, of consulting the papers of the

deceased, which the Governor was to give him. I was carried back to my

prison, where I passed a sorrowful day, constantly occupied with the

ardent hope, that they would in some way discover the connection

between the deceased and the Red-mantle.

Full of hope, I proceeded the next day to the justice-hall. Several

letters lay upon the table; the old Senator asked whether they were of

my writing. I looked at them, and found that they were by the same

hand as both the letters that I had received. This I disclosed to the

Senator; but he seemed to give but little weight to it, answering that

I must have written both, for the name subscribed was unquestionably a

Z, the initial of my name. The letters, however, contained menaces

against the deceased, and warnings against the marriage which she was

on the point of consummating. The Governor seemed to have imparted

something strange and untrue, with respect to my person; for I was

treated this day with more suspicion and severity. For my

justification, I appealed to the papers, which would be found in my

room, but I was informed that search had been made and nothing found.

Thus, at the close of the court, vanished all my hope; and when, on

the third day, I was led again to the hall, the judgment was read

aloud, that I was convicted of a premeditated murder, and sentenced to

death. To such extremity had I come; forsaken by all that was dear to

me on earth, far from my native land, innocent and in the bloom of my

years, I was to die by the axe!

On the evening of this terrible day which had decided my fate, I was

seated in my lonely dungeon, my hopes past, my thoughts seriously

turned upon death, when the door of my prison opened, and a man

entered who regarded me long in silence.

"Do I see you again, in this situation, Zaleukos?" he began. By the

dim light of my lamp I had not recognised him, but the sound of his

voice awoke within me old recollections. It was Valetty, one of the

few friends I had made during my studies at Paris. He said that he had

casually come to Florence, where his father, a distinguished man,

resided; he had heard of my story, and come to see me once more, to

inquire with his own lips, how I could have been guilty of such an

awful crime. I told him the whole history: he seemed lost in wonder,

and conjured me to tell him, my only friend, all the truth, and not to

depart with a lie upon my tongue. I swore to him with the most solemn

oath, that I had spoken the truth; and that no other guilt could be

attached to me, than that, having been blinded by the glance of the

gold, I had not seen the improbability of the Stranger's story. "Then

did you not know Bianca?" asked he. I assured him that I had never

seen her. Valetty thereupon told me that there was a deep mystery in

the matter; that the Governor in great haste had urged my

condemnation, and that a report was current among the people, that I

had known Bianca for a long time, and had murdered her out of revenge

for her intended marriage with another. I informed him that all this

was probably true of the Red-mantle, but that I could not prove his

participation in the deed. Valetty embraced me, weeping, and promised

me to do all that he could; to save my life, if nothing more. I had

not much hope; nevertheless, I knew that my friend was a wise man, and

well acquainted with the laws, and that he would do all in his power

to preserve me.

Two long days was I in suspense; at length Valetty appeared. "I bring

consolation, though even that is attended with sorrow. You shall live

and be free, but with the loss of a hand!"

Overjoyed, I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the

Governor had been inexorable, and would not once look into the matter:

that at length, however, rather than appear unjust, he had agreed, if

a similar case could be found in the annals of Florentine history,

that my penalty should be regulated by the punishment that was then

inflicted. He and his father had searched, day and night, in the old

books, and had at length found a case similar in every respect to

mine; the sentence there ran thus:--

"He shall have his left hand cut off; his goods shall be confiscated,

and he himself banished forever!"

Such now was my sentence, also, and I was to prepare for the painful

hour that awaited me. I will not bring before your eyes the frightful

moment, in which, at the open market-place, I laid my hand upon the

block; in which my own blood in thick streams flowed over me!

Valetty took me to his house until I had recovered, and then

generously supplied me with money for my journey, for all that I had

so laboriously acquired was confiscated to Justice. I went from

Florence to Sicily, and thence, by the first ship I could find, to

Constantinople. My hopes, which rested on the sum of money I had left

with my friend, were not disappointed. I proposed that I should live

with him--how astonished was I, when he asked why I occupied not my

own house! He told me that a strange man had, in my name, bought a

house in the quarter of the Greeks, and told the neighbors that I

would soon, myself, return. I immediately proceeded to it with my

friend, and was joyfully received by all my old acquaintances. An aged

merchant handed me a letter which the man who purchased for me had

left. I read:--

"Zaleukos! two hands stand ready to work unceasingly, that thou mayest

not feel the loss of one. That house which thou seest and all therein

are thine, and every year shalt thou receive so much, that thou shalt

be among the rich of thy nation. Mayest thou forgive one who is more

unhappy than thyself!"

I could guess who was the writer, and the merchant told me, in answer

to my inquiry that it was a man covered with a red cloak, whom he had

taken for a Frenchman. I knew enough to convince me that the Unknown

was not entirely devoid of generous feeling. In my new house I found

all arranged in the best style; a shop, moreover, full of wares, finer

than any I had ever had. Ten years have elapsed since then; more in

compliance with ancient custom, than because it is necessary, do I

continue to travel in foreign lands for purposes of trade, but the

land which was so fatal to me I have never seen since. Every year I

receive a thousand pieces of gold; but although it rejoices me to know

that this Unfortunate is so noble, still can his money never remove wo

from my soul, for there lives forever the heart-rending image of the

murdered Bianca!

