Yes, Osman Bey is a great hero, and they all regard him with astonishment, the Mamelukes with joyous smiles, the Turks with serious countenances. While Osman Bey Bardissi lives, peace with the Turks is not to be thought of; while life lasts, he will aspire to greater eminence and power.
"How can peace be made with this powerful, haughty chieftain?" This is also murmured by the capitan pacha, who stands on the deck of the admiral's ship, and he orders that the Turkish ships weigh anchor, and sail out of the harbor of Alexandria. Yes, Sitta Nefysseh was right: the enemy lies in wait there. Three large Turkish ships have been lying at anchor there ever since the Mameluke beys have been holding fetes with the Turks at Aboukir. But to-day a fourth ship has arrived from Stamboul—a ship manned with three hundred well- equipped soldiers; and her captain's name is Osman, and his lieutenant is called Mohammed Ali.
CHAPTER VI
THE MASSACRE.
The capitan pacha had himself come over in his admiral's ship to greet the newly arrived soldiers, and to review the fleet of stately vessels-of-war. He graciously caused Osman, the bim bashi, and Mohammed Ali, the boulouk bashi, to be presented to him.
"You have employed the time well during your passage," said he, slightly inclining his proud head. "You have converted rude peasants into disciplined soldiers."
"It is not my work," replied Osman, who stood attired in his full uniform before the capitan pacha. "No, excellency, I suffered from the unaccustomed sea-voyage, and could hardly leave my cabin. Mohammed Ali deserves all the credit; he drilled the soldiers on the deck incessantly, day and night."
"Well done, well done!" said the pacha. "His services will be recognized and rewarded."
"I beg your excellency to see that they are," said Osman, quickly. "Truly my boulouk bashi deserves to be rewarded. I should like to take the liberty of suggesting how he can be rewarded."
With a haughty and astonished expression, the capitan pacha regarded the young man that stood blushing before him, his eyes sparkling with unaccustomed lustre. He considered it somewhat presumptuous to advise him, the capitan pacha. Yet this is not a time to be ungracious. The newly-arrived soldiers are to be used this very day, and should be kindly and cordially treated.
"Then tell me, bim bashi, how can I reward your lieutenant? I will gladly do so, if it is in my power."
"You have the power, if you have the will. I beg you to give the boulouk bashi my position."
"Give him your position! And what is to become of you?"
"Of me?" said Osman, smiling sadly. "Only what I have always been—a poor, weak invalid. Cousrouf Pacha, our distinguished guest, wished to show me a kindness, and, with this intention, appointed me him bashi. Yet I at once feared that my poor body would not be able to bear the fatigues of the service. I am weary and exhausted, and my weak arm falls to my side when I attempt to raise the sword. I beg that your excellency will graciously permit me to return home with the ship to Cavalla, after the soldiers shall have been disembarked. I also entreat of your excellency that my boulouk bashi be made captain in my stead."
The capitan pacha turned and looked at young Mohammed Ali. Perhaps his tall, well-knit frame, and his earnest countenance, with its sparkling eyes, and his determined bearing, impressed him favorably.
"Bim bashi, we will see what can be done. It will depend chiefly on the events of this day, and I will observe your boulouk bashi closely. If he proves capable of doing well what I shall require of him, I give you my word he shall be made bim bashi, and you shall then be permitted to return to your home. I will, however, first observe your boulouk bashi, and see of what stuff he is made.—I have orders for you, boulouk bashi. But first tell me your name."
"I am called Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga," replied Mohammed, inclining his head with an expression of such profound reverence that the proud capitan pacha was well pleased, and smiled graciously.
"Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga, step aside with me; I have something to say to you."
The pacha walked to the end of the deck, motioning to the two slaves who accompanied him to withdraw; he then turned to Mohammed, who stood before him, his head bowed down in humility; his ear all attention to the words spoken by the pacha, in low, impressive tones.
Important words, of great and dangerous import, must they have been, that fell slowly one after the other, like drops of blood from the pacha's lips, for, from time to time, a deathly pallor overspread Mohammed Ali's cheeks, and a slight shudder coursed through his whole being. The pacha looked at him keenly, and said in a low voice, "One can see that you are a novice."
"Yes, a novice," replied Mohammed, "but I shall soon become accustomed to blood, and cease to recoil from dead bodies."
"Then you will achieve success in Egypt," said the pacha. "The air here is freighted with the scent of corpses, and the sea and the Nile have often been reddened with blood. We will see, boulouk bashi, if the waves at our feet are not once more made red with blood, and not with the rays of the setting sun. And now, boulouk bashi, it will be shown whether you have understood what I have said, and whether you are the man to execute my orders."
"I am your servant, excellency," replied Mohammed, quietly. "The soldier has no will of his own. I am an instrument in your hands, and I will faithfully carry out your orders."
"Then you will awaken to-morrow as bim bashi. And I believe that will only be the first step toward the fame that awaits you. I like you, boulouk bashi, and I wish you a brilliant career. And when you shall have reached the summit of renown, then remember, boulouk bashi, that it was I who gave you the key to the gates of honor. Remember the day and the hour, for I have read a great future in your countenance."
He then inclined his head to Mohammed Ali, and returned to where
Osman was standing, leaning against a mast, in utter exhaustion.
The pacha also spoke a few kindly words to him, and afterward entered his boat to return to the shore of Aboukir. Mohammed then walked up to his friend, took him in his arms like a child, and carried him down into his cabin. He laid him on the divan, knelt down beside him, and whispered in his ear: "Osman, no matter what you may see or hear, do not leave your cabin to-day. Stay here, my friend, and do not be anxious; if you hear a tumultuous noise, and outcries, do not be alarmed, even if death-groans should resound from the deck. The world is a hard thing, and he whose hands are not of iron should hold himself aloof from its rude contact. You, my Osman, are too good to play an active role in this miserable earthly existence; and I am, therefore, almost glad that you are to return to Cavalla; I repeat it, you are too good for this world."
"If it depended on goodness, Mohammed," said Osman, smiling, "you should not serve the world either, for you have a better heart than any of us."
