A short time afterwards Hassan was sent by the Hadji, in company with Mohammed Aga, to collect a debt of considerable amount due to him in Damanhour, a large village distant a day’s journey from the city.
This affair occupied some little time, and might not, perhaps, have been settled at all had not Mohammed Aga been provided with a handsome Cashmere shawl and a pretty Damascus handkerchief, in one corner of which a few gold pieces were secured by a silken cord. The former of these presents found its way to the Governor, and the latter to his chief scribe, after which the justice of the claim became as clear as day, and the debtor was ordered to pay up without delay.
While this affair was in progress, and Mohammed Aga was busy in the Governor’s divan, Hassan was one day strolling near the village to pass the time when his ear was arrested by the sound of female cries and lamentations. Turning his head to the quarter whence the sounds proceeded, he saw a man with his hands chained together walking between two soldiers, who occasionally hastened his steps by blows from the butt-ends of their muskets. Behind them were two women and two children screaming at the top of their voices—
“Oh! mercy, mercy! Oh! my brother! Oh! my husband! Oh! my father! Mercy, mercy!”
In front of this lamenting group, and by the side of one of the soldiers, walked an individual with a paper in his hand, who seemed to be the man under whose authority the prisoner had been seized, and who bore the appearance of being one of the kawàsses of the Governor.[20]
“May your day be fortunate, O Aga,” said Hassan, addressing him in the Turkish language.[21] “What is the fault of this man, and whither are you taking him?”
“Happily met, Aga,” said the kawàss, impressed by the commanding figure of the young stranger. “This vagabond is now nearly two years in arrears of his taxes due to the Government; his tents are near the edge of the desert, and we never could find him. Praise be to Allah, I have got him now, and to-morrow we shall see whether five hundred good blows on the soles of his feet will help him to find the two thousand piastres that he owes.”[22]
The prisoner maintained a dogged silence, never even raising his eyes to look at the kawàss while speaking; but his wife now rushed forward, and, throwing herself at Hassan’s feet, cried out—
“Mercy, mercy, young Aga! I and my children—our sister—we are all ruined. We have none to depend on but him. The sluices of the canal were not opened; our lands were dried up. We had no crop; we sold our animals; everything is gone. Speak to the Governor, young Aga; let him give us time and we will pay all.”
Hassan turned aside his head to hide his emotion, for to misery, and to woman’s misery above all, his heart was soft as a child’s. Recovering himself, however, in a moment, he turned to the kawàss, saying—
“Would the Governor not excuse or delay the payment of this sum?”
“Surely not,” said the other decidedly. “His Excellency is very angry with him for the trouble he has already given: the amount is entered in the accounts, and it must be paid. You are young, sir, and a stranger here; you do not know the marvellous power of the sticks in bringing to light hidden money; they are more powerful than the rods of the Cairo magicians.”
“By Allah!—by the life of your mother!” screamed the poor woman, still at Hassan’s feet, “we have nothing; they may kill us, but we have no money to give. For weeks past we have seen no bread, and eaten nothing but a few dates. We are miserable, O Aga!—look at us—mercy, mercy!” The emaciated appearance of the whole family bore witness to this part of the woman’s statement.
“My friend,” said Hassan, turning to the kawàss, “I know a merchant in Damanhour who will perhaps advance this money, and take a bond for repayment in one or two years. Promise me that you will not report this man’s seizure till to-morrow at noon: the Governor will be better pleased with your zeal if you are then able to present him with the money required than if you beat the man to death without perhaps obtaining a third of it. Promise, then, that you will wait till to-morrow at noon.”
“I will wait as you desire,” replied the kawàss; “and if you come to the guard-house where this fellow will be confined, ask for Ibrahim the kawàss.”
During all this time the eyes of the unhappy wife were fixed upon Hassan’s countenance with an expression of intense anxiety. She had not understood a syllable of the conversation that had passed between him and the kawàss, but instinct taught her that in some way he was befriending her husband’s cause; and as the latter moved on with his guards, she continued to overwhelm him with blessings and prayers mingled with tears.