[Illustration]

* * * * *

Thus ended the story of Zaleukos, the Grecian merchant. With great

interest had the others listened; the stranger, in particular, seemed

to be wrapt up in it: more than once he had drawn a deep sigh, and

Muley looked as if he had had tears in his eyes. No one spoke for some

time after the recital.

"And hate you not the Unknown, who so basely cost you a noble member

of your body, and even put your life in danger?" inquired Selim.

"Perhaps there were hours at first," answered the Greek, "in which my

heart accused him before God, of having brought this misfortune upon

me, and embittered my life; but I found consolation in the religion of

my fathers, which commanded me to love my enemies. Moreover, he

probably is more unhappy than myself."

"You are a noble man!" exclaimed Selim, cordially pressing the hand of

the Greek.

The leader of the escort, however, here interrupted their

conversation. He came with a troubled air into the tent, and told them

that they could not give themselves up to repose, for this was the

place in which Caravans were usually attacked, and his guards imagined

they had seen several horsemen in the distance.

The merchants were confounded at this intelligence. Selim, the

stranger, however, expressed wonder at their alarm, saying they were

so well escorted they need not fear a troop of Arabian robbers.

"Yes, sir," rejoined to him the leader of the guard; "were he only a

common outlaw, we could compose ourselves to rest without anxiety; but

for some time back, the frightful Orbasan has shown himself again, and

it is well to be upon our guard."

The stranger inquired who this Orbasan was, and Achmet, the old

merchant, answered him:--

"Various rumors are current among the people with respect to this

wonderful man. Some hold him to be a supernatural being, because, with

only five or six men, he has frequently fallen upon a whole

encampment; others regard him as a bold Frenchman, whom misfortune has

driven into this region: out of all this, however, thus much alone is

certain, that he is an abandoned robber and highwayman."

"That can you not prove," answered Lezah, one of the merchants.

"Robber as he is, he is still a noble man, and such has he shown

himself to my brother, as I can relate to you. He has formed his

whole band of well-disciplined men, and as long as he marches through

the desert, no other band ventures to show itself. Moreover, he robs

not as others, but only exacts a tribute from the caravans; whoever

willingly pays this, proceeds without further danger, for Orbasan is

lord of the wilderness!"

Thus did the travellers converse together in the tent; the guards,

however, who were stationed around the resting-place, began to become

uneasy. A tolerably large band of armed horsemen showed themselves at

the distance of half a league. They appeared to be riding straight to

the encampment; one of the guard came into the tent, to inform them

that they would probably be attacked.

[Illustration]

The merchants consulted among themselves as to what they should do,

whether to march against them, or await the attack. Achmet and the two

elder merchants inclined to the latter course; the fiery Muley,

however, and Zaleukos desired the former, and summoned the stranger to

their assistance. He, however, quietly drew forth from his girdle a

little blue cloth spangled with red stars, bound it upon a lance,

and commanded one of the slaves to plant it in front of the tent: he

would venture his life upon it, he said, that the horsemen, when they

saw this signal, would quietly march back again. Muley trusted not the

result; still the slave put out the lance in front of the tent.

Meanwhile all in the camp had seized their weapons, and were looking

upon the horsemen in eager expectation. The latter, however, appeared

to have espied the signal; they suddenly swerved from their direct

course towards the encampment, and, in a large circle, moved off to

the side.

Struck with wonder, the travellers stood some moments, gazing

alternately at the horsemen and the stranger. The latter stood in

front of the tent quite indifferently, as though nothing had happened,

looking upon the plain before him. At last Muley broke the silence.

"Who art thou, mighty stranger," he exclaimed, "that restrainest with

a glance the wild hordes of the desert?"

"You rate my art higher than it deserves," answered Selim Baruch. "I

observed this signal when I fled from captivity; what it means, I know

not--only this much I know, that whoever travels with this sign, is

under great protection."

The merchants thanked the stranger, and called him their preserver;

indeed, the number of the robbers was so great, that the Caravan could

not, probably, for any length of time, have offered an effectual

resistance.

With lighter hearts they now gave themselves to sleep; and when the

sun began to sink, and the evening wind to pass over the sand-plain,

they struck their tents, and marched on. The next day they halted

safely, only one day's journey from the entrance of the desert. When

the travellers had once more collected in the large tent, Lezah, the

merchant, took up the discourse.

"I told you, yesterday, that the dreaded Orbasan was a noble man;

permit me to prove it to you, to-day, by the relation of my brother's

adventure. My father was Cadi of Acara. He had three children; I was

the eldest, my brother and sister being much younger than myself. When

I was twenty years old, a brother of my father took me under his

protection; he made me heir to his property, on condition that I

should remain with him until his death. He however had reached an old

age, so that before two years I returned to my native land, having

known nothing, before, of the misfortune which had meanwhile fallen

upon my family, and how Allah had turned it to advantage."

[Illustration]

FATIMA'S DELIVERANCE.

My brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were almost of the same age;

the former was at most but two years older. They loved each other

fervently, and did in concert, all that could lighten, for our

suffering father, the burden of his old age. On Fatima's seventeenth

birthday, my brother prepared a festival. He invited all her

companions, and set before them a choice banquet in the gardens of

our father, and, towards evening, proposed to them to take a little

sail upon the sea, in a boat which he had hired, and adorned in grand

style. Fatima and her companions agreed with joy, for the evening was

fine, and the city, particularly when viewed by evening from the sea,

promised a magnificent prospect. The girls, however, were so well

pleased upon the bark, that they continually entreated my brother to

go farther out upon the sea. Mustapha, however, yielded reluctantly,

because a Corsair had been seen, for several days back, in that

vicinity.

Not far from the city, a promontory projected into the sea; thither

the maidens were anxious to go, in order to see the sun sink into the

water. Having rowed thither, they beheld a boat occupied by armed men.

Anticipating no good, my brother commanded the oarsmen to turn the

vessel, and make for land. His apprehensions seemed, indeed, to be

confirmed, for the boat quickly approached that of my brother, and

getting ahead of it, (for it had more rowers,) ran between it and the

land. The young girls, moreover, when they knew the danger to which

they were exposed, sprang up with cries and lamentations: in vain

Mustapha sought to quiet them, in vain enjoined upon them to be still,

lest their running to and fro should upset the vessel. It was of no

avail; and when, in consequence of the proximity of the other boat,

all ran upon the further side, it was upset.

Meanwhile, they had observed from the land the approach of the strange

boat, and, inasmuch as, for some time back, they had been in anxiety

on account of Corsairs, their suspicions were excited, and several

boats put off from the land to their assistance: but they only came in

time to pick up the drowning. In the confusion, the hostile boat

escaped. In both barks, however, which had taken in those who were

preserved, they were uncertain whether all had been saved. They

approached each other, and, alas! found that my sister and one of her

companions were missing; at the same time, in their number a stranger

was discovered, who was known to none. In answer to Mustapha's

threats, he confessed that he belonged to the hostile ship, which was

lying at anchor two miles to the eastward, and that his companions had

left him behind in their hasty flight, while he was engaged in

assisting to pick up the maidens; moreover, he said he had seen two

taken on board their boat.

The grief of my old father was without bounds, but Mustapha also was

afflicted unto death, for not only had his beloved sister been lost,

and did he accuse himself of having been the cause of her misfortune,

but, also, her companion who had shared it with her, had been promised

to him by her parents as his wife; still had he not dared to avow it

to our father, because her family was poor, and of low descent. My

father, however, was a stern man; as soon as his sorrow had subsided a

little, he called Mustapha before him, and thus spake to him:--

"Thy folly has deprived me of the consolation of my old age, and the

joy of my eyes. Go! I banish thee forever from my sight! I curse thee

and thine offspring--and only when thou shalt restore to me my Fatima,

shall thy head be entirely free from a father's execrations!"

This my poor brother had not expected; already, before this, he had

determined to go in search of his sister and her friend, after having

asked the blessing of his father upon his efforts, and now that father

had sent him forth into the world, laden with his curse. As, however,

his former grief had bowed him down, so this consummation of

misfortune, which he had not deserved, tended to steel his mind. He

went to the imprisoned pirate, and, demanding whither the ship was

bound, learned that she carried on a trade in slaves, and usually had

a great sale thereof in Balsora.

On his return to the house, in order to prepare for his journey, the

anger of his father seemed to have subsided a little, for he sent him

a purse full of gold, to support him during his travels. Mustapha,

thereupon, in tears took leave of the parents of Zoraida, (for so his

affianced was called,) and set out upon the route to Balsora.

Mustapha travelled by land, because from our little city there was no

ship that went direct to Balsora. He was obliged, therefore, to use

all expedition, in order not to arrive too long after the sea-robbers.

Having a good horse and no luggage, he hoped to reach this city by the

end of the sixth day. On the evening of the fourth, however, as he

was riding all alone upon his way, three men came suddenly upon him.

Having observed that they were well-armed and powerful men, and sought

his money and his horse, rather than his life, he cried out that he

would yield himself to them. They dismounted, and tied his feet

together under his horse; then they placed him in their midst, and,

without a word spoken, trotted quickly away with him; one of them

having seized his bridle.

Mustapha gave himself up to a feeling of gloomy despair; the curse of

his father seemed already to be undergoing its accomplishment on the

unfortunate one, and how could he hope to save his sister and Zoraida,

should he, robbed of all his means, even be able to devote his poor

life to their deliverance? Mustapha and his silent companions might

have ridden about an hour, when they entered a little valley. The vale

was enclosed by lofty trees; a soft, dark-green turf, and a stream

which ran swiftly through its midst, invited to repose. In this place

were pitched from fifteen to twenty tents, to the stakes of which were

fastened camels and fine horses: from one of these tents distinctly

sounded the melody of a guitar, blended with two fine manly voices. It

seemed to my brother as if people who had chosen so blithesome a

resting-place, could have no evil intentions towards himself; and

accordingly, without apprehension, he obeyed the summons of his

conductors, who had unbound his feet, and made signs to him to follow.