Mohammed shook his head. "You are mistaken, you look at me with your kindly eyes, and give me credit for your noble thoughts. I am not good, no, do not believe that of me! Now that we are about to separate, I do not wish you to be deceived in your Mohammed Ali; I am only good when with you, and under the influence of your gentle nature; I fear I have the stuff in me of which hard and cruel men are made. But let us drop this subject. Duty calls me away. And let me repeat this, Osman, whatever outcries you may hear, whatever fearful noises may resound through your cabin, remain quietly here; remain here in peace, my Osman. The pack will soon be let loose, and your Mohammed, whom you call good, has been chosen by Fate to howl with it, and make common cause with the bloodhounds. Do not speak, Osman. Through blood must I march onward to my goal! There is no other road. Farewell, and remain here."
He ascended hastily to the deck, called the soldiers together, spoke to them for a long time in low, impressive tones, and issued his orders. They listened attentively to his words, and then hastily began to carry out his orders. They load their guns, try the locks, and then repair to the port-holes on the lower deck, and hold themselves in readiness to fire at the word of command.
There is to be a merry chase to-day. But after what game? Who has seen it? No one knows as yet.
The boulouk bashi will give the signal, and when he says "Fire!" they will fire, no matter at what or at whom. The command will be given, and they will obey. It will be their first deed of arms, their baptism of fire.
The hour has not yet come. Mohammed is standing on the deck above, leaning against the mast, his arms crossed on his breast, looking over toward the shores of Aboukir.
There all is gayety; the decorated boats dance merrily and rapidly over the waves; the Mameluke beys are going by sea to Alexandria, to take part in the festival of the newly-arrived admiral. There will be warlike games and races; a grand banquet is prepared for the guests; there will be music, dancing, and singing; altogether it will be a most brilliant festival. The Mameluke beys esteem themselves happy in having been invited by the capitan pacha to take part in this glorious festival. To-morrow peace will be concluded between them and the grand-sultan. To-morrow their lands will be given them and the boundaries determined, but let to-day be a fete day, a day of rejoicing.
Mourad's widow, Sitta Nefysseh, is standing at the entrance of her tent, her countenance closely veiled, looking at the Mamelukes who are going down to the shore to their boats. She sees that the Turks stand aside, and that only the Mamelukes enter the boats.
"You are not going with us?" ask the astonished beys of their Turkish friends. They shake their heads, and only step farther back from the shore.
"No, ye proud beys, this honor is for you alone, you alone go with the capitan, you alone are invited to attend the grand festival of the English admiral, Lord Hutchinson. We remain here to await longingly your return, in order that you may tell us of the brilliant festival. We remain here!"
"They remain," repeated Sitta Nefysseh ; "they remain because death goes with the others in their boats. O Osman Bardissi! why would you not hearken to my words? I shall remain also, to await our dead."
In the large, richly-decorated boat, stood the capitan pacha, and beside him the chief Mameluke beys; among them are Osman Bardissi, the hero, the favorite of all the women, and Osman Tamboubji, now one of the most distinguished of all the beys. These two, especially, have been invited by the capitan to sail with him in his boat, and while with him what have they to fear?
Sitta Nefysseh murmurs to herself:
"He takes them into his boat in order to deceive them. This is surely to conceal some trickery, and when the boat lands at Alexandria, the capitan pacha will not be with the Mameluke beys."
The Mamelukes have entered the boats joyously, and joyously they sail out over the waves, toward the shores of Alexandria.
The day is beautiful, and the sunshine glitters upon the water; laughter and jesting resound from every boat; but now, when Osman Bardissi begins to sing a warlike song, all are silent and listen attentively. He sings words with which he has often led his hosts out to battle. And the rest, at the end of each verse of the glorious old song, shout exultingly from boat to boat, and unite in the joyous chorus:
"The bey lifts high his sword, and down it sweeps upon his proud foe's head! Down swoops the bey, and raises high in air the severed head, and, when he homeward rides, the head hangs dangling at his saddle's side!"
"A beautiful, a glorious song!" exclaims the capitan, as it is ended, and its last accords resound over the waters.
But what is this? A strong boat is approaching, the admiral's boat of some strange vessel that has probably only just arrived in the harbor. Signals are given in the boat, and a flag is waved. The flag proclaims what the capitan expected. The young boulouk bashi, who stands in the admiral's boat, holds up a folded paper. It is an official letter, the large red seals that hang from it by silken strings show it to be such. The capitan pacha calls the attention of the Mameluke beys to the boat now rapidly approaching.
"Alas, the service leaves one no time, not even a short hour, for recreation and merrymaking. See, here comes another messenger! What can he want? The capitan pacha is, after all, a mere servant. See! The messenger holds the paper higher and beckons to me. No, he shall not break in upon the joy of our festival with his presence! This beautiful boat shall not be desecrated with business matters! Come closer, and I will get into your boat and read the letter."
"But after you have read it, capitan Pacha," says Osman Bardissi, in a frank, kindly voice, "after you have read it and have disposed of this annoying business matter, you will come back to our boat, will you not? we will wait for you."
"Yes, wait for me! But it may, after all, be necessary for me to return, to attend to some important affairs with my officials, instead of enjoying myself with you. Therefore you had best go on, my friends, and, if Allah permits me to join you in your festivities to-day, I will hoist a signal, and you can stop for me and take me in again." The capitan then steps into the strange boat. The two proud bays see him take the paper from the hands of the stranger boulouk bashi, break the seals, and read it.
With his eagle glance, Osman Bey Bardissi observes that the capitan pacha's countenance becomes gradually clouded as he reads.
"He will not have time to return to us," says Tamboudji Bey, who stands at his side. "It seems that grave intelligence has reached him. Yes, it is so," the boat being rapidly rowed toward the admiral's ship. "But look, Osman Bey! he cries, in alarm, as he raises his arm and points to the departing boat, "look, there are swords in the boat!"
"Yes, I see! Swords, Turkish swords! What are they in there for?"
"That is what I should like to know," replies the other, nervously grasping the pistol in his girdle. "See, a ship is rapidly approaching, and the capitan is steering toward it! But that is not his ship! Where does it come from? What is it doing here?"
The countenance of the Mameluke chieftains is now threatening. They observe the ship, rapidly approaching, with an eagle's glance. They see the capitan ascend its side; they see the portholes filled with glittering muskets.
"Treachery! This is treachery!" cries Bardissi.
