During the brief absence of Demetri in search of Hassan, the Viceroy had made further inquiries concerning the latter, in reply to which Mr Thorpe informed him that the young man had been in the employment of Hadji Ismael, and was now on his way to Cairo with letters for some pasha whose name Mr Thorpe did not remember.
“What, Hadji Ismael, our good Arab merchant?” said the Viceroy.
“The same,” replied Mr Thorpe.
Here the Viceroy spoke apart to the interpreter, by whose order an attendant brought a small box, containing letters, which he placed on the divan at his Highness’s side. The interpreter, by the Viceroy’s desire, ran his eye over two or three letters from Alexandria, till he found the one of which he was in search. He read a passage from it, at which Mohammed Ali laughed and chuckled immoderately, repeating over and over again, “Aferin! aferin!” (bravo! bravo!) He then turned to Mr Thorpe, saying—
“I wonder whether this can be the same youth as the one mentioned in this letter, who threw the famous Moghrebi wrestler, Ebn-el-Ghaizi? It is here written that he was in the employment of Hadji Ismael.”
“There can be little doubt it is the same youth,” replied Mr Thorpe. “I have heard the whole story from our English servant. Indeed, it was in protecting him that Hassan got into a quarrel with the wrestler.”
“Mashallah!” said the Viceroy, “the youth deserves a reward, for that vagabond Moghrebi had beaten all the Egyptian wrestlers, and laughed at our beards.”
At this moment Hassan reached the door of the apartment, and the Viceroy having given orders that he should be admitted, he came forward, and having made the usual obeisance and touched his forehead with the skirt of the Viceroy’s pelisse, retired a few steps, and drawing himself up to his full height, awaited his prince’s commands in silence.
Mohammed Ali had been accustomed from his youth to study the characters of men from their countenance and bearing, and he now fixed upon Hassan an eye whose piercing gaze few cared to encounter; but Hassan met it with a calm and untroubled look. “Mashallah! a noble-looking youth,” muttered he to himself, after scanning the athletic yet graceful proportions of the figure before him. He then turned to his dragoman, saying—
“That youth is surely not an Arab. Of what race think you he may be?”
Before the dragoman could reply, Hassan, addressing the Viceroy, said—
“It is right that your Highness should know that I understand Turkish, lest you should say anything not intended for my ear.”[36]
“Ha! ha! I forgot that he had been in Alexandria some years,” said the Viceroy in a low tone. He then added aloud, “Hassan—for so I hear you are called—whence do you come?”
“I was bred in the tents of your friends the Oulâd-Ali,” replied the youth.
“A proud and a stubborn set of rogues they are,” muttered the Viceroy in an undertone. He then continued aloud, knitting his shaggy brows as he spoke, “You are accused of having struck and nearly killed one of my kawàsses. What have you to say to the charge?”
“It is true, and he deserved it,” replied Hassan.
“Deserved it!” repeated Mohammed Ali, his eye kindling with fire. “Do you dare, youngster, to laugh at my beard, and to correct my servants at your pleasure?”
“Mohammed Ali,” said the youth, with manly simplicity, “I have been taught to venerate and not to laugh at a beard silvered by time. How, then, should I not honour yours, for I have longed to see you from my childhood, having heard of your skill and courage in war and your generosity in peace? But your Highness cannot know and cannot be answerable for the insolence of all your servants. Had you been where I was when that cowardly fellow threw a stone at the head of the young lady beside you, you would not have beaten him—you would have cut his head off.”
“By the head of my father!” said the Viceroy, pleased rather than offended at the unusual boldness of Hassan’s speech—“By the head of my father! I believe the boy is right. I have heard the whole story from these strangers and from the rais, and though I was prepared to be angry with you, I now acquit you from blame. Where are you going to in Cairo, and what commission have you from our good merchant the Hadji?”
“I am going with a letter from him,” said Hassan, “to Delì Pasha.”
“Delì [mad], well named,” said the Viceroy. “I can guess; it is about horses. Have you the letter with you? Let me see it.”
Hassan with some hesitation withdrew the letter from a small silk bag which he carried in the folds of his girdle, and handed it to the Viceroy, who, without the slightest ceremony, opened it, and gave it to the interpreter to read to him, which he did in a tone audible only to the Viceroy himself.
“It is all right,” he said. “Give it back to Hassan, and let him take it on to Delì Pasha.”
“Pardon me,” said Hassan; “I cannot receive it so. Delì Pasha might suspect me of having opened it. Let your Highness’s secretary write in the margin that it was opened by your order, and reseal it with your seal.”
“By Allah!” said Mohammed Ali, “the youth has brains, as well as goodly limbs. Call the khaznadâr.”[37] When that officer entered, the Viceroy, giving him the letter, whispered a few instructions in his ear, and he left the room.
It had not escaped the Viceroy’s quick eye that Hassan had evinced some awkwardness or constraint in opening the silk bag containing the letter and replacing it in his girdle, and he said to him—
“These Frank travellers tell me that, while you were attacking the kawàss on that boat, you received some blows and a stab from one of the crew. Is this so?”
“It is true,” replied Hassan; “but the blows were nothing, and the stab was of little consequence; the bleeding from it was soon stopped.”
“Does it hurt you now?” demanded the Pasha.
“A little,” he replied. “But it is not worth your Highness’s notice.”
“You are a madcap,” said the Viceroy; “and young blood thinks nothing of wounds. Raise up your left arm to your head.”
Hassan tried to obey, but the arm fell powerless at his side.
“Ha!” said the Pasha, “I knew it was so.” Then turning to his interpreter, who was also a Doctor, he continued, “Hakim Bashi, take him into another room and examine his wound, and while you are away let that Greek come in again to interpret. His tongue will not run so fast now.”
The Doctor conveyed