They led him into a tent which was larger than the rest, and on the

inside was magnificently fitted up. Splendid cushions embroidered with

gold, woven carpets, gilded censers, would elsewhere have bespoken

opulence and respectability, but here seemed only the booty of a

robber band. Upon one of the cushions an old and small-sized man was

reclining: his countenance was ugly; a dark-brown and shining skin, a

disgusting expression around his eyes, and a mouth of malicious

cunning, combined to render his whole appearance odious. Although this

man sought to put on a commanding air, still Mustapha soon perceived

that not for him was the tent so richly adorned, and the conversation

of his conductors seemed to confirm him in his opinion.

"Where is the Mighty?" inquired they of the little man.

"He is out upon a short hunt," was the answer; "but he has

commissioned me to attend to his affairs."

"That has he not wisely done," rejoined one of the robbers; "for it

must soon be determined whether this dog is to die or be ransomed, and

that the Mighty knows better than thou."

Being very sensitive in all that related to his usurped dignity, the

little man, raising himself, stretched forward in order to reach the

other's ear with the extremity of his hand, for he seemed desirous of

revenging himself by a blow; but when he saw that his attempt was

fruitless, he set about abusing him (and indeed the others did not

remain much in his debt) to such a degree, that the tent resounded

with their strife. Thereupon, of a sudden, the tent-door opened, and

in walked a tall, stately man, young and handsome as a Persian prince.

His garments and weapons, with the exception of a richly-mounted

poniard and gleaming sabre, were plain and simple; his serious eye,

however, and his whole appearance, demanded respect without exciting

fear.

"Who is it that dares to engage in strife within my tent?" exclaimed

he, as they started back aghast. For a long time deep stillness

prevailed, till at last one of those who had captured Mustapha,

related to him how it had begun. Thereupon the countenance of "the

Mighty," as they had called him, seemed to grow red with passion.

"When would I have placed thee, Hassan, over my concerns?" he cried,

in frightful accents, to the little man. The latter, in his fear,

shrunk until he seemed even smaller than before, and crept towards the

door of the tent. One step of the Mighty was sufficient to send him

through the entrance with a long singular bound. As soon as the little

man had vanished, the three led Mustapha before the master of the

tent, who had meanwhile reclined upon the cushion.

"Here bring we thee him, whom thou commandedst us to take." He

regarded the prisoner for some time, and then said, "Bashaw of

Sulieika, thine own conscience will tell thee why thou standest before

Orbasan." When my brother heard this, he bowed low and answered:--

"My lord, you appear to labor under a mistake; I am a poor

unfortunate, not the Bashaw, whom you seek." At this all were amazed;

the master of the tent, however, said:--

"Dissimulation can help you little, for I will summon the people who

know you well." He commanded them to bring in Zuleima. An old woman

was led into the tent, who, on being asked whether in my brother she

recognised the Bashaw of Sulieika, answered:--

"Yes, verily! And I swear by the grave of the Prophet, it is the

Bashaw, and no other!"

"Seest thou, wretch, that thy dissimulation has become as water?"

cried out the Mighty in a furious tone. "Thou art too pitiful for me

to stain my good dagger with thy blood, but to-morrow, when the sun is

up, will I bind thee to the tail of my horse, and gallop with thee

through the woods, until they separate behind the hills of Sulieika!"

Then sank my poor brother's courage within him.

"It is my cruel father's curse, that urges me to an ignominious

death," exclaimed he, weeping; "and thou, too, art lost, sweet

sister, and thou, Zoraida!"

"Thy dissimulation helps thee not," said one of the robbers, as he

bound his hands behind his back. "Come, out of the tent with thee! for

the Mighty is biting his lips, and feeling for his dagger. If thou

wouldst live another night, bestir thyself!"

Just as the robbers were leading my brother from the tent, they met

three of their companions, who were also pushing a captive before

them. They entered with him. "Here bring we the Bashaw, as thou hast

commanded," said they, conducting the prisoner before the cushion of

the Mighty. While they were so doing, my brother had an opportunity of

examining him, and was struck with surprise at the remarkable

resemblance which this man bore to himself; the only difference being,

that he was of more gloomy aspect, and had a black beard. The Mighty

seemed much astonished at the resemblance of the two captives.

"Which of you is the right one?" he asked, looking alternately at

Mustapha and the other.

"If thou meanest the Bashaw of Sulieika," answered the latter in a

haughty tone, "I am he!"

The Mighty regarded him for a long time with his grave, terrible eye,

and then silently motioned to them to lead him off. This having been

done, he approached my brother, severed his bonds with his dagger, and

invited him by signs to sit upon the cushion beside him. "It grieves

me, stranger," he said, "that I took you for this villain. It has

happened, however, by some mysterious interposition of Providence,

which placed you in the hands of my companions, at the very hour in

which the destruction of this wretch was ordained."

Mustapha, thereupon, entreated him only for permission to pursue his

journey immediately, for this delay might cost him much. The Mighty

asked what business it could be that required such haste, and, when

Mustapha had told him all, he persuaded him to spend that night in his

tent, and allow his horse some rest; and promised the next morning to

show him a route which would bring him to Balsora in a day and a half.

My brother consented, was sumptuously entertained, and slept soundly

till morning in the robber's tent.