And he turns toward the other boats, and cries out to them: "Grasp your swords and prepare to defend yourselves. We are betrayed. The capitan pacha has deceived us, and "—a ball whistling close by his ear at this moment—" to your swords and pistols, my friends; the enemy and treachery are upon us!"
The Turks are rowing rapidly down upon them in their boats, while volleys of musketry are being discharged at them from the ship that is approaching nearer and nearer, following the Turkish troops that man the boats.
"Onward," cries Bardissi to his followers. "Onward! We may escape.
We may, if we make every effort, succeed in reaching Alexandria."
With the speed of the wind the boats sweep onward, and now turn into the bay of Aboukir.
The Mamelukes all cry, "Treachery! treachery!" and every one sees the three Turkish ships bearing down upon them from the front, while the boats and the strange vessel are coming upon them from the rear. From that direction comes the order, "Fire! fire!"
Death-shrieks resound everywhere among the boats. But the proud Mamelukes are at least resolved to sell their lives dearly. They reply from their boats to the shots. Now the enemy's boats are among them, and a murderous but unequal conflict rages. The three men-of- war send whole volleys into the boats of the Mamelukes.
Of what use to fire their pistols, how can they reload them? Of what avail to draw their swords against the overwhelming foe?
They can only die, and die they must. The flower of the hero-beys was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under foot—is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery.
Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones:
"O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!"
Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water.
A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball. He has thrown away his pistol, and now grasps the hilt of his dagger, when he is suddenly stricken down by a blow upon the head, dealt from behind. The vessels have completely surrounded the Mamelukes; the Turks on the ships jump down into the boats to assist the others, and the work of slaughter is soon ended. All is now still. Those who are not dead lie severely wounded in the boats. The Turks return to their vessels, and the boulouk bashi orders the wounded to be brought on board.
The order is executed; the dead are left in the boats, and the wounded are carried on board.
They now lift up the wounded man who lies beside the dead bey, in the large boat in which they had first seen the capitan standing with the two beys.
"Bring him up the ladder," cries the boulouk bashi.
He is unconscious, and is bleeding from three wounds. But even in this condition he still grasps his dagger so firmly that it cannot be torn from his band, and as the soldiers attempt it he awakens and opens his eyes.
"You are treacherous scoundrels, all of you! Osman Bey Bardissi declares you to be such."
The boulouk bashi starts as he hears this name, steps forward and gazes long and earnestly at the bey, whom he had once seen as a boy.
Must he meet him now in this condition? His gaze is fixed on him, and he tries to recognize in his features the boy of former days.
"You are scoundrels!" cries, for the second time, the proud chieftain. "Ye slaves of bloody tyranny—ye murderous, treacherous villains—shame and disgrace upon you all! Before Allah's throne will I accuse you, ye treacherous, slavish Turks."
With cries of rage they throw themselves upon him to strangle him.
But an arm burls them back with a giant's strength.
"Do you wish to murder those who can no longer defend themselves?
Back! The life of the wounded, of the vanquished enemy, is sacred."
Bardissi, who has again fallen back exhausted, looks up in astonishment at the stranger who protected him, and was even angry with his own soldiers on his account. How comes it that this traitor's heart is touched?
Mohammed kneels down beside him.
"What is your name?" asks he, in low tones.
"Osman Bey Bardissi," replied the wounded man, and now, exhausted as he was from loss of blood, a proud smile flittered over his handsome countenance. "Not knowing me, you must be a stranger in Egypt," added he.
"Yes, I am a stranger in Egypt, and this accounts for my not knowing you. Yet, it seems to me that we once met; were you not once on the shores of the bay of Sta. Marmora?"
"Yes, I was once there!"
"Do you recollect meeting a boy there? You spoke to him of your proud future."
"I remember," murmured the bey.
"And you spoke proud, contemptuous words to this boy. Do you still remember his name?"
"I do; he was called Mohammed Ali, and I told him my name, Osman
Bey. Were you the boy?"
"I was, and there we first met, and now we meet again. I regret,
Osman Bey, that we meet as enemies."
Osman Bey Bardissi shook his head slowly. "We were enemies, Mohammed Ali; yet, if Allah permits me to live, you shall soon learn that you have found a friend. I well know that I owe you my life, and I shall be grateful while life lasts."
He ceased speaking, and again lost consciousness.
Mohammed beckoned to one of the soldiers to approach. "Carry this man to my cabin, and let no one dare to touch him with a rude hand. He is my prisoner."
CHAPTER VII
RESTITUTION.
"Our Mamelukes have been treacherously slaughtered, murdered! They have been lured out upon the water near Aboukir in their boats, and then fired upon by murderous huntsmen as though they were a flock of pigeons. If you are an honest and brave man, general, proved by mercifully espousing the cause of those who were lured to destruction in your name—yes, in your name, General Hutchinson— yes, it devolves upon you, and your honor requires that you compel them, to yield up the wounded and the dead."
Thus lamented Sitta Nefysseh as she knelt before General Hutchinson, her arms extended in wild entreaty. She had come over to Alexandria from Aboukir, and she it was who first brought the intelligence of the fearful event that had occurred, who first announced to the English general that the beys had fallen victims to infamous treachery.
The general, incensed at this shameful abuse of confidence, immediately dispatched two of his adjutants to the capitan pacha, to demand an explanation and call him to account for the outrage.
The pacha was, however, not to be found. "They did not know where he had gone;" was the reply; "but Lord Hutchinson's message should be conveyed to him as soon as possible, and he would certainly send some one to the general who would give satisfactory explanations of the affair."
Soon afterward a boat came to shore, and the boulouk bashi, Mohammed Ali, demanded, in the name of the capitan pacha, to be conducted to the presence of the English general. With an air of profound deference and humility, he delivered the message of the capitan pacha, and expressed his own regret of the fearful event that had occurred.
"It was a misunderstanding. I myself was to blame for it, and bow in humility before your just anger! The capitan pacha had commanded me to arrest the rebellious Mameluke beys, and bring them on board the admiral's ship, in order that they might be conveyed to Stamboul. His orders were, that no resistance should be tolerated, and that severe measures should be adopted at the first manifestation of violence on their part. Sir, such manifestations were not wanting, and I had no sooner come near the boats which contained the rebellious Mameluke beys, when they grasped their arms, and threatened us with wild gestures. We fought for life, general, not knowing that our lives were, in your estimation, as nothing to those mighty, renowned Mameluke beys. We fought for our lives, as they did theirs; and, if the Mamelukes were vanquished in this conflict, it was, it seems to me, Allah's will. Yet, I beg pardon for what has happened, and repeat, in the name of the capitan pacha, it was a misunderstanding—oh, sir, a deplorable misunderstanding!"
