"I knew to whom I was to go, and I have already reached my destination. The heart of a woman who loves can see the absent like that of a sorceress. Masa said to me: 'Go up the rock to the highest point; there we vowed eternal fidelity to each other. I know he will be there! He will seek to wipe out the traces of our morning communion with his curses, perhaps, too, with his tears.' Now I am at the place to which Masa sent me, and here, too, is he to whom she sent me. Mohammed Ali, do not turn from me, do not shake your head. Rather let us sit down, and listen to what Djumeila has to say."
He did not reply. He only made a motion as if to shake off the hand she had laid on his arm, in order to draw him down to her side. But now against his will he permits her to draw him down to a seat on the stone beside her.
"Listen, Mohammed! Masa is at home, locked in her room. She weeps and laments, and has sworn to me by her mother's spirit that she would die to-night. The waves are to close over her if Mohammed does not rescue her from disgrace and misery. Listen, Mohammed, and take what I say to heart. Will you do so, Mohammed!"
"Well, then, I will!" said he, after a short pause. "May Allah judge you if you are about to deceive me again!"
"Then incline your ear closer to me, that the ghins may not hear what I say and carry it further. What Masa confided to me is intended for you only."
He inclines his head close to hers. For a long time she whispers and speaks to him in impressive tones; and he listens at first against his will, but gradually a new life courses through his being, a delicate color suffuses itself over his pale cheeks, and his brow quivers with emotions of mingled joy and pain.
The woman continues to speak in low, earnest tones.
When she has finished, Mohammed bounds to his feet. Suddenly he is completely changed. His eyes sparkle, his lips smile and part to give utterance to a cry, to a loud, piercing, joyous cry, such as the eagle utters when he returns after a long journey and sees his young looking up and opening their beaks to greet him. He felt that he must cry out to relieve his breast. He extends his arms into the air, as though he saw before him the white dove, and wished to clasp it to his heart; as though he saw on the murmuring sea at his feet the swan approaching, singing to him the song of holy virgin purity and of chaste maidenly love.
"O how beautiful is the world!" he exclaims, exultingly. "How heavenly to live in it! But then this is not earthly delight, but the bliss of Paradise. I shall enter Paradise to-day, and be one of the blessed; I shall revel in heavenly joys already here on earth as man never did before. Come, Djumeila, and listen to my words. Come to this spot. See, here she stood this morning; here she exchanged with me vows of eternal fidelity, and this holy place I have consecrated with my tears and my despair. I was a fool; oh, forgive, Masa, forgive me, and I will repay you with life-long devotion. So long as a drop of blood flows in my veins will I love you and belong to you alone. Come, seat yourself beside me, Djumeila, and listen attentively to each word I shall speak to you."
CHAPTER VIII
VANISHED.
The inhabitants of Praousta had insisted on making the release of the sheik and the ulemas the occasion of general rejoicing, and the latter were compelled to yield to the general desire and take part in the festivities.
But it is well that evening is now come, and that the night is spreading her rest-bringing mantle over the earth. It is well that the opportunity has at last come to breathe freely in the stillness of one's chamber, and to thank Allah, with earnest prayer, for having given them a happy issue out of the cares and dangers of the preceding day.
The sheik has finished his prayer in the silence of his chamber. He now lightly ascends the stairway to the harem where his beloved child, his Masa, sojourns. Before the door of her chamber sits Djumeila, the faithful servant, and with upraised hand she motions to the sheik to step softly and make no noise, that Masa may not be disturbed.
"You know, master, that she has been complaining the whole day. Anxiety and care for you, and the pain and exposure she has endured, have made my dove ill, and she has gone to her room to rest and restore her strength. She therefore requests you, through me, to allow her to remain undisturbed until tomorrow morning. She has not been able to sleep at all during the day, and has continually wept and complained; but at last, toward evening she partook of some food and fell asleep. Yesterday she was so courageous and strong, but today she has been weak and dejected. Before going to sleep she called me to her bedside and told me to bear her greeting to her father; and to say to him that she hoped to be entirely recovered by tomorrow morning, and would come down to breakfast to hand you, my master, your coffee and chibouque."
"It is well," said the sheik, softly. "Let my child rest, let my Masa sleep; tread lightly, and be careful that you do not disturb her. I, too, feel that I need sleep. Let the whole house repose, and avoid making any noise before tomorrow morning. Then I will come to her room to see her."
The old man took off his shoes and noiselessly descended the stairway to his bed-chamber. It was now still in the house. All Praousta was silent. The people were resting from the pleasures of today, and the anxiety and care of yesterday.
In Cavalla, also, all was now quiet. The windows of the tschorbadji's palace were dark, and silence prevailed everywhere. The governor and his son Osman had retired to rest.
In the apartments occupied by Cousrouf Pacha darkness also prevails, and in the harem the blinds have been let down behind the latticed windows. One room alone is dimly lighted. On the table stands a silver lamp, which sheds a faint light through the spacious room, upon the gold-embroidered caftan of the pacba, and upon his proud, gloomy countenance. He rises from his seat, and walks hastily through the room. He then suddenly stands still. The pacha waits the arrival of the girl he has purchased with the blood-money given for her father.
All is quiet in the tschorbadji's palace, and also in the sheik's house. The windows are dark, the gate is locked. Now she will come: she has given her word; she has sworn by Allah; she has sworn by the spirit of her mother; she has sworn by all she holds sacred. She will come for the daughter of Alepp knows that one who breaks a treble oath is doomed to inevitable destruction, and walks a welcome prey to the evil spirits, to the ghins. Surely, she will not dare to do this! She will come—she must come.
Something rustles in the garden. The pacha steps hastily to the window, throws it open, and looks out eagerly into the darkness. It is well that the moon is at this moment concealed by clouds; he might otherwise now see her coming up the walk from the end of the avenue. No, nothing approaches. It is not the beautiful virgin, with the eyes of the gazelle, with the light, airy step. How beautiful she is, how fair, how lovely! Is she not yet coming? Does he not hear approaching footsteps? No, neither of the eunuchs is stealthily approaching to announce to his mighty master that the virgin has entered the harem.
He stands and waits, his face quivering with anger and impatience. He is angry with the girl for daring to come so late. But come she will, and come she must; for whoever breaks the treble oath is lost before Allah and the prophet. He remains at the window, looking out into the quiet garden and dark night for a long time. The wind extinguishes the lamp that stands on the table. Now all is profound darkness. It is dark in the garden, and in the room. It is dark, too, in Cousrouf Pacha's breast.