Upon awaking, he found himself all alone in the tent, but, before the

entrance, heard several voices in conversation, which seemed to belong

to the swarthy little man and the bandit-chief. He listened awhile,

and to his horror heard the little man eagerly urging the other to

slay the stranger, since, if he were let go, he could betray them all.

Mustapha immediately perceived that the little man hated him, for

having been the cause of his rough treatment the day before. The

Mighty seemed to be reflecting a moment.

"No," said he; "he is my guest, and the laws of hospitality are with

me sacred: moreover, he does not look like one that would betray us."

Having thus spoken, he threw back the tent-cover, and walked in.

"Peace be with thee, Mustapha!" he said: "let us taste the

morning-drink, and then prepare thyself for thy journey." He offered

my brother a cup of sherbet, and after they had drunk, they saddled

their horses, and Mustapha mounted, with a lighter heart, indeed, than

when he entered the vale. They had soon turned their backs upon the

tents, and took a broad path, which led into the forest. The Mighty

informed my brother, that this Bashaw whom they had captured in the

chase, had promised them that they should remain undisturbed within

his jurisdiction; but some weeks before, he had taken one of their

bravest men, and had him hung, after the most terrible tortures. He

had waited for him a long time, and to-day he must die. Mustapha

ventured not to say a word in opposition, for he was glad to have

escaped himself with a whole skin.

At the entrance of the forest, the Mighty checked his horse, showed

Mustapha the way, and gave him his hand with these words: "Mustapha,

thou becamest in a strange way the guest of the robber Orbasan. I will

not ask thee not to betray what thou hast seen and heard. Thou hast

unjustly endured the pains of death, and I owe thee a recompense. Take

this dagger as a remembrance, and when thou hast need of help, send it

to me, and I will hasten to thy assistance. This purse thou wilt

perhaps need upon thy journey."

My brother thanked him for his generosity; he took the dagger, but

refused the purse. Orbasan, however, pressed once again his hand, let

the money fall to the ground, and galloped with the speed of the wind

into the forest. Mustapha, seeing that he could not overtake him,

dismounted to secure the purse, and was astonished at the great

magnanimity of his host, for it contained a large sum of gold. He

thanked Allah for his deliverance, commended the generous robber to

his mercy, and again started, with fresh courage, upon the route to

Balsora.

* * * * *

Lezah paused, and looked inquiringly at Achmet, the old merchant.

"No! if it be so," said the latter, "then will I gladly correct my

opinion of Orbasan; for indeed he acted nobly towards thy brother."

"He behaved like a brave Mussulman," exclaimed Muley; "but I hope thou

hast not here finished thy story, for, as it seems to me, we are all

eager to hear still further, how it went with thy brother, and whether

he succeeded in rescuing thy sister and the fair Zoraida."

"I will willingly proceed," rejoined Lezah, "if it be not tiresome to

you; for my brother's history is, throughout, full of the most

wonderful adventures."

* * * * *

About the middle of the seventh day after his departure, Mustapha

entered the gate of Balsora. As soon as he had arrived at a

caravansery, he inquired whether the slave-market, which was held here

every year, had opened; but received the startling answer, that he had

come two days too late. His informer deplored his tardiness, telling

him that on the last day of the market, two female slaves had arrived,

of such great beauty as to attract to themselves the eyes of all the

merchants.

He inquired more particularly as to their appearance, and there was no

doubt in his mind, that they were the unfortunate ones of whom he was

in search. Moreover, he learned that the man who had purchased them

both, was called Thiuli-Kos, and lived forty leagues from Balsora, an

illustrious and wealthy, but quite old man, who had been in his early

years Capudan-Bashaw of the Sultan, but had now settled down into

private life with the riches he had acquired.

Mustapha was, at first, on the point of remounting his horse with all

possible speed, in order to overtake Thiuli-Kos, who could scarcely

have had a day's start; but when he reflected that, as a single man,

he could not prevail against the powerful traveller, could still less

rescue from him his prey, he set about reflecting for another plan,

and soon hit upon one. His resemblance to the Bashaw of Sulieika,

which had almost been fatal to him, suggested to him the thought of

going to the house of Thiuli-Kos under this name, and, in that way,

making an attempt for the deliverance of the two unfortunate maidens.

Accordingly he hired attendants and horses, in which the money of

Orbasan opportunely came to his assistance, furnished himself and his

servants with splendid garments, and set out in the direction of

Thiuli's castle. After five days he arrived in its vicinity. It was

situated in a beautiful plain, and was surrounded on all sides by

lofty walls, which were but slightly overtopped by the structure

itself. When Mustapha had arrived quite near, he dyed his hair and

beard black, and stained his face with the juice of a plant, which

gave it a brownish color, exactly similar to that of the Bashaw. From

this place he sent forward one of his attendants to the castle, and

bade him ask a night's lodging, in the name of the Bashaw of

Sulieika. The servant soon returned in company with four

finely-attired slaves, who took Mustapha's horse by the bridle, and

led him into the court-yard. There they assisted him to dismount, and

four others escorted him up a wide marble staircase, into the presence

of Thiuli.