The general shrugged his shoulders, and glanced angrily at the quiet, defiant countenance of the young officer.
"A very welcome misunderstanding it seems to have been to all of you. A misunderstanding you call it; and did you not know that I, Lord Hutchinson, had pledged my word to the Mameluke beys that their lives should not be endangered? Did you not know that they had come tome to inquire whether they could safely trust the Turks, and that I, in my blindness, had said to them: 'You can safely trust them; they are men of honor, and they have solemnly pledged their word for your security?' You have broken the holy law of your prophet, of hospitality, and have betrayed those to whom you had extended the hand of friendship."
"Not so, general, by Allah! Of such a crime I could not be guilty," replied Mohammed, quietly. "I broke no bread, and exchanged no vows of friendship, with the Mamelukes. I have only just arrived from a distant land, and know nothing of your enmities or friendships. My orders were, to arrest the Mamelukes, and bring them fettered to the admiral's ship. If I misunderstood the order, I was wrong, but no such crime burdens my soul, and I cannot be justly accused of broken faith or treachery. I have nothing more to say. I submit humbly to your displeasure, and can only repeat that I deplore the misunderstanding."
"Your quiet, defiant bearing is, it seems to me, inconsistent with your words. I deplore this treachery, and deplore it doubly, because my assurances lulled the beys into a sense of security. But I tell you I will have justice, satisfaction for this outrage; I will call you all to account. Go to your master and say to him, in my name, that his treatment of the Mameluke beys has been treacherous."
"Pardon me," replied the boulouk bashi, composedly, "but perhaps
your excellency does not know what commands respecting these
Mameluke beys were given the capitan pacha by his master, by the
Sublime Porte."
"I read in your countenance what the sultan's intentions and commands were, and see it in what has occurred. It is his purpose to destroy the Mamelukes, whom he has entrapped with flattering words and loving promises. But it shall not be done while I am here. I demand justice and satisfaction for myself. Let the world pronounce you Turks liars and traitors, but the same shall not be said of me and my people! I have pledged my word and the honor of England for the safety of the Mamelukes; and, though I cannot recall the dead to life, I will at least care for the living. Go to your master and tell him this: `Lord Hutchinson demands that all the captured Mameluke beys be immediately brought to the shore and placed under his protection. Lord Hutchinson insists that they be at once set at liberty, and that they shall not be regarded as prisoners of the grand-sultan."'
"Excellency, it will be very difficult to comply with your demands," replied Mohammed. "An alternative has just been offered the prisoners. I was present, and can vouch for it—they were to choose between death by the sword and submission. Not one of the beys, however, chose to die rather than submit. They swore on the holy Koran than they would remain the prisoners of the Turks, and make no effort to have themselves demanded back by the English, and, as they have nevertheless done so, and sent to you, they have broken their holy oath."
"They have not done so," replied Lord Hutchinson. "I heard of this infamous treachery by other means; others informed me of what has occurred. I am, therefore, entirely justified in making my demand; moreover, the oath obtained from them by the threat of death is valueless. I insist that the Mamelukes who are still alive be delivered over to me, and the dead also, in order that I may count them and assure myself that none have been kept back as prisoners. Go, and tell your master this, and say to him that a refusal on his part will be equivalent to a declaration of war by England. My ships lie at anchor in the harbor of Alexandria awaiting his decision, and they are ready for war. Tell this to the capitan pacha."
With a respectful inclination of the head Mohammed withdrew, and, returning to his boat, was rapidly conveyed on board the admiral's ship, where the capitan pacha awaited him.
The latter listened attentively to the report of the boulouk bashi, and inclined his head graciously when told that he had taken the sole responsibility upon himself, and had attributed the much-to-be- regretted-occurrence to a misunderstanding.
"You did well," said the capitan pacha. "Why should we not appear to regret this deed of bloodshed, now that it is accomplished? Why not deplore that which is irrevocable? Death holds fast to its victims. The living, we must, however, deliver over to the stormy Englishman, as I have no desire to take upon myself the responsibility of a war with England. Moreover, I shall be well pleased to leave this place. My work is done. Let the newly appointed viceroy see what he can do with these Mamelukes. Egypt is dripping with blood, and the atmosphere of this land is freighted with the scent of corpses. I can no longer endure it, and am about to return to beautiful, sunny Stamboul. Let my last deed be to comply with the demand of this haughty Englishman. Have the wounded put into the boats, Bim Bashi Mohammed Ali; you understand me—I call you bim bashi. You may inform your friend, Bim Bashi Osman, that his request is granted; you will take his place, and it rests with you to make it the stepping-stone to future greatness. I believe such will be the case, for I can read your soul in your eyes; and this one thing, it seems to me, you still have to learn: to keep your eyes from betraying your thoughts, Remember that this is essential to success. And now, you may have the prisoners conveyed to the shore. Lord Hutchinson shall count the living, and the dead, too; not one of his favorites shall be withheld! When this is done, bim bashi, return to the ship on which you came. Are the soldiers disembarked?"
"Yes, excellency, and already, I believe, on the march to Cairo."
"It is well," said the pacha; "let them figure at the grand entrance of the viceroy into Cairo. I will intrust you with a message to his highness, and will recommend you to him as a useful man. Cousrouf Pacha has need of such men."
Mohammed started at the mention of this name, but quickly recovered his composure, and bowed his head in gratitude.
"You make me happy, indeed! You will send me to Cousrouf Pacha. I thank you, for it has long been my most ardent wish to be in his service."
"It has long been your wish!" said the capitan pacha, in surprise.
"I thought you had only been here a short time?"
"True, excellency, yet I have heard much of the great Cousrouf Pacha in my distant home, and to serve him was my most ardent wish. I swear, capitan pacha, that I will serve him as my heart prompts."