“Be of good cheer,” he said to her, now speaking in his own language. “Inshallah! all will yet go well. Meanwhile take this, and buy some bread this evening for your children and yourselves;” and as he spoke he slipped a piece of silver into her hand and turned hastily away.
When the poor woman heard herself addressed in the deep and not-to-be-mistaken tones of a Bedouin Arab, and felt the money, surprise and gratitude deprived her for a moment of the powers of speech; and Hassan was already at some distance when she recovered them, and throwing herself into her sister’s arms, she exclaimed—
“He will save us!—he will save us!—he is not a Turk!—why did I call him Aga?—he is of the Sons of the Tent[23]—surely my husband and he have met before in the desert and been friends—he will save us—the blessing of Allah be on his head!”
That same evening, at sunset, Mohammed Aga and Hassan were smoking their pipes and drinking their coffee in front of their lodging, when the former said to his companion—
“Inshallah! we will return in a day or two to Alexandria. Our affair is proceeding well: I have collected half the money, and the remainder is to be paid to-morrow.”
Hassan made no direct reply to this address, but after a pause of a few minutes he abruptly asked the chief clerk—
“Do you remember how much of my salary is still due to me, in your hands?”
“Assuredly I do, my son,” said the methodical clerk. “At the beginning of the year the arrears of salary, added to what the Hadji allowed of percentage on purchases, amounted to four thousand piastres (£40); then at the feast you sent a present of a bale of tobacco and a Persian dagger to your father the Sheik, two pieces of Syrian silk and some embroidered napkins to your mother, two pieces—”
“Enough, enough!” interrupted Hassan, distressed at this enumeration of the mementoes which he had sent to his foster-parents; “how much remained after these presents were paid for?”
“They cost fifteen hundred piastres; so you still have two thousand five hundred left.”
“That is well,” said Hassan. “I want that money here. Will you give it me, Mohammed, and repay yourself from the chest in Alexandria?”
“The boy is mad,” said the old clerk, opening his eyes wide with astonishment. “By the head of your father, tell me for what purpose can you require all that money at once, here at Damanhour? Are you going to buy beans and wheat for the market?”
“No,” replied Hassan, with some confusion, “it is not my trade to purchase grain; but indeed I require that money, and hope you will let me have it.”
“Allah-Allah!” said the old clerk, as a sudden suspicion shot across his mind, “you have seen some Damanhour girl who has set your heart on fire! The songs tell us that the girls are famed for their beauty here: you have seen a moon-faced one behind a curtain, and you are going to be married! Wallah-Billah! brimstone and tinder are like wet clay when compared to the heart of a youth.”
“Indeed,” said Hassan, laughing, “I have seen no moon-faced houri here, and I have no thoughts of marriage.” He added more gravely, “I want the money for a purpose which I cannot tell you, though if I did you could not disapprove it.”
Mohammed Aga, seeing that opposition was useless, and feeling that he had in truth no right to keep back from Hassan what was his own, counted out the money to him the same evening, and took his receipt, to be presented to Hadji Ismael.
The following morning, about three hours after sunrise, when Hassan had made sure that the chief clerk was busily employed in the Governor’s divan, he bent his steps to the guard-house, and on asking for Ibrahim the kawàss, was at once admitted to the presence of that important official.
After the customary salutations, Hassan informed him that the merchant to whom he had yesterday alluded had agreed to advance the money, and that he was now prepared to pay the two thousand piastres due by the Arab, on receiving a discharge in full for the debt, sealed by the proper officer in the divan.
“That is easily done,” said the kawàss; “take a pipe and a cup of coffee, and in five minutes the paper will be here.”
Having given the requisite instructions to one of his subordinates, he resumed the conversation with Hassan upon general topics, it being indifferent to him to know what merchant in Damanhour could be so foolish as to advance money of which he would never be repaid a farthing.