"Woe to her, if she dares to break her oath! In that case, I will go, with my servants, in the broad light of day, to-morrow, to the sheik's house, and demand my property—my slave. Mine is she, for I purchased her with money which she accepted. Then, however, she shall not be my queen, but my slave—my servant. Come she shall, by Allah! I must possess her, for I love her with all the passion of my heart."
He bends forward, and listens attentively again. He hardly dares to breathe, and his heart throbs loudly as he anxiously gazes out into the garden. He does not notice that the hours are rapidly passing; to him it seems an eternity of waiting.
Without, at the garden-gate, the two watchful eunuchs are still standing. They, like their master, have been looking out into the darkness, and listening throughout the entire night.
"No sign of her yet," said one of the eunuchs to the other. "Woe to the girl if she dares to deceive our mighty master! She thinks, perhaps, he will abandon his claim. There will be a nice piece of work to be done tomorrow. Cousrouf Pacha, our mighty master, is not in the habit of being trifled with. He will send us down after his property, and there will be no lack of bloody heads in Praousta, tomorrow; for we shall certainly have to regain possession of this slave. He says she accepted the purchase-money, and she therefore belongs to the master who bought her. Will she come, or shall we have to get possession of her by force tomorrow?"
"I hope she will come of her own word," said the other. "These fishermen are so brave, and have such hard fists."
"And I hope she will not," said the first, laughing. "We must take her by force. I should relish just such a row. If they have hard fists, we have sharp, glittering weapons. And then, as you know, the soldiers are coming to take up their quarters here tomorrow; the tschorbadji will send a part of them to help us when the company arrives."
The pacha is still standing at the window, looking out into the night. He raises his hands threateningly, and his eyes glitter like those of the panther, lying in wait for his prey.
"Woe to her if she breaks the triple oath! Cousrouf Pacha will know how to avenge himself. She must become mine—she is mine already. I have bought this slave, and, by Allah, what I have bought I will also possess!"
At last, day dawns. The sun sends out into the heavens its purple heralds, and it begins to grow lighter in the garden. The pacha now sees a figure coming up the walk. It is one of the eunuchs. He goes noiselessly into the house, to his master.
"Has she come?" asks he, with quivering lips.
"No, master, she has not come. The path that leads up from the village is still empty. Shall we wait longer, master?"
" No," he gruffly replies. "Lock the gate and retire to the harem. It must be a misunderstanding; she supposed I meant the following evening. Go!"
The eunuch prostrates himself to the earth, and takes his departure, gliding stealthily out into the garden. When he feels assured that no one can see or hear him, be stands still, and laughs mockingly: "It is a great pleasure to see a grand gentleman now and then humiliated like the rest of us. He was terribly annoyed; I could tell it by his voice. Serves him right! I am delighted to see that grand gentlemen have to put up with disagreeable things sometimes, too—truly delighted."
With a sorrowful expression of countenance he now walks on down to the garden-gate, where the other eunuch is waiting, and tells him his gracious master has made his reckoning without his host, and that his purchased slave's failure to come has grieved him deeply.
They looked at each other, and the dawning light showed that they nodded triumphantly, with a malicious, mocking grin. They understood each other well, without telling in words what they were laughing about and rejoicing over.
The morning had come in its full splendor, and the town and village had again awakened to life and activity. The sheik, too, had arisen; had already turned to the east, and finished his prayers, and repaired to his daughter's room. She had told him, through her servant, the evening before, that she would come to him early in the morning, to hand him his coffee and chibouque. But Masa, did not come, and the father's heart is filled with an inexplicable feeling of anxiety. He hastily ascends the stairway. Djumeila no longer watches before the door; she has gone, and is perhaps busied with her morning occupations.
The sheik opens the door of his daughter's sitting-room.
"Masa" he cries, "it is time to come down to breakfast." He supposes she is within, in her bedchamber, and has not heard him. "Masa," he cries again, "come out, my child, come to your father."
All is still as before. He calls for the third time; no one replies.
"Masa, where are you, my child?" The sheik anxiously walks through the sitting-room to the little chamber where his daughter's bed stands: no one there either. " Masa, my child, my darling, where are you?"
He stands still, listening for an answer; he breathes heavily when as yet no answer comes, but consoles himself with the thought that she has already gone down, and is awaiting him below, while he is seeking her in her rooms above.
Hastily, with the quick step of youth, the sheik descends the stairway again, but Masa was not there. The father's calls grow louder and more anxious.
"Masa, where are you? My beloved child, come to your father."
All remains still. No answer comes to the father's anxious calls.
The sheik now hurries to the kitchen, where breakfast is being prepared; Djumeila is standing there at the hearth, perfectly composed, attending to her cooking. She salutes her master with a deferential air.
"Where is Masa, my daughter? " cries the sheik.
"I do not know, master," she quietly replies; "I have not yet seen her today. Early in the morning, before sunrise, I went out to the meadow to milk the goats, that my child, my darling Masa, might have fresh sweet milk for her breakfast; since then I have been occupied with getting breakfast ready, and now you ask me 'Where is Masa?'"
"Spare your words and listen: Masa has vanished; Masa is not in her room."
Djumeila cries out loudly: "Where is Masa? where is my white dove?"
She rushes out and runs to her mistress's room; and, not finding her there, falls to weeping and wringing her hands in despair.
"Where is my beloved child? she is not with her father, she is not in her room." She then hastens to the other maid-servant. "Where is Masa? has no one seen my master's daughter? has no one seen my beloved child?"
The sheik stood in the hall and listened to Djumeila's cries and the answer of the other servant. He then walked rapidly all over the house again, called his daughter's name loudly once more, and stood still to listen for an answer.
"But it is foolish to be so anxious. Masa is fond of going out to the sea to listen to the murmuring and whispering of the waves. My child is pious, and may have gone to the mosque to pray and to thank Allah. That is it—she has gone to the mosque."
The sheik rushes out into the street. It is well that the mosque is not far from his dwelling. The doors are open; Masa is surely there, probably on her knees in one of the recesses, addressing herself to her prayers. No, she is not there; the recesses are empty, and she is not up in the choir with the women either.
"She is nowhere in the mosque; but she may be down on the beach."
The sheik no longer felt the weight of his years, he no longer felt exhausted by the fatigues of the preceding day.