"But then it depends on what your heart prompts," said the pacha, casting a long, searching glance at the pale countenance of the young bim bashi. "The tone in which you say this has a strange ring, and sounds almost like a threat! Yet, deal with his highness, Cousrouf Pacha, as you think proper, and serve him as your heart prompts. I will recommend you to him. We are good friends, the viceroy and I, very good friends, and I have no doubt it will sadden him to see me escape out of this confusion, which will require bold and fearless management at his hands. I go to Stamboul, you go to Cousrouf Pacha to serve him—to serve him as your heart prompts, you say?"
"Yes, excellency, as my heart prompts, in humility and devotion."
"Now you may go; I will furnish you with a written testimonial, and warmly recommend you to the viceroy, as I have promised."
He dismissed the young bim bashi with a gracious inclination of the head, and the latter returned to his ship to see that the prisoners were conveyed to the shore. He walked beside Osman Bey Bardissi as he was being carried down on a stretcher to a boat, by four soldiers, speaking kind, consoling words to the wounded man, and expressing the hope that Allah, in his mercy, would soon restore him to health, as his injuries were light.
Bardissi gazed at him fixedly with his dark, glittering eyes. "And is it then really true, Mohammed Ali—are we to be conveyed to the shore, and set at liberty? Are we not to die?"
"It is true. Lord Hutchinson demands that you be set at liberty. The capitan has consented, and you are now to be conveyed to the shore."
"Is it not a new trap set for us? Will the bottom of our boats not open, and let us sink down into the sea?"
"You are to be delivered up to the Englishman," replied Mohammed
Ali, quietly.
"I do not trust the word of the capitan pacha," said Bardissi, shaking his head. "Give me your word, Mohammed Ali, that we shall be safely conveyed to the shore—I will believe you. Tell me, truly, shall we not be cast into the sea, or assassinated before we reach the land?"
"No, Osman Bey Bardissi, no! You will land safely, and if it be Allah's will, a day will come when Mohammed Ali will extend his hand to you and call you his friend. Who knows? Allah's sun shines everywhere. Men call themselves friends to-day, who but yesterday were enemies; and the friends of to-day may to-morrow be enemies. Allah's will alone decides our destiny!"
"To-day you call yourself my enemy," said Bardissi, "but I already call you my friend! You have preserved my life, and, by Allah, Bardissi swears that you are henceforth his friend! If you should ever need a friend, call Bardissi, the Mameluke bey, and he will hear your call wherever he may be, if not above with Allah. And now, farewell!"
"Farewell, and may Allah restore you to health!" said Mohammed, in a low voice. "I am thinking of the hour when we two foolish boys first met, and tried to outdo each other in vain and frivolous words. Men speak little, but think much, and prepare for the future. Allah's blessing attend you!"
Mohammed returned to the deck of the ship, and looked down at the boats that were now steering with their bleeding, groaning burden toward the shore. Lord Hutchinson, who had ordered everything to be held in readiness for immediate conflict should his demand not be complied with, stood on the shore with his staff, awaiting the arrival of the boats. His eyes filled with tears as he saw them approach. "Forgive me, poor, bleeding victims of treachery, for having allowed myself to be deceived by flatteries and promises!"
The wounded bowed their heads, and looked at him almost compassionately.
"It is well that there are men who can still be deceived, who still have faith in the word and honor of men. We will trust them no more, and will have vengeance for this deed of treachery, bloody vengeance on him who is about to enter our holy city as king. Our curse accompany him to the holy mosque, and, wherever he may go, may it rest beside him on his couch in the citadel! Cairo, the holy, the beloved, is ours. We will fight him who calls himself viceroy, and contend with him for every inch of land. And you, brave Englishmen, will help us in our struggle, will you not?"
Lord Hutchinson shook his head.
"No, Osman Bey Bardissi! God be praised, we are about to leave here! my king and my duty call me away, and I am pleased that it is so. Continue your conflict with the Turks, and I confess I wish you success in your struggle. I am glad that I shall no longer be compelled to breathe this air, polluted with treachery! Your rescue is my last act here. Now, let us go and see whether any of you are missing. They shall bring you all here; I swear it by my king; I will have you all, and not one shall be withheld!"
Three of the number who had gone out in the boats in the morning were missing.
"These three must be brought here!"
This was the import of Lord Hutchinson's message to the capitan pacha; and the latter, all complacency and obedience, now that the bloody work was done, sent out divers to look for the dead in the sea. They were recovered, and humbly deposited at the feet of the Englishman.
While Lord Hutchinson and Sitta Nefysseh returned with the wounded to Alexandria, where the wives of the disabled and dead Mamelukes were weeping and lamenting, Mohammed Ali returned to the ship. The soldiers were nearly all disembarked; silence reigned in the ship, and its blood-stained deck alone bore evidence of the murderous deed that had been done.
Mohammed caused these stains to be hastily removed; he well knew that these traces of bloody treachery would be viewed by the delicate and sensitive Osman with horror.
He then went down into the cabin to his friend. Osman received him with outstretched arms, gazing at him sadly but tenderly.
"I have done as you requested, Mohammed, and have not left my cabin, though alarmed by the cries and tumult above me. I knew my Mohammed had bloody work to do. I was sorry for you, and yet I knew that you could not prevent it."
"No, I could not prevent it," said Mohammed, gloomily; "and yet, Osman, my soul shudders when I think of it. I have received to-day the baptism of my new existence, and it is no longer the Mohammed you loved who stands before you. I have to-day been compelled to lend a helping hand to treachery, but it was Allah's will, and the soldier must obey his superior's commands. I obeyed, Osman, nothing more. The curse of this evil deed does not fall on me. Though my hand is blood-stained, it is yet innocent."
"You have undergone a fearful baptism," murmured Osman, shuddering. "I read it in your pale countenance, my Mohammed—a fearful baptism. You must, however, march on boldly in your career. Do you now understand why Osman was so anxious to accept the position of captain of the troops? Do you now understand why I took this step, and do you now comprehend my love and friendship, Mohammed?"
"I understand it all, and I bless you, my Osman, creator of my new existence! I thank you, Osman; and when after long years the fame of your Mohammed's deeds shall reach your ear, when my mother's dream is fulfilled, and I am crowned and seated on a throne that stands on the summit of a palace, then remember, my Osman, that you are the creator of my fortune, and that Mohammed Ali blesses his friend with every breath. I swear eternal love and friendship for you, my Osman, and I swear, too, that the thought of you shall make me mild and humane toward my enemies."