The latter personage, an old, robust man, received my brother

respectfully, and had set before him the best that his castle could

afford. After the meal, Mustapha gradually turned the conversation

upon the new slaves; whereupon, Thiuli praised their beauty, but

expressed regret because they were so sorrowful; nevertheless he

believed that would go over after a time. My brother was much

delighted at his reception, and, with hope beating high in his bosom,

lay down to rest.

He might, perhaps, have been sleeping an hour, when he was awakened by

the rays of a lamp, which fell dazzlingly upon his eyes. When he had

raised himself up, he believed himself dreaming, for there before him

stood the very same little, swarthy fellow of Orbasan's tent, a lamp

in his hand, his wide mouth distended with a disgusting laugh.

Mustapha pinched himself in the arm, and pulled his nose, in order to

see if he were really awake, but the figure remained as before.

"What wishest thou by my bed?" exclaimed Mustapha, recovering from his

amazement.

"Do not disquiet yourself so much, my friend," answered the little

man. "I made a good guess as to the motive that brought you hither.

Although your worthy countenance was still well remembered by me,

nevertheless, had I not with my own hand assisted to hang the Bashaw,

you might, perhaps, have deceived even me. Now, however, I am here to

propose a question."

"First of all, tell me why you came hither," interrupted Mustapha,

full of resentment at finding himself detected.

"That I will explain to you," rejoined the other: "I could not put up

with the Mighty any longer, and therefore ran away; but you, Mustapha,

were properly the cause of our quarrel, and so you must give me your

sister to wife, and I will help you in your flight; give her not, and

I will go to my new master, and tell him something of our new Bashaw."

Mustapha was beside himself with fear and anger; at the very moment

when he thought he had arrived at the happy accomplishment of his

wishes, must this wretch come, and frustrate them all! It was the only

way to carry his plan into execution--he must slay the little monster:

with one bound, he sprang from the bed upon him; but the other, who

might perhaps have anticipated something of the kind, let the lamp

fall, which was immediately extinguished, and rushed forth in the

dark, crying vehemently for help.

Now was the time for decisive action; the maids he was obliged, for

the moment, to abandon, and attend only to his own safety:

accordingly, he approached the window, to see if he could not spring

from it. It was a tolerable distance from the ground, and on the other

side stood a lofty wall, which he would have to surmount. Reflecting,

he stood by the window until he heard many voices approaching his

chamber: already were they at the door, when seizing desperately his

dagger, and garments, he let himself down from the window. The fall

was hard, but he felt that no bone was broken; immediately he sprang

up, and ran to the wall which surrounded the court. This, to the

astonishment of his pursuers, he mounted, and soon found himself at

liberty. He ran on until he came to a little forest, where he sank

down exhausted. Here he reflected on what was to be done; his horses

and attendants he was obliged to leave behind, but the money, which he

had placed in his girdle, he had saved.

His inventive genius, however, soon pointed him to another means of

deliverance. He walked through the wood until he arrived at a village,

where for a small sum he purchased a horse, with the help of which, in

a short time, he reached a city. There he inquired for a physician,

and was directed to an old experienced man. On this one he prevailed,

by a few gold pieces, to furnish him with a medicine to produce a

death-like sleep, which, by means of another, might be instantaneously

removed. Having obtained this, he purchased a long false beard, a

black gown, and various boxes and retorts, so that he could readily

pass for a travelling physician; these articles he placed upon an ass,

and rode back to the castle of Thiuli-Kos. He was certain, this time,

of not being recognised, for the beard disfigured him so that he

scarcely knew himself.

Arrived in the vicinity of the castle, he announced himself as the

physician Chakamankabudibaba, and matters turned out as he had

expected. The splendor of the name procured him extraordinary favor

with the old fool, who invited him to table. Chakamankabudibaba

appeared before Thiuli, and, having conversed with him scarcely an

hour, the old man resolved that all his female slaves should submit to

the examination of the wise physician. The latter could scarcely

conceal his joy at the idea of once more beholding his beloved sister,

and with palpitating heart followed Thiuli, who conducted him to his

seraglio. They reached an unoccupied room, which was beautifully

furnished.

"Chambaba, or whatever thou mayest be called, my good physician," said

Thiuli-Kos, "look once at that hole in the wall; thence shall each of

my slaves stretch forth her arm, and thou canst feel whether the pulse

betoken sickness or health."

Answer as he might, Mustapha could not arrange it so that he might see

them; nevertheless, Thiuli agreed to tell him, each time, the usual

health of the one he was examining. Thiuli drew forth a long list from

his girdle, and began, with loud voice, to call out, one by one, the

names of his slaves; whereupon, each time, a hand came forth from the

wall, and the physician felt the pulse. Six had been read off, and

declared entirely well, when Thiuli, for the seventh called Fatima,

and a small white hand slipped forth from the wall. Trembling with

joy, Mustapha grasped it, and with an important air pronounced her

seriously ill. Thiuli became very anxious, and commanded his wise

Chakamankabudibaba straightway to prescribe some medicine for her. The

physician left the room, and wrote a little scroll:

"Fatima, I will preserve thee, if thou canst make up thy mind to take

a draught, which for two days will make thee dead; nevertheless, I

possess the means of restoring thee to life. If thou wilt, then only

return answer, that this liquid has been of no assistance, and it will

be to me a token that thou agreest."