He is young again, and his blood is coursing through his veins. With head erect and firm footstep he walks down to the beach.
"Masa, my child, come to me; hasten to your father's arms!" he cries; so loudly that his voice drowns the noise of the rushing waves. But no one replies. Masa is not there.
A wild cry of terror resounds from his lips, he sinks down upon the shore exhausted, and stares out at the waves as though he would ask, "Have you seen my child; has she gone to you; has she sought a resting-place in your cold bosom?" Yet why should she do so? Masa is happy and loves her father, why does she then torment him thus? Masa must have gone to some of her neighbors. She has many friends; every woman and girl that Masa knows loves her on account of her happy disposition, her innocence, and her loveliness. She will have returned home long since. Djumeila cannot know that her master has gone out, or she would have called him.
"Masa is surely at home!"
The old man returns to his dwelling with the quick step of a youth.
Djumeila is standing in the door-way, weeping and lamenting loudly
"Master, my child, my Masa, is gone! Allah be merciful, and take me from this earth, now that my Masa is no longer here!"
The sheik says not a word. He neither speaks nor weeps, but only beckons to the men who have been drawn to the spot by Djumeila's loud lamentations. When they have come near, he bends down close to them, as if to prevent even the wind from hearing him, and whispers in their ears: "My child is gone. Masa is not in the mosque. Masa is not on the beach, and is not with the neighbors!"
The men regarded him with dismay; and, supposing they must have misunderstood his words, ask each other, "What did the sheik say?"
He then shrieks, as if to make himself heard by the heavens and the earth, by the mountains and the sea: "My child is gone! Masa is not in her father's house, Masa is not at the mosque, and not on the beach! Where is my child?"
He then swoons away. Djumeila now rushes down the street, and her cries of anguish resound through all Praousta.
"Masa, the sheik's daughter, has disappeared! Where is Masa? Up, ye men and women, let us search for her. Let us search everywhere— among the rocks and cliffs, in the hills and in the valleys. Masa, the sheik's daughter, is gone!"
From every house, men, women, and children, rush out and gaze at each other in sorrow and dismay. "Masa, our sheik's daughter, has vanished! let us search for her." And now they begin the search. People are to be seen running in every direction—to the rocks above, down to the shore. The air everywhere resounds with their loud cries:
"Masa, daughter of the sheik, where are you?"
Suddenly the music of the trumpet, cymbal and fife, and the roll of the drum, breaks in upon and mingles with these tumultuous cries. With warlike music the company of soldiers from the nearest city marches into Praousta, in accordance with the command given by the governor to his captain.
The men have been on the march all night, and now enter the village in the broad light of day, with their band playing.
The military music rings out so loud and clear that the cries of lamentation are no longer heard. The crowd stand still and gaze at the gaudily-attired men who are marching into Cavalla. The tschorbadji is standing with his distinguished guest, Cousrouf Pacha, in the court-yard of the palace. He has requested him to be present at the reception of the soldiers. The pacha's countenance and bearing are unchanged—all haughtiness and dignity—only his cheeks are paler and his glance more threatening than usual. As he now turns toward the gate of the court-yard, Mohammed Ali, the boulouk bashi, appears for the first time, attired in his handsome, glittering uniform, advancing with his company toward the palace. On the governor's left stands his son Osman, who has risen from his couch, overcoming for the moment his weakness and ill-health in order to participate in the triumph of witnessing Mohammed Ali lead his company, as boulouk bashi, for the first time.
Yes, there comes Mohammed Ali, marching at the head of his company, to the sound of the martial music. He holds his sword uplifted in his right hand, and salutes the governor as he approaches by lowering its point to the ground with a deferential glance. He recognizes his friend, and Osman joyously returns the greeting. Mohammed seems to him entirely changed at this moment, his figure taller and more powerful. His countenance is manly and joyous, his eyes sparkle with a mysterious fire, a smile plays about his lips, and his whole bearing is firm and commanding.
It is not Osman alone who sees this change. Cousrouf Pacha has also observed it. His countenance darkens. He compresses his lips as if to repress a curse that is struggling for utterance. Yet he retains his air of indifference and grave countenance, though his cheeks grow a shade paler, and his brow somewhat darker.
The band plays a lively air. Mohammed conducts his soldiers before the eyes of the governor and his guest through a series of movements and evolutions which he has long since practiced in secret. As they now advance toward him, "Right about, halt!" resounds Mohammed's word of command; and his soldiers stand there like a wall.
"Well done," said Cousrouf Pacha, with a gracious inclination of the head. He then added in a loud voice, in order that Mohammed should hear him: "You see, governor, street boys can watch soldiers exercising to some purpose. Mohammed has not stared at them on the street in vain."
He turns and leaves the court-yard, repairs to his private apartments, and calls the two eunuchs who had held the fruitless watch at the gate the previous night.
"When the soldiers have left the court-yard, twelve of their number will be placed at your disposal. Let them load their muskets and unsheath their swords. Then go to Praousta, to the sheik's house, and demand the restoration of my slave. Demand it in my name. If her father refuses, search the house and every place connected with it. Break open the doors if he refuses to unlock them. If you do not find her there, search the other houses of the village. I must have her! If you do not find her to-day, then find her to-morrow or the next day. I will allow you a week's time in which to get possession of this runaway slave. If you do not return her, your heads shall fall! Remember that! Stop, one thing more: observe and watch the new boulouk bashi. Select some of my servants to follow him day and night, and to observe every thing he does, yet without letting him become aware of it, for he is a shrewd lad and a daring one, too. Now, you can go."
While the company is still standing drawn up in the court-yard, the tschorbadji beckons Mohammed Ali to his side, and enters the palace with him.
"Mohammed, it is evident that you will become a brave and efficient soldier. You have courage; now learn to control your anger, to govern yourself, and then you will know how to command others. See, this purse filled with gold-pieces is the captain's salary for three months, which I pay in advance, as the young boulouk bashi will have to incur some necessary expenses, and will therefore be glad to accept a payment in advance."
Mohammed thanked the governor, and received the first salary of his new dignity with perfect composure, though a sudden sparkling in his eyes indicated how much he rejoiced over it.