"Even when you stand before your enemy, Cousrouf Pacha, Mohammed?" asked Osman.
"Why do you name him at such a time? " murmured Mohammed, with a slight shudder. "Do you know that I am to be sent to him? The capitan pacha perhaps observed, by my manner and voice, that I also do not love Cousrouf Pacha, whom he hates; he warmly recommends me to him, and I am to go to him to serve him."
"And will you enter his service?" asked Osman.
"I will do so," replied Mohammed; "and I have sworn that I will serve the Viceroy of Egypt as my heart prompts."
Both were still for a while, and seemed disinclined to break the silence.
"You will serve him as your heart prompts," said Osman, in a low voice. "In this case, do you think Cousrouf Pacha will long remain great and mighty in Cairo?"
Mohammed smiled faintly.
"Osman, I am almost disposed to be afraid of you. Your question tells me that you read my most secret thoughts. Let your question remain unanswered for the present. I will communicate with you from time to time, Osman, and send you loving messages, you may rest assured. I have one request to make still: when you return home to Cavalla, greet the wife that you gave me, and also greet and kiss my children. And then, Osman, if you are able, go down to the cliffs, take up a stone from the shore and throw it into the sea, and when the circles form around the place where it went down, and the waves curl upon the shore, say this: 'Mohammed greets you, Masa, and he begins the work of holy vengeance! Rest quietly in your grave, Masa; Mohammed Ali is keeping watch for you and for himself; the work of vengeance is begun!'"
CHAPTER VIII
THE VICEROY OF EGYPT.
To-day all Cairo is in a state of joyous excitement. The days of want and care have passed—who now remembers the terrors of yesterday? Who still remembers the days when the Frank ruled here, when the terrible general made the people bow their heads beneath the yoke? Yes, on this same square of the Esbekieh, have they lain in the dust before the mighty general who stood before them a giant, though small in stature. Who still thinks of the misery and disgrace of those days? Forgotten! all forgotten! Two years are a long period for the remembrance of a people; and two years have passed since Bonaparte departed, and more than a year has elapsed since the last of the Franks withdrew from Egypt.
"All hail the new viceroy sent us by our master in Stamboul! he will make us happy, and relieve us of the unending struggles of the Mameluke beys! Long live Cousrouf Pacha, our new viceroy!"
These cries rend the air as the surging crowds make their way toward Boulak, from which place Cousrouf Pacha is to make his grand entrance into the holy city. All the authorities have assembled there to participate in the celebration; there are the ulemas in their long caftans, and the sheiks in their green robes, the crescent embroidered on their turbans in token of their dignity; there are also the generals of the Turkish and English regiments, the latter only remaining in Cairo to take part in the festivities of the viceroy's entrance. And now the new ruler approaches in his splendor. The Nile, broad as it is at Boulak, is nevertheless covered with boats, in which the viceroy is approaching with his numerous and glittering suite. He stands on the deck of a large boat, surrounded by a group of distinguished Turks and Englishmen; all the consuls of the friendly powers are with him, and this seems to the shouting populace a guarantee of returning peace.
The boat is brought alongside the bridge of boats that connects Boulak with the opposite shore. As Cousrouf Pacha now steps out upon the bridge covered with costly carpets and strewed with flowers, thousands of voices from both shores hail the viceroy as their deliverer with shouts of joy. The pacha bows a kindly greeting in every direction, and then casts a glance toward the horizon, where, in the purple distance, the pyramids stand out, sharply defined against the sky. He bows his head still more profoundly, and remembers that he is now the successor of the great Pharaohs who erected these monuments to themselves.
"I, too, will erect such a monument. After thousands of years the world shall still speak of me—of the Viceroy, perhaps of the King, of Egypt."
Such are his thoughts as be walks across the bridge to the carriage of state in which he is to make his entrance. The ulemas receive him. "Long live the ambassador of the prophet! Long live the blessed of Allah!" resound from the lips of the thousands assembled upon the shore and in the streets of the city.
How radiant is Cousrouf Pacha's countenance! How little the viceroy of to-day resembles the exiled pacha of the past, during his weary sojourn in Cavalla, with nothing to enliven him but his little struggle with the boy Mohammed and his harem! A land is now at his feet. Onward the procession moves through the crowds that throng the streets; they have now turned into the Muskj Street—the beautiful street, the pride of the inhabitants, with its old-fashioned, lofty houses. Onward the procession moves toward the citadel. There, in the beautiful palace, will the viceroy be enthroned. "Long live our new ruler! Long live our viceroy!" These are the cries that greet him throughout his entire march to the citadel; and these cries still rend the air long after Cousrouf Pacha has entered the palace, at whose gates he had been received by the grand dignitaries of the land. He greeted them all in brief but kindly terms, and then retired to the private apartments of his palace.
He now reclines on his cushions, thinking of his past and of his future. A glad smile lights up his countenance. The way was long and weary, but its obstacles have now been overcome. Once he was a slave, but he had sworn to struggle for a great aim. He has kept his oath. Here he is the first, the ruler. Who knows but he may yet completely cast off the burden of dependence, and become absolutely free? Every thing rests on the acquisition of good and faithful friends and servants, and he will acquire such. It is so easy for the great to acquire friends! Is not the capitan pacha his friend? Does he not owe all that he is to him? He has elevated him from the dust, and made him commander of the army with which he has come over from Turkey. Yes, he is a true and devoted friend, and he will easily find others. His power will become great—great as all Egypt. He rises, calls one of the Nubian slaves, and bids him show him the way to the walls of the citadel.
The slave opens a secret door that leads into a narrow passage and upon the outer wall of the citadel. Motioning to the slave to remain in the passage, Cousrouf steps out, and then stands still, astonished at the splendid spectacle that lies before him. Spread out at his feet lies the holy Mazr, with all its minarets and towers. Farther on lies a whole city of cupolas—these are the graves of the caliphs; they rear their heads proudly aloft in the sunlight, congratulating the new ruler on his magnificence; but also reminding him of the perishable nature of all earthly glory—the saying of a certain wise man "Thou first and mightiest of mortals, be thankful that thou art alive!"