In a few minutes the messenger returned, bringing a paper bearing the seals of the treasurer and chief scribe of the Governor’s divan, and setting forth that Abou-Hamedi, of the Gemeâl tribe, having discharged all the taxes and charges due by him up to date, was free to return to his place of abode.
Hassan having paid the money and placed the document in his girdle, inquired of the kawàss where the prisoner was confined, and whether he could see him alone.
“He is in the room at the back of that small yard,” replied the kawàss, “where you see the sentry walking before the door. I will tell him to open it and come away, as his service is no longer required. You will not find the Arab alone, because, as you had taken an interest in him, I allowed his family to remain with him.”
“May your honour increase and your days be long,” said Hassan, saluting him, and going towards the door of the cell, which the sentry, by desire of the kawàss, opened, and then came away.
On entering the chamber, Hassan found that it was more spacious than he had expected, and was partially lighted by two apertures near the roof, secured by cross-bars of iron. The place being considered sufficiently secure, the manacles had been removed from the hands of the Arab, and he was seated on the floor, his sister and wife beside him, and his children at his feet.
No sooner did Hassan enter the room than the wife sprang from her sitting posture, crying aloud—
“It is he! it is he! we shall be saved yet.”
Abou-Hamedi also arose, and all the rest of the family came crowding towards Hassan. The Arab, who had been informed the preceding evening by his wife of our hero’s generous intentions, as well as of his having provided them with the bread on which they had supped, now expressed to him with much emotion the gratitude which he felt for the sympathy he had shown him.
“You are of the desert blood,” he said; “and whether Allah give success to your endeavours or not, you have our thanks.”
“Brother, you are free,” said Hassan; “free as the winds of the desert. Here is the Government receipt for your debt, and as you have been stripped of all, and must have something wherewith to recommence your toil for a livelihood, here are five hundred piastres; put them in your girdle. Fate is uncertain, Allah only is enduring; I am now rich, some day I may be poor and you rich, then you may repay me.”
Words cannot paint the tumultuous joy of the poor women as they crowded to kiss the hands and feet of Hassan, calling every blessing of heaven on his head. The wife, however, on looking at her husband’s countenance as he almost mechanically took the document and the money which Hassan placed in his hand, was frightened at its strange and wild expression; no word of satisfaction or gratitude escaped from his lips as, seizing Hassan by the arm, he drew him to a part of the cell where a stray sunbeam forced its way through the barred aperture; when it fell on Hassan’s face, the Arab, scanning his features with eyes almost starting from their sockets, said—
“Years have passed; the youth has become a man; the eye, the voice, the form are only his! Speak,” he continued, almost savagely; “do you remember one who strove to stab you in the Meidàn of Alexandria, and whom you threw to the ground by a wrestling trick? ’Twas I! and had you known me yesterday, instead of giving me money and freedom, you would have gone to that cursed Turk’s divan to feast your eyes with a sight of my mangled feet.” So saying, he dashed the paper and the money furiously on the ground.
“Brother,” replied Hassan gravely, “I knew you yesterday at the first glance as well as you know me now. You were in misfortune and misery, and all that had passed before was forgotten.”
The evil passions struggled for the mastery in that wild breast: it was but for a moment; the sight of his children and of the paper which secured his freedom called up the better feelings of his rude nature, and casting himself into Hassan’s arms, he wept like a child.
Without having read or heard of the Scriptures, the generous impulse of Hassan’s heart had taught him how to “heap coals of fire on the head of an enemy”; and the deadly hatred which Abou-Hamedi had entertained against him since the day of their first meeting was melted in a moment.
It was difficult for Hassan to tear himself away from the overflowing gratitude of the Arab’s family. One only, the unmarried sister, had preserved a continuous silence, as became her condition; but she looked upon her brother’s preserver with eyes swimming in tears, and when he bade them farewell and left the room, she felt as if life and sunshine had departed with him.