Osman, however, can read his friend's countenance well. As the governor turns away, Osman throws his arms around Mohammed's neck and whispers in his ear: "You stand there radiant like a hero, and all the bliss of the world and of love, too, is reflected in your countenance. O Mohammed, father says you should learn to control yourself, and I am satisfied you can. When my friend is harassed with sorrow and care his countenance bears no evidence of it, but happiness is not to be repressed and driven back to the heart in this way. It illumines the face of man like the sun. But I warn you, Mohammed, it is sometimes dangerous to let one's countenance shine so. It easily awakens suspicion in the breast of an enemy, and he meditates revenge. Beware! Beware!
Mohammed regards his friend as though he did not understand him.
"What do you mean, Osman?"
"Nothing, nothing at all, Mohammed, except that it is sometimes dangerous to allow one's happiness to be observed. Bear this in mind, my friend, and draw a veil over your radiant countenance."
CHAPTER IX
WHERE IS SHE?
In Praousta, all was again uproar and confusion. Eight eunuchs of the mighty pacha, Cousrouf, accompanied by a detachment of twelve soldiers, came down from Cavalla at noon. They went directly to the house of the sheik, and demanded to see him.
Djumeila, her eyes red with weeping, came to the door and told them her master was ill with grief and anxiety on account of the disappearance of his daughter.
The eunuchs pushed her aside, and penetrated, in spite of her cries and attempts to bar their passage, into the room where the sheik lay on his divan, with pallid face and staring gaze. His lamentations were heartrending. His quivering lips continually cried: "Where is my daughter, where is my child?"
They roughly forced him to his feet, and with savage threats demanded of the old man that he should deliver over to them their master's slave, his daughter Masa. Aroused from his torpor, he stares at them in amazement:
"Slave!" cried he. "And you call her Masa, and my daughter; and you say it is she? Who calls Masa, daughter of the sheik, his slave?"
"Our master does," said they—"our master, Cousrouf Pacha."
"How can the stranger dare to call the daughter of a free man, a free girl, his slave?"
"He dares do it because it is so," replied the eunuchs, shrugging their shoulders; "Masa sold herself to his excellency, our gracious master, to Cousrouf Pacha, when she procured your release by paying the second tax. You thought it was done out of kindness. No, Masa sold herself to our gracious master, Cousrouf Pacha, for one hundred gold sequins."
"That is false; you lie, you wretches! You lie in all you say! You lie!" cried the sheik. He now stood erect, regarding them threateningly. "Do not dare to speak to me thus again! Justice and law still live! No one can say that Masa, my daughter, is a slave; and may he who says it stand accursed before Allah and the prophets!"
The two eunuchs threw themselves upon him and held him fast. They then called two of the soldiers to their assistance, and bound him hand and foot. This done, they threw the old man contemptuously down upon his divan, and proceeded to ransack every part of the house in search of Masa, their master's runaway slave.
There lay the sheik, bound and helpless, groaning and lamenting: "I am mad! I hear that which is not. I hear voices say that which cannot be. No, I am mad! It is impossible that Masa, the daughter of the Sheik of Praousta, is the slave of the stranger Turk! Impossible that I can have heard such a thing! Death or even madness is approaching me. It creeps stealthily toward me and stares at me wildly. O Masa, my daughter, come save your father!"
About him all was still, but in the rooms above was an uproar. He heard the heavy footsteps in the upper apartments, into which, until now, no man save the father had ever entered. They are going from room to room, throwing the daughter's things about, ransacking her bedchamber, overthrowing furniture, and looking under carpets and mattresses, searching everywhere for the only daughter of the poor sheik. Then they go to the yard, to the stables. Masa is sought everywhere. But, Allah be praised, she cannot be found!
Without, before the door, stand the men and women of the village in a wide circle, gazing with dismay upon the eunuchs and the twelve soldiers, who now come out of the door, fall in line before the house, and demand of the people to tell them where Masa, the sheik's daughter, is.
"We know not. We have not seen her. How can we tell you what has become of Masa, the sheik's only daughter? She was as pure and good as ever girl was. No one looked at her. Who can tell where she is?"
"This is all pretence. Enough! we will go from house to house and search for Masa!"
With cries of rage the men attempt to oppose them, but the strange soldiers who have just arrived know no pity. They use their swords vigorously upon those who oppose them; the sight of blood terrifies the others, and the cries of the wounded silence them. The eunuchs' soldiers are allowed to enter each house, for the men of Praousta are too poor to be able to provide for more than one wife, and the poor man's wife has no separate, secluded apartments. She goes about in the house unveiled, and attends to her domestic occupations while her husband is out hunting or fishing. The search of the eunuchs and soldiers for the girl is therefore easily conducted; in each house there is but one wife and she is unveiled, as are also the children; the maidens, however, timidly shrink back and draw their veils more closely about them. The strange soldiers, however, do not go so far in their boldness as to raise the veils of the girls. And what would it avail them to do so? Neither they nor the eunuchs have ever seen the face of the sheik's daughter.
"It is useless to search farther," murmured the eunuchs, after having looked through the last house in the village, without finding Masa. "It is useless. It was useless to look for her elsewhere than in the sheik's house, and there we did not find her. The law forbids our doing more, and the tschorbadji, when he placed the soldiers at the disposal of our gracious master, and ordered them to accompany us, expressly commanded that we should not enrage the men of Praousta to desperation, or to any thing contrary to law."
"But remember, brother," said the other eunuch, "what our master said. We must bring him back this runaway slave or we lose our heads! And truly I would much rather keep my head on my shoulders than have it rolled to the ground."
"And so would I mine," said the first. "Therefore we will do all we can to get possession of this slave. A week is a long time, and I hardly think we shall have to wait so long."
"There is one other matter we must not lose sight of," murmured the first eunuch, as they ascended the stairway to Cavalla, followed by the soldiers. "We are to watch the crazy young captain, the boulouk bashi, and report all he does, to our master. It seems to me there may be some connection between the young boulouk bashi and the flight of the slave. Let us keep our eyes open, for our heads are at stake."
And with gloomy looks they presented themselves to their master on their return to the palace, to inform him that they had made thorough search for Masa in the sheik's house, and had not found her.
"And have you nothing to report concerning the young man, Mohammed
Ali?" asked the pasha.
The eunuchs informed him that they had not yet seen him, having as yet been wholly occupied with their search for the escaped slave; they would, however, have something to report to his excellency concerning the boulouk bashi on the following morning, or that very evening, perhaps.
"Who knows where Mohammed Ali now is?"
"He has not been seen at the palace since the reception of the soldiers in the court-yard."