In a moment he returned to the room, where Thiuli had remained. He

brought with him an innocent drink, felt the pulse of the sick Fatima

once more, pushed the note beneath her bracelet, and then handed her

the liquid through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be in

great anxiety on Fatima's account, and postponed the examination of

the rest to a more fitting opportunity. As he left the room with

Mustapha, he addressed him in sorrowful accents:

"Chadibaba, tell me plainly, what thinkest thou of Fatima's illness?"

My brother answered with a deep sigh: "Ah, sir, may the Prophet give

you consolation! she has a slow fever, which may, perhaps, cost her

life!"

Then burned Thiuli's anger: "What sayest thou, cursed dog of a

physician? She, for whom I gave two thousand gold pieces--shall she

die like a cow? Know, if thou preservest her not, I will chop off

thine head!"

My brother immediately saw that he had made a misstep, and again

inspired Thiuli with hope. While they were yet conversing, a black

slave came from the seraglio to tell the physician, that the drink had

been of no assistance.

"Put forth all thy skill, Chakamdababelda, or whatever thy name may

be; I will pay thee what thou askest!" cried out Thiuli-Kos, well-nigh

howling with sorrow, at the idea of losing so much gold.

"I will give her a potion, which will put her out of all danger,"

answered the physician.

"Yes, yes!--give it her," sobbed the old Thiuli.

With joyful heart Mustapha went to bring his soporific, and having

given it to the black slave, and shown him how much it was necessary

to take for a dose, he went to Thiuli, and, telling him he must

procure some medicinal herbs from the sea, hastened through the gate.

On the shore, which was not far from the castle, he removed his false

garments, and cast them into the water, where they floated merrily

around; concealing himself, however, in a thicket, he awaited the

night, and then stole softly to the burying-place of Thiuli's castle.

Hardly an hour had Mustapha been absent, when they brought Thiuli the

intelligence that his slave Fatima was in the agonies of death. He

sent them to the sea-coast to bring the physician back with all speed,

but his messengers returned alone, with the news that the poor

physician had fallen into the water, and was drowned; that they had

espied his black gown floating upon the surface, and that now and then

his large beard peeped forth from amid the billows. Thiuli seeing now

no help, cursed himself and the whole world; plucked his beard, and

dashed his head against the wall. But all this was of no use, for soon

Fatima gave up the ghost, in the arms of her companions. When the

unfortunate man heard the news of her death, he commanded them quickly

to make a coffin, for he could not tolerate a dead person in his

house; and bade them bear forth the corpse to the place of burial. The

carriers brought in the coffin, but quickly set it down and fled, for

they heard sighs and sobs among the other piles.

Mustapha, who, concealed behind the coffins, had inspired the

attendants with such terror, came forth and lighted a lamp, which he

had brought for that purpose. Then he drew out a vial which contained

the life-restoring medicine, and lifted the lid of Fatima's coffin.

But what amazement seized him, when by the light of the lamp, strange

features met his gaze! Neither my sister, nor Zoraida, but an entire

stranger, lay in the coffin! It was some time before he could recover

from this new stroke of destiny; at last, however, compassion

triumphed over anger. He opened the vial, and administered the liquid.

She breathed--she opened her eyes--and seemed for some time to be

reflecting where she was. At length, recalling all that had happened,

she rose from the coffin, and threw herself, sobbing, at Mustapha's

feet.

"How may I thank thee, excellent being," she exclaimed, "for having

freed me from my frightful prison?" Mustapha interrupted her

expressions of gratitude by inquiring, how it happened that she, and

not his sister Fatima, had been preserved. The maiden looked in

amazement.

"Now is my deliverance explained, which was before incomprehensible,"

answered she. "Know that in this castle I am called Fatima, and it was

to me thou gavest thy note, and the preserving-drink."

My brother entreated her to give him intelligence of his sister and

Zoraida, and learned that they were both in the castle, but, according

to Thiuli's custom, had received different names; they were now

called Mirza and Nurmahal. When Fatima, the rescued slave, saw that my

brother was so cast down by this failure of his enterprise, she bade

him take courage, and promised to show him means whereby he could

still deliver both the maidens. Aroused by this thought, Mustapha was

filled with new hope, and besought her to point out to him the way.

"Only five months," said she, "have I been Thiuli's slave;

nevertheless, from the first, I have been continually meditating an

escape; but for myself alone it was too difficult. In the inner court

of the castle, you may have observed a fountain, which pours forth

water from ten tubes; this fountain riveted my attention. I remembered

in my father's house to have seen a similar one, the water of which

was led up through a spacious aqueduct. In order to learn whether this

fountain was constructed in the same manner, I one day praised its

magnificence to Thiuli, and inquired after its architect. 'I myself

built it,' answered he, 'and what thou seest here is still the

smallest part; for the water comes hither into it from a brook at

least a thousand paces off, flowing through a vaulted aqueduct, which

is as high as a man. And all this have I myself planned.' After

hearing this, I often wished only for a moment to have a man's

strength, in order to roll away the stone from the side of the

fountain; then could I have fled whither I would. The aqueduct now

will I show to you; through it you can enter the castle by night, and

set them free. Only you must have at least two men with you, in order

to overpower the slaves which, by night, guard the seraglio."