Little did Abou-Hamedi know when he thrust into his girdle the five hundred piastres given him by Hassan, that the latter had not even a dollar left. He had said, “I am rich,” and in truth rich he was—rich in youth, and strength, and hope—rich in the esteem and affection of his employer—above all, rich in the possession of a heart which felt in giving his all to relieve distress a pleasure unknown to the miser who has found a treasure.
Hassan remained outside the guard-house talking to the kawàss on various subjects until he had seen Abou-Hamedi and his family clear of its precincts, and retiring in the direction of the desert. The Arab, looking back once at the figure of his preserver, muttered to himself: “Allah preserve you, brave youth. If ever you meet Abou-Hamedi again when you are in need, you shall find that he remembers good as well as evil; but we will leave this cursed district, where sorrow and tyranny pursue us; we will go to our cousins who have their tents near Fayoom.”[24]
When Mohammed Aga met his young friend in the evening, he asked whether he had commenced that wonderful speculation which he kept so secret.
“It is all laid out already,” replied Hassan, smiling.
“Hasty bargains lead to repentance,” said the old clerk, shaking his head; “pray, what makseb [profit] do you expect to make?”
“It has paid me a good interest already, and I am quite satisfied. Do not ask me any more about it,” said Hassan, looking rather confused, for concealment was foreign to his nature.
Mohammed Aga refrained from asking any more questions; but, partly from curiosity and partly from the interest which he felt in Hassan’s welfare, he was determined before leaving Damanhour to learn how he had disposed of his little property. Nor was the task by any means difficult; for in small towns in the East as well as in the West everybody knows and talks about everything. The chief clerk, therefore, had no difficulty on the following day in tracing Hassan to the guard-house, where he had been seen talking to Ibrahim the kawàss. To find that well-known individual was the work of a few minutes, and a few more spent with him over a cup of coffee and a pipe drew from him all that he knew of the transaction, including the release of the Arab family on Hassan’s paying their debt of two thousand piastres. “You see, Aga,” added the kawàss, concluding his narrative, “it was my duty to release them when the money was paid, and not to inquire whence it came; but if you are the merchant whom the young man mentioned as willing to advance it on any security offered by the Arab, why, I fear——” Here he looked very significantly at Mohammed, and threw out a long puff of smoke from his chibouque.
“Then you think the Arab cannot pay back the money?” inquired Mohammed.
“Not a dollar of it,” answered the kawàss. “The Governor would have ordered him the bastinado as an example to others, but two bad seasons have left the poor devil’s purse as empty as my pipe.” So saying, he shook out its ashes, and left Mohammed to his own meditations.
“That boy will never have a farthing to bless his grey hairs with! Money in his hand is like water in a sieve, and yet, and yet,”—here the old clerk passed the back of his hand across his eyes,—“Allah bless him an hundredfold.” He walked slowly home, and without saying a word to Hassan of his meeting with the kawàss, he told him that, as the affairs for which they had come to Damanhour were now settled, they might return to Alexandria, which they did on the following day.
The morning after their return Mohammed Aga went to the private room of the merchant to deliver the money which he had collected, and give a general account of his mission, in doing which he placed in the Hadji’s hands Hassan’s receipt for two thousand five hundred piastres.
“By your head,” said the merchant to his clerk, “tell me what has the youth done with that money at Damanhour?”
Mohammed then told him the whole story from beginning to end, as related by the kawàss.
“And what has he left in your hands?” inquired the merchant, walking up and down the room in evident emotion.
“Nothing,” replied the clerk. “Two thousand five hundred piastres were due to him; two thousand he paid for the liberation of the Arab, and I doubt not that he gave him the remainder.”
“Mohammed,” said the merchant, “as he wished to keep this secret, do not mention it to any one, nor let him know that you have told it to me. If it were spoken about, it would take from the youth the pleasure he now derives from it, and what say the traditions of the Prophet (on whose name be glory and peace!), ‘The good deeds done by the faithful in secret, He shall reward them openly on the day of judgment.’”