"He must have gone to the hut his mother once occupied, as he often does when he wishes to be alone."
Of late he had been absent less than usual, having promised his friend Osman to live and stay with him. But now that he is captain of a company, it would perhaps not become him to remain at the palace as the tschorbadji's guest; for this reason he would probably go to his own hut to take up his abode there. Yes, he has passed the night in his own little house, and he has just quitted it and walked into the main street of the city, on his way to the store of the merchant Lion.
The merchant saw him coming, and hastened forward to congratulate him on the high honor conferred upon him, and to rejoice over the stately appearance of the young man, who pleased him well in his uniform, with his sword at his side.
"Truly a beautiful uniform, Mohammed Ali, and I have but one regret, and that is that your mother, Sitta Khadra, is not here to see you in your magnificence. How she would rejoice to see her son, her heart's darling, her Mohammed Ali, in all his glory!"
"I, too, wish my dear mother, Sitta Khadra, were here now," said Mohammed, with a sigh. "I have never before missed and needed her as much as now; and you are right, too, in thinking she would rejoice could she see me now. Yes, with all her heart, Mr. Lion. Ah life, were beautiful indeed, if Death were not always standing threateningly before us! He takes from us what we love most, and esteem highest; we must ever be on our guard against him, and keep our door barred that he may not steal into our midst and rob us of some fair life."
The merchant regards him with amazement. He has never heard the young boulouk bashi talk in this sentimental manner before, and it surprises him too, to see his countenance so changed—so radiant, serene, and cloudless, the chaste, thoughtful brows—so bright, the flash of his large brown eyes.
"Mohammed, my young friend, what bliss has Fortune bestowed on you? Tell your friend the secret; for, truly all that concerns and pleases you, gladdens my own heart. Tell me what has worked this change in you?"
"And you still ask? You see me in my uniform—in my glory, as you call it—it is this that has worked the change!"
The merchant shook his head. "No, it is not that, Mohammed Ali; that which sparkles in your eyes, and resounds from your lips in such joyous words, has nothing to do with your uniform or with your new dignity. It must be something entirely different; yet, if you do not wish to tell me, I will ask you no further. May Allah be with you in all things, and I will entreat the same of my God. I think and trust both will hear the prayer, for they are one and the same, after all. Now, my young friend, come into my store with me and let us chat with each other while we smoke the nargile, and refresh ourselves with a cup of coffee.—Ho! ye lads; Admeh, bring us coffee and the nargile, with some of the finest tobacco—some of that intended for the sultana at Stamboul, that is to be sent off to-morrow. There is great joy in my house to-day, for Mohammed Ali, the young boulouk bashi, is here."
He seats himself on a cushion covered with Persian carpet, and requests Mohammed to seat himself on another at his side. He does as requested, but it does not escape the merchant's observant eye that he conforms to this hospitable usage with impatience, and does not wish to remain long. He therefore does not urge him to remain when he, after a short time, rises and asks the merchant to go with him to the store.
He wishes to buy all sorts of things. He has received his first salary from the tschorbadji to-day, and desires to spend a portion of it for some of the pretty things of which there are such quantities and varieties in the merchant's store.
"It depends on what you wish, Mohammed. Is it carpets or cushions? or is it female attire or jewelry? Do you want mirrors, embroidered veils, or silken shawls? What is it you want?"
Somewhat confused and embarrassed, Mohammed looks at the merchant and hardly knows what to say.
"Then let me have a carpet; I wish to spread it out in my room. I have, until now, changed nothing in my hut, but have left it just as it was when Sitta Khadra lived in it. Now, however, it seems to me that it would not perhaps become the boulouk bashi to continue to live so wretchedly."
"Yes, the old story—with office comes pride," said the merchant, laughing. "The boulouk bashi, of course, needs carpets and all sorts of furniture. Here is an arm-chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl; does it suit? Here are Persian carpets; the colors are a little faded, and you can have them at a low price."
"No, nothing with faded colors. Let me have your most beautiful carpet! Let the ground be white and covered with flowers, with roses and violets; and I wish, too, they could have life and fragrance!"
"Oho, Mr. Boulouk Bashi!" cried the merchant, laughing, and raising his finger threateningly. "Now the secret is out; you are in, love! This carpet is not for yourself, but for some beautiful woman. Ah, yes, I have heard something about this affair before, and now I know it is true."
"What have you heard, sir? What is it that is said of me?" asked
Mohammed, gravely, his countenance suddenly darkening.
"Well, people ask why it is that Osman, the tschorbadji's son, is so very affectionate to you, and why the governor himself has always so distinguished you, and now made you boulouk bashi?"
"I had supposed it was because I deserved it," said Mohammed, hastily, "and I thought Osman showed his affection because he loved the friend who had grown up with him."
"He assuredly does love you, and the tschorbadji also rewards you on account of your merit, or he would not have done so at all, and would not have chosen you for what he desires of you."
"And what does he desire of me? For what has he chosen me?"
"It is said he wishes you to become the husband of the beautiful
Marina, his niece."
"I do not even know this lady," said Mohammed, shrugging his shoulders.
"You do not know her, but she perhaps knows you," said the merchant, smiling. "She is very beautiful, it is said. She is married, as you are aware, to my rival, the merchant across the street, I have observed that this fair lady opens her shutters, to peep out at Mohammed, whenever he passes by. The neighbors say this is why her husband has become jealous, and threatens to drive her away, if she continues to look after the young men. You now perceive, Mohammed, that Marina, the tschorbadji's niece, has an eye on you, and perhaps even two, and that her husband knows it. The peace of the house has thus been broken on your account, and the people say the tschorbadji will now take his niece home again, and that you are to marry her afterward. It is a good match, Mohammed, a very good match. I shall be disappointed if you do not marry this lady. She is rich, very rich; and are you aware that, with your epaulets, your uniform, and your handsome sword, you must have money. Moreover, my son, he who intends to rise in the world must have a great deal of money! It is not through his own merit that a man is advanced. If he is poor, he remains in the dust. You know I have offered to assist you, but you refused me because you did not wish to accept benefits, and you were right. My advice you can, however, accept; and my advice is, marry the beautiful, the rich Marina, when her husband divorces her, and sufficient time has elapsed. She is very young, younger than you; my young friend Mohammed numbers eighteen years, and the tschorbadji's young niece only fifteen. Take my advice, and preserve your heart until it is time to let its wings grow, and then stretch out your hand after the fair Marina."