"I thank thee, Allah, that I am alive, and I bow down in humility before thee!" murmurs Cousrouf, reverently. He then again looks out with delight upon the landscape that lies before him. There, in a wide curve, winds the river Nile like a silver ribbon, innumerable decorated boats and barks dancing upon its surface. Here all is life and animation, beyond the Nile reigns a solemn stillness; for a certain distance from the river bank stand stately palm-trees, and then suddenly, sharply defined beside the green fields, begins the yellow sand. That is the desert—that is the mysterious theatre of so many adventures throughout the ages, the receptacle of so much hidden wealth, the great burying-ground of the unknown dead. There, on the horizon, where the yellow sand and the blue sky meet, stand the pyramids of Gheezeh, and farther on, in the purple distance, the pyramids of Sakkara.
"A world lies at my feet, and I am the ruler of this world. I have attained my aim," says he to himself. "All is fulfilled; but one thing is left to wish for. O Allah, grant me still many years in which to enjoy this magnificence!"
Once more he glances around at the beautiful landscape before him, and then, conducted by the slave, returns to his private apartments. He lies on his cushions, listening to the shouts of the delighted multitude without.
Suddenly the curtain that covers the doorway is noiselessly withdrawn, and a slave announces that a messenger from the capitan pacha, accompanied by a bim bashi, stands in the antechamber, awaiting his pleasure.
"What is the messenger's name?" asks Cousrouf, wearily.
"Hassan Aga, master, bim bashi of the capitan pacha."
"And his favorite," murmurs Cousrouf to himself. "Let Hassan Aga enter."
At the slave's call the messenger enters, bows his head to the ground, and hands his master's letter to the viceroy.
"Do you know its contents?" asks Cousrouf, slowly opening the letter.
"Yes, highness. It is a farewell letter from my master, who leaves to-morrow for Stamboul."
For an instant a smile glides over Cousrouf's countenance; but then it assumes a sad expression. "The capitan pacha is about to depart— to leave me."
"He wishes to leave to you alone the honor of having laid subjugated Egypt at the feet of his master the grand-sultan, in Stamboul. He has done what lay in his power. The most dangerous Mamelukes have fallen beneath his blows. Shall I narrate to your highness how it was done?"
Cousrouf signifies his assent. Hassan hastily relates the bloody story of the assassination of the Mamelukes in the roadstead of Aboukir, Cousrouf listening with the greatest attention. "The capitan pacha has erected a bloody but a great monument to himself," says be, when Hassan has finished his narrative. "Yet it is questionable whether I shall be benefited by it. It would, perhaps, have been wiser to reconcile ourselves with the Mamelukes, than to excite them to new anger."
"Highness, reconciliation with the Mamelukes is impossible," replies Hassan. "The capitan pacha, who has ever been faithful in your service, wishes to give you a final proof of his friendship."
"And in what does this proof consist?" asks Cousrouf.
"He sends your highness a hero who has the determination to do all things, and the capacity to do all he determines. He gave evidence of his courage and address at Aboukir. The capitan pacha can leave you no better token of his friendship than this young hero, who is entirely devoted to you. May I present this last best gift of the capitan pacha; may I present to your highness the young bim bashi?"
The pacha nods his assent, and Hassan noiselessly withdraws, returning in a few moments, accompanied by the young bim bashi, so warmly recommended to the viceroy. Cousrouf Pacha wearily raises his head and casts a glance of indifference at the tall figure of the bim bashi; but as his glance falls on the young man's countenance, he starts. It seems, to him that he has seen those eagle eyes before. He hastily casts his eyes down, and then looks up again at the bim bashi, who holds his head proudly erect, awaiting the viceroy's address.
"What is your name, bim bashi? Where do you come from?" asks
Cousrouf, after along pause.
The bim bashi advances a step, and, looking steadily in the viceroy's countenance, bows profoundly. "My name is Mohammed Ali, and I come from Cavalla."
"Cavalla!" repeats Cousrouf, with a start. Now he remembers that he has sometimes seen these eyes before him in sleepless nights. They have impressed themselves deeply into his heart with their fearful glances. The haughty pacha had never reproached himself for killing the slave Masa—that was his right; he acted according to law when he punished the runaway slave by death—but it was cruel to compel the man who loved her to witness her death. Cousrouf had felt this at the time, and that was why these eyes had penetrated his heart like daggers' points. But that was long ago, and these eyes are now very different. They no longer glitter with curses; they now sparkle with animation, energy, and courage, only.
"You come from Cavalla," says he, after a pause, "and your name is Mohammed Ali? It seems to me that once, when I sojourned for a time at Cavalla, I also knew a Mohammed Ali, a daring young lad, the friend of Osman, with whose father I resided; I had appointed Osman bim bashi of the soldiers he was to bring over to me, and I also permitted him to select young Mohammed Ali as his boulouk bashi. Yet Osman has not come, nor do you appear to be the Mohammed Ali I then knew."
"Pardon me, highness," said Mohammed Ali, with a slight smile, for he well understood the secret meaning of this question, "pardon me, highness, I am this Mohammed, and yet another. The first was a bold, insolent lad, who dared to defy your authority and refused to bow his head in humility before your highness. He who now stands before you, however, is your devoted servant, who brings you greetings from his friend Osman. He is deeply touched by your graciousness, and, hoping for a continuance of your favor, he undertook to do your bidding. But alas! the will of man is often frustrated by bodily weakness. It was thus with my friend Osman. The first day of the conflict at Aboukir prostrated him so completely that he was compelled to return home to Cavalla, and the capitan graciously granted his request and placed me in his position. Yet I lay my new dignity at your feet; all that I am I wish to receive at your hands."
Cousrouf had regarded him fixedly while he spoke, and had listened attentively to his words and voice. He was satisfied with him. "Yes, Mohammed, you are right," said Cousrouf; "there is nothing of the fierce boy of those days in you now. Your voice is flattering, and your words well chosen and devoted, and Cousrouf will attach you to himself through gratitude. He will cherish you, and make of you a devoted servant. You say, you lay your dignity of bim bashi at my feet?"
"Yes, highness, I lay all at your feet; and all that I am I wish to receive at your hands."
"Well, then, if your destiny rests with me, I must promote the bim bashi to a higher dignity. From this moment the bim bashi is the sarechsme, the general of the Albanian troops. You are their countryman, and you shall be their leader."