Thus she spoke, and my brother Mustapha, although twice disappointed

already in his expectations, once again took courage, and hoped with

Allah's assistance to carry out the plan of the slave. He promised to

conduct her in safety to her native land, if she would assist him in

entering the castle. But one thought still troubled him, namely, where

he could find two or three faithful assistants. Thereupon the dagger

of Orbasan occurred to him, and the promise of the robber to hasten to

his assistance, when he should stand in need of help, and he therefore

started with Fatima from the burying-ground, to seek the chieftain.

In the same city where he had converted himself into a physician,

with his last money he purchased a horse, and procured lodgings for

Fatima, with a poor woman in the suburbs. He, however, hastened

towards the mountain where he had first met Orbasan, and reached it in

three days. He soon found the tent, and unexpectedly walked in before

the chieftain, who welcomed him with friendly courtesy. He related to

him his unsuccessful attempts, whereupon the grave Orbasan could not

restrain himself from laughing a little now and then, particularly

when he announced himself as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. At the

treachery of the little man, however, he was furious; and swore, if he

could find him, to hang him with his own hand. He assured my brother

that he was ready to assist him the moment he should be sufficiently

recovered from his ride. Accordingly, Mustapha remained that night

again in the robber's tent, and with the first morning-red they set

out, Orbasan taking with him three of his bravest men, well mounted

and armed. They rode rapidly, and in two days arrived at the little

city, where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. Thence they rode on

with her unto the forest, from which, at a little distance, they could

see Thiuli's castle; there they concealed themselves, to await the

night. As soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they proceeded softly

to the brook, where the aqueduct commenced, and soon found it. There

they left Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared

themselves for the descent: before they started, however, Fatima once

more repeated, with precision, the directions she had given; namely,

that, on emerging from the fountain into the inner court-yard, they

would find a tower in each corner on the right and left; that inside

the sixth gate from the right tower, they would find Fatima and

Zoraida, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and

iron implements for forcing the doors, Mustapha, Orbasan, and the two

other men, descended through the aqueduct; they sank, indeed, in

water, up to the middle, but not the less vigorously on that account

did they press forward.

In a half hour they arrived at the fountain, and immediately began to

ply their tools. The wall was thick and firm, but could not long

resist the united strength of the four men; they soon made a breach

sufficiently large to allow them to slip through without difficulty.

Orbasan was the first to emerge, and then assisted the others. Being

now all in the court-yard, they examined the side of the castle which

lay before them, in order to find the door which had been described.

But they could not agree as to which it was, for on counting from the

right tower to the left, they found one door which had been walled up,

and they knew not whether Fatima had included this in her calculation.

But Orbasan was not long in making up his mind: "My good sword will

open to me this gate," he exclaimed, advancing to the sixth, while the

others followed him. They opened it, and found six black slaves lying

asleep upon the floor; imagining that they had missed the object of

their search, they were already softly drawing back, when a figure

raised itself in the corner, and in well-known accents called for

help. It was the little man of the robber-encampment. But ere the

slaves knew what had taken place, Orbasan sprang upon the little man,

tore his girdle in two, stopped his mouth, and bound his hands behind

his back; then he turned to the slaves, some of whom were already

half bound by Mustapha and the two others, and assisted in completely

overpowering them. They presented their daggers to the breasts of the

slaves, and asked where Nurmahal and Mirza were: they confessed that

they were in the next chamber. Mustapha rushed into the room, and

found Fatima and Zoraida awakened by the noise. They were not long in

collecting their jewels and garments, and following my brother.

Meanwhile the two robbers proposed to Orbasan to carry off what they

could find, but he forbade them, saying: "It shall never be told of

Orbasan, that he enters houses by night, to steal gold." Mustapha, and

those he had preserved, quickly stepped into the aqueduct, whither

Orbasan promised to follow them immediately. As soon as they had

departed, the chieftain and one of the robbers led forth the little

man into the court-yard; there, having fastened around his neck a

silken cord, which they had brought for that purpose, they hung him on

the highest point of the fountain. After having thus punished the

treachery of the wretch, they also entered the aqueduct, and followed

Mustapha. With tears the two maidens thanked their brave preserver,

Orbasan; but he urged them in haste to their flight, for it was very

probable that Thiuli-Kos would seek them in every direction.

With deep emotion, on the next day, did Mustapha and the rescued

maidens part with Orbasan. Indeed, they never will forget him! Fatima,

the freed slave, left us in disguise for Balsora, in order to take

passage thence to her native land.

After a short and agreeable journey, my brother and his companions

reached home. Delight at seeing them once more, almost killed my old

father; the next day after their arrival, he gave a great festival, to

which all the city was invited. Before a large assemblage of relations

and friends, my brother had to relate his story, and with one voice

they praised him and the noble robber.

When, however, Mustapha had finished, my father arose and led Zoraida

to him. "Thus remove I," said he with solemn voice, "the curse from

thy head; take this maiden as the reward which thy unwearied courage

has merited. Receive my fatherly blessing: and may there never be

wanting to our city, men who, in brotherly love, in prudence, and

bravery, may be thy equals!"

[Illustration]

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