"Thanks for your advice," cried Mohammed, laughing.
Never before had the merchant heard him laugh so heartily; never before had he seen him make such a display of his white teeth. Until to-day, Mohammed had been a remarkably grave youth. What can it be that makes him look so joyous and laugh so heartily all of a sudden?
"Let us, however, hear no more about this fair Marina. I do not know her, and have never seen her. That is to say, I may have seen her once or twice, with Osman, when we happened to pass the veiled woman and her husband on the street, and I believe she did stand still and look after us. I thought, at the time, it was on Osman's account, and probably it was. How could the rich lady have turned to look at the poor lad Mohammed Ali? And now to other matters. Show me goods, show me carpets, and I want the best and the handsomest. The carpet is to lie where my mother's mat once lay, and on which she died; and this spot cannot be too handsomely adorned. Therefore, give me a costly carpet."
"Let it be just as you say," said the merchant, smiling. He then called his servants, and ordered them to bring down his handsomest carpets, and spread them out before the young captain, in order that he might select one.
"You want nothing else, only a carpet?"
Mohammed turned his head a little to one side, and avoided meeting the merchant's keen gaze. " O yes, a number of other things. I want some table-ware, cups, glasses, and the like. I also want," he continued talking rapidly, and with forced indifference, "I also want a warm woollen cloak, such as women wear. I promised a cloak to an old friend of my mother. Give me a warm woollen cloak."
The merchant made no reply. He only smiled significantly, and brought out the goods; dark, plain goods, such as became an old woman, and a friend of poor Sitta Khadra.
But Mohammed promptly rejected it. That would not be nice enough for a present. He wanted better, finer material, and in lighter colors.
The merchant expressed no astonishment, but silently brought out finer goods. Mohammed selected the very handsomest cloak for the old friend of his deceased mother. Finally, he timidly asked for finger- rings and bracelets.
"Also for the old friend of your good mother Khadra?" inquired the merchant, with an air of mock gravity.
Mohammed did not reply; he had probably not heard him. He quietly selected, from the box handed him, a beautiful ring set with a precious stone, then four beautiful cups and saucers of the finest Chinese porcelain, and a variety of other articles necessary for housekeeping. He concluded by demanding a pair of pillows and coverlids.
Mr. Lion asks no more questions; he now knows that Mohammed intends to marry, and is furnishing his house. He is satisfied, and lets his young friend have all he has selected at half the price he would have charged other purchasers.
Mohammed joyfully paid the price, and gazed at the beautiful articles he had purchased, with sparkling eyes.
"If you wish it, Mohammed," said the merchant, "I will send a servant with you."
"Thank you; I am going to my house, and he can accompany me with the things."
Mohammed took leave of the merchant, and left the store, the servant following heavily laden.
After a few moments Mohammed, however, turned, and came back to the merchant, who was standing on the threshold looking after him.
"One thing more, dear sir. You are my friend, and, as I well know, mean well by me," said he, in low, hasty tones.
"Certainly, Mohammed Ali, and gladly would I prove to you my friendship."
"You can do so; tell no one of my purchases—no one," replied
Mohammed with a look of entreaty.
The merchant promised to be silent on the subject.
"Thank you, kind friend. I am happy; yet all depends on Allah's blessing."
He pressed the merchant's hand once more, and walked out, hastily beckoning to the servant, who had remained standing in the street, to follow him. He then walked on to the little hut of his mother Khadra.
He pushes open the door, and the servant follows him into the room. The bundle is laid on the floor, on the place where his mother died, and Mohammed generously and proudly, like a man of rank, hands the servant a gratuity, and bids him return. He walks off well pleased, and Mohammed is now left alone in his mother's hut.
An old woman is sitting just opposite the hut. She was there when he entered, smoking a short pipe, her arms crossed on her knees. She looked about carelessly, only now and then casting a glance at the house of the young boulouk bashi, who had locked himself in.
Mohammed had thought nothing of her presence. What cared he for the old woman there on the stone, smoking her pipe?
When, after a short time, he steps out of his hut, she stretches out her hand and begs for alms.
Hardly looking at her, he draws a copper coin from his pocket, gives it to her and walks on.
The old woman keeps her seat, and mutters a few words to herself.
Mohammed walks on rapidly.
A boy is skipping along on the other side of the street, whistling a merry air.
What does this concern Mohammed? He walks on down the street on the one side, the boy follows him on the other.
Mohammed heeds the boy as little as he had heeded the old woman. What does he care for the boy, who seems wholly absorbed in his musical efforts?
He entered the store of the merchant, who dealt in all kinds of provisions; in olives, meats, chocolate, sugar, and eggs. Mohammed purchases some of all these articles, and it amuses and astonishes the merchant to see the young officer become, of a sudden, his own housewife. But he does not venture to say so, or ask any questions; Mohammed's grave looks and bearing forbid any attempt at raillery.
A servant is ordered to put the things in a basket, and take them to his house.
As he walks out of the store again, he hears the boy's shrill whistling in the distance. He pays no attention to this, and walks on quietly. The whistling suddenly ceases, and the boy, who had posted himself in the vicinity, so that Mohammed could not see him on coming out, now runs after him, stepping close to the basket in passing; he casts a quick, searching glance at the articles it contained, as if taking note in expectation of being called on to give an account of its contents.
The old woman is still sitting opposite Mohammed's house, reposing there, apparently, after smoking her pipe. Her head is thrown back, resting against the door, and her eyes are closed; she seems to be sleeping.
CHAPTER X
THE DEPARTURE.
A new and great event occupied the attention of the inhabitants of Cavalla and Praousta on the following morning. A large and magnificent ship had entered the harbor during the night, a vessel of the Turkish navy: its dark-red flag, with the grand-sultan's crown on its dark field, showed it to be such. The sailors were attired in glittering uniforms, and on the deck stood a tent embroidered with gold, beneath it a luxurious couch of swelling cushions. The ship was still handsomer than the one on which Cousrouf Pacha had arrived three years before. But then he had come to Cavalla as an exile, and had not been sent away with the same ceremony with which they were now prepared to welcome him back. For it is already known, and the intelligence has rapidly spread, that this ship has come from Stamboul to convey Cousrouf Pacha back to his home; and, therefore, was it so festively decorated with flags, and carpets, and garlands of flowers.