"O highness, how great is your generosity!" exclaims Mohammed, his countenance beaming with joy.
Cousrouf had observed him closely, and the young man's delight showed him that he had acquired in Mohammed a true and devoted friend, and he will have great need of such friends in the impending struggles to uphold his power, which the course pursued by his friend the capitan pacha will have made inevitable. The bloody massacre at Aboukir, which the capitan claims as a friendly service rendered him, has, he well knows, made him many passionate and irreconcilable enemies. Yes, he needs true friends, and Mohammed shall be chained to his service through gratitude.
Mohammed expresses his gratitude and devotion in such eloquent terms that Cousrouf's heart is touched, and he feels impelled to address some kindly words to the new sarechsme. He dismisses Hassan Aga with friendly greetings to the capitan pacha, and motioned to the sarechsme to remain. Cousrouf walks thoughtfully to and fro in the room for a time, his gold-embroidered caftan trailing on the carpet behind him, and the crescent on his turban glittering in the sunlight. Mohammed raises his eyes for an instant, and sees the figure sweep past him like a brilliant meteor. Quickly he casts down his eyes again, that his soul's inmost thoughts may not be betrayed, and least of all to the viceroy. No one but Allah hears the oath that now resounds in his soul, as he stands in an humble attitude at the door, waiting to be addressed. "I have sworn vengeance, and I will keep my oath. Vengeance for Masa; vengeance for the torments I have endured. My head is now bowed in humility before you, yet I swear to repay you for the evil you have done me; not by killing you, but by torturing your soul. We are alone, without witnesses; it were an easy thing to slay you. The door stands open, and I could flee before the deed could be known. But death is no revenge for years of torture. You shall live, and live in agony and pain. Thus will Mohammed Ali be avenged!"
In his heart he swears this oath. His lips do not quiver; no feature of his countenance betrays what is passing within. Cousrouf stands still before him, and lays his hand on Mohammed's shoulder. "Look at me, Mohammed!"
The latter looks up, and the eyes of both are firmly fixed on each other. The young general divines Cousrouf's thoughts, but the pacha does not divine Mohammed's.
"You said that the Mohammed of the days when I resided in Cavalla is dead. Is it true?"
"Yes, highness, it is true. He is dead, or he has at least transformed himself into a better man. Yet, highness, he suffered much before he could accomplish this transformation."
"That I can readily believe," says Cousrouf, in low tones. "I have often regretted having caused you this misery. Yet you must have become satisfied yourself, young man, that I could not do otherwise. I acted in accordance with the law."
"You only acted in accordance with the law," replies Mohammed, in a low voice. "The law ordains that the faithless runaway be punished, and also he with whom she has fled. The captured slave was killed, and it seems to me it was an act of clemency to permit him who loved her to witness her execution without being able to help her. Yes, an act of great clemency. You might have punished me more severely."
Again Cousrouf gazes into his countenance searchingly. The tone of his voice is mild and submissive, yet his words bear stings.
"I should think, Mohammed, that death itself were preferable to the punishment of being compelled to witness the execution of the beloved without being able to help her. In the years that have since passed, I have often thought that it was cruel, and wished I had not dealt so harshly with you. Does it suffice that I confess this to you? Will you say this to the other—the dead and transformed—and will it console him?"
"O master, what magnanimity!" exclaims Mohammed.
"You are generous enough to confess that you feel regret at having done justice to that slave?"
"I was passionate, and you had excited my wrath," replies the pacha, gently inclining his head.
"Not I, highness," says Mohammed, smiling. "Not I, the sarechsme, but that wild, insolent boy, Mohammed, of whom no trace now remains. He is buried in the sea, at the place where the waves closed over Masa. Yet, if that Mohammed still lived and heard what you say, he would bow down in the dust before the great man who condescends to confess that he regrets what he has done. However, should I see that Mohammed, I will tell him of this never-to-be-forgotten magnanimity."
"I will give you a souvenir of this hour," says Cousrouf, gently. "I am so happy myself to-day that I desire to see the happy only about me. You are now a general. I should like to see you worthily fitted out for your new dignity. Have you a steed suitable to your rank?"
"I am poor, highness, and have nothing but the salary which your highness will bestow on me."
"Above all, you must have a good horse. I have received from the grand-sultan, in Stamboul, in honor of my entrance into Cairo, four beautiful horses. I make you a present of one of them. Go down to the stables; they shall be shown you, and you shall select the one that pleases you best. Be still! no word of thanks! Show your gratitude by serving me faithfully. Are you already provided with a dwelling?"
"No, highness. The bim bashi had but just arrived with Hassan Aga from Alexandria, and has as yet had no time to look after a dwelling."
"A house shall be prepared for you," said the pacha; "I will see to this myself. Remain in my palace to-day; tomorrow you shall have a house of your own. Now go and select the best of the horses. I hope you are a connoisseur, and will easily pick out the best one; it shall be delivered to you completely equipped." He calls a slave who stood waiting without, and commands him to conduct the sarechsme to the courtyard, and order the horses to be led before him.
Mohammed, his head bowed down in profound reverence, withdraws to the door, walking backward. Cousrouf follows him with his eyes until the door has closed behind him, and then a smile glides over his countenance.
"This man is won over to my interests. He is right; he is transformed, body and soul, and he is mine. And truly such a friend is a valuable possession."
Mohammed descends with the slave to the court-yard. The latter hastily summons the equerry, and delivers his master's message. The beautiful horses, with their splendid trappings, are now led before Mohammed. The new sarechsme selects the handsomest and best; he wishes to show the viceroy that he can judge of the beauty and fire of a horse. Mohammed then retires to the rooms set apart for him in a wing of the palace. When left alone, his grave countenance relaxes, and a triumphant smile plays about his lips.
"The work is begun," murmurs he to himself. "The viceroy has himself called his enemy to his side. He thinks, with his favor and flattery, to make me forget what I have endured. He shall learn that Mohammed Ali never forgives. You are lost, Cousrouf, for you slumber, while I watch and will take advantage of your slumber. Beware, Cousrouf, beware! I will not be your murderer, you shall live, but I will humble you; you shall sink down in the dust before me! Let that be the revenge for Masa, my white dove, and for myself!"