His friend the grand-admiral, Hussein Pacha, has been working in his interest, and the sunlight of his master's favor is once more shed upon the head of the exile.
With great dignity Cousrouf received the captain, who bowed profoundly before him, while those who accompanied him threw themselves upon the ground, touching the earth with their foreheads. He received the imperial missive with perfect composure, opened it, and inclined his head with a gracious expression of countenance, as though he were dispensing and not receiving a favor.
"'Tis well, captain—I am ready! Our most gracious emperor and master has written to me, and as he WISHES"—(he emphasized this word; the sultan only expresses a wish, he does not command Cousrouf Pacha)—"as he wishes me to return to Stamboul with all convenient speed, keep every thing in readiness to sail."
"Will your excellency sail to-day?" asked the captain.
Cousrouf Pacha slowly shook his head. "I do not know. It may be to- day, and yet it may not be possible to depart for a week. It depends on circumstances which I cannot entirely control; but keep everything in readiness, as I may, should matters take a favorable turn, be enabled to depart at any hour."
Walking backward, his head profoundly inclined, the captain quits the saloon; his suite creep out on their knees.
Cousrouf stands haughtily erect, gazing proudly after them. When they had gone out, he utters a cry, a command, and a side-door opens, and two of his eunuchs, his confidants, enter the room.
"Make your report!" he exclaims, sternly, as he raises his hand threateningly, and then lets it fall again to his side. "Tell me, dogs; where is the runaway slave?"
They threw themselves on their knees before him, and crossed their arms on their breasts.
"O lord and master, we do not know."
"You do not know, you dogs? Then you are determined to be chastised?" cries the pacha. "You have no trace of her whatever?"
"No, O master; not as yet."
"Yet you are aware that I have only given you seven days' time? If you do not restore her to me within that time, your heads fall! You have not forgotten that?"
"No, master, we have not forgotten it."
"You are wise," said the pacha, quietly. "What about Mohammed Ali; have you caused his movements to be closely watched?"
"Yes, master, we have done so."
"Then speak," commanded the pacha, falling back on his cushions with closed eyes, slowly smoking his chibouque, and opening his lips from time to time to allow a whiff of smoke to curl slowly upward. "Your report, dogs!"
With ready tongues the eunuchs reported all the old woman and boy had observed.
"Continue," commanded the pacha, as they both ceased speaking, "continue."
"Master, we have nothing further to report."
"You are a couple of blockheads," observed their gracious master.
"Goods, table-ware, provisions—you know nothing else."
"No, lord and master, we know of nothing else."
"But the one thing, the most important, tell me: where did the boulouk bashi pass the night?"
"Master, we believe he passed it in his house."
"You only believe it? This night you must know. But take notice of this: Be careful not to injure himself or his property. His person and his property shall not be touched this I have sworn. Yet know this: If you do not tell me tomorrow morning where the boulouk bashi has passed the night, you shall both receive the bastinado, and after such a fashion that you will find walking anything but pleasant, and yet I will have you driven through the city in search of the information you are so slow in getting."
With a gesture of the hand he motioned to them to leave the room, and they withdrew as they had entered, on their knees. After closing the door behind them, they jumped hastily to their feet.
"The bastinado! Did you hear?" asked the one, "We must find out at every cost where the boulouk bashi passes the night. But how can we? We are neither to injure his property, nor to touch him or what belongs to him. We are not allowed to open his door or break into his house; what are we to do?"
"I have thought of something," said the other. "Come, I will tell you. Let us get everything ready."
Dark clouds covered the heavens, shutting out the light of the moon and stars, and night sank down over the earth earlier than usual.
The people had retired to rest, and the houses were dark. Suddenly a bright light illumined the surrounding darkness, and cries for help resounded through the air. The house that stood opposite Mohammed's is enveloped in flames, and its occupants rush out yelling and screaming for help.
The old woman and the boy ran over the way and knocked at the window-shutters of the young boulouk bashi.
"Come out, come out, Mohammed Ali! Save yourself! Your house has commenced to burn!"
All was still in the house, as though Mohammed knew the voice lied, that there was no danger, and that he could sleep on quietly.
They knock at the shutters, they shake the door, but all remains silent within; the light of the fire does not awake him, the cries do not reach his ear. He is not there; he is assuredly not passing the night in his house. It has certainly been set on fire in vain; the poor people have sacrificed their property, and the spies have failed to discover where Mohammed Ali has passed the night.
On the following morning howls and lamentations are heard in the lower apartments of the harem; from time to time the sound of blows can be distinguished, and then again howls and cries of pain.
No one dares inquire into the cause of these outcries, for in his own apartments Cousrouf Pacha is master, and even the governor would not venture to call him to account for his treatment of his own servants.
Osman lay on his cushions in the little portion of his garden that had alone been reserved for the use of himself and father, since Cousrouf Pacha had been occupying the remainder with his harem. He heard the howls and cries of pain that came from the harem, and bowed his head in sadness.
"These poor wretches must suffer for it!" he murmured to himself.
But suddenly his countenance brightens, as he sees his friend approaching in his glittering uniform, and he extends both hands to greet him.
"I am delighted to see you, Mohammed, after this long absence!"
"As I am you!" said the latter, his countenance radiant with smiles. "Forgive me for not having come to see you all day yesterday. I was so busy with my soldiers, and still more so with myself, Osman! I have had much to learn to keep the soldiers from observing that I was a mere beginner in the art of war."
"And that is all you have to say in excuse for your conduct?" said
Osman, looking searchingly into his friend's countenance.
"That is all," replied he, hastily, endeavoring to look his friend full in the face. But be could not, and looked aside.
Osman notices this, and nods his head with a smile full of meaning.
"Pray seat yourself at my side Mohammed? Let me throw my arm around your neck, and then listen to me, my friend. Offer no resistance, for I must confess that your friend Osman has been employing spies for some time past, and be knows more than Mohammed supposes, and much more than Consrouf Pacha dreams of."
"What do you know?" asked Mohammed, trembling slightly. "I pray you tell me, Osman!"
"Listen, Mohammed," said Osman, bending toward him, in a low voice. "Lamentations have just resounded from the interior of the pacha's harem. Two of his eunuchs have received the bastinado, and do you know why? Because they could not inform him where Mohammed Ali passed the last and the preceding night."
"For that reason?" asked Mohammed. "I was in my house. If Cousrouf
Pacha had himself asked me, I should have told him I was there!"
Osman gently shook his head. "No, Mohammed, you were not in your house; and Cousrouf Pacha well knows you were not. Do you know why? He lighted a lamp to look for you."
"A lamp?" asked Mohammed.
"Yes, a lamp! And do you know what this lamp consisted of? Of the house that stood opposite yours. They set it on fire, and knocked at your doors and window shutters to awaken you.—And, if you had been there, you would have heard the outcries of the people, and would assuredly have gone to their assistance. No, Mohammed, you were not in your house last night!"
"I was above, on the summit of the rock," said Mohammed, hastily, and in a somewhat embarrassed manner.
"No," said Osman, gently. "You forget, Mohammed, that you came down in the evening with the four pigeons you had shot, and you also forget that you went on down to Praousta as it grew dark."
"No," said Mohammed, hastily, "no, that I did not do!"
"Yes, you did, my friend," said Osman, quietly. "A cripple stood by the way-side, whom you brushed against in passing by; he cursed you, and followed you for a while, continually cursing, but you walked on without heeding him."
Mohammed looked at him in dismay. "How do you know all this?"
"I told you before that I had spies who watched both you and the pacha. I employ them because I love and wish to protect my Mohammed!" He placed his lips close to his ear, and whispered: "To protect you and the white dove that has sought safety in your bosom. Be still! Do not deny me this favor! Consider that your happiness is also that of your friend, and that he watches over you when you are imprudent in the rashness of your overflowing bliss. Listen, Mohammed! You went down to the sea-shore, to the secret place among the cliffs, known only to you and me! Do you not remember the time when, filled with anxiety on your account, we were seeking you in that vicinity, and Mr. Lion saw you creep out of a crevice in the rocks? You afterward pointed out to me the place to which it led, and—"
"For Heaven's sake, mention to no one that there is a cave there, and that you know the way to it!" said Mohammed, anxiously.
"Did I not tell you that I was watching over you?" said his friend, gently. "No one shall hear of it, only be careful yourself that no one sees you enter it. You are surrounded by spies. Cousrouf Pacha is called away, and the ship lies in the harbor awaiting him. And do you know what he told the captain who asked him if he would sail to- day? He replied 'It is uncertain, it depends on circumstances not entirely within my control.' Do you know what that means? He will not sail until he has discovered and punished Masa, the runaway slave, as he calls her. Do you know the nature of the punishment administered to runaway female slaves, and to women who have been guilty of infidelity to their masters?"
Mohammed shuddered. "By Allah, Osman, you do not mean to say that the pacha would carry out here, with us, where the cruel laws of the harem are unknown, the punishment administered to runaway female slaves among the Turks?"
Osman nodded in assent. "You must know, Mohammed, that the commander, now fully restored to the favor of the imperial majesty, in Stamboul, has the right, wherever he may be, to punish his slaves, that is, his property, as he pleases. To save her father, Masa made herself his property. We, my father and I, were witnesses, when she received the money, and when he said to her: 'Here is the money you asked me for! I give it gladly, but you know what I give it for, and you have agreed to the bargain!'"
"O unhappy woman!" groaned Mohammed.
"Be still, my Mohammed!" said Osman, in warning tones. "Be on your guard! You are beset with spies, for these eunuchs are battling for their lives. If they have not restored Masa alive to their master in a week, their heads fall; he has sworn this, and they know he will keep his word. They are cunning, and have sharp eyes. Mohammed, if you can avoid it, do not go down into the grotto to-day. Everything pends on deceiving the spies and putting them on a false track. Therefore, pass the night in your own house."
"Impossible! quite impossible!" said Mohammed, his eyes kindling at the thought of his love. "It cannot be, even if it should cost my heart's blood! I cannot remain in my house."
"Then remain with me. Do so for her sake. I tell you your white dove is in danger! I am better informed than the rest, for I have in my service a spy, a good angel, whose eyes rest neither by day nor night, and whose ears hear everything that concerns Mohammed Ali."
"And who is this angel? " asked Mohammed.
"You know her well," said Osman. "It is Marina, my dear cousin. She often goes into the pacha's harem, and has formed the acquaintance of two of the young women, who tell her a great many things in their thoughtlessness. Nothing escapes Marina's ear, for I will confess, my friend, that she loves the young boulouk bashi, and is ready to separate herself from her jealous husband on his account. But I candidly told her that he did not love her, and that she must bury her wishes. She wept long, Mohammed, but when she had dried her eyes, she said she loved him so dearly that she would do all that lay in her power to secure his happiness, and that she would watch over him as his friend."
"She is a noble woman," said Mohammed. "Bear my greeting to her, but
I pray you tell her nothing more concerning me."
"You may rest assured," said Osman. "We do not confide our dearest secrets to women, for we are not always certain of their silence. She knows nothing, except that the pacha is your enemy, and that the latter has told these women that he is seeking an opportunity to destroy you. You have often offended him with your hasty words and threatening manner, and Cousrouf Pacha is not the man to pardon any offence. Marina is well aware of this, and therefore observes and listens to everything."
"Does Cousrouf Pacha know that there is any connection between me and Masa?"
"Yes, he is a close observer, and, on the morning of the flight, he read in your countenance, as I also did, that there was no happier man in Cavalla than Mohammed Ali. But yesterday his countenance was gloomy, to-day it is radiant. Cousrouf Pacha did not fail to divine the cause of this sudden transformation. Therefore be on your guard, my friend, and wait until it is dark and all are asleep before you go to your cave."
"I will do so; I will be careful, Osman—I swear it. Accept my warmest thanks for your care and watchfulness. Allah will some day enable me to prove my gratitude, and will also permit you to be a witness of your friend's happiness. And now, farewell, and to- morrow, if it be Allah's will, I shall return to you in joyousness and safety."
"May Allah grant it!" said Osman. "Allah be with you, and the prophet illumine your heart! One thing more, my Mohammed: Lovers, it is said, are forgetful; the warning voice easily escapes, their hearing, and with open eyes they dream blissful dreams which make them oblivious of reality. It may therefore be well to arouse them sometimes, and I will try to awaken my dear dreamer. If you hear the report of a pistol in the night, consider that it is Osman warning you to be on your guard. But if two other shots soon after follow the first, this signal shall announce that danger threatens, and that I am calling you. In that case, come to me at once, no matter what time of night it may be. I shall await you. Now you may go, my friend, and Allah be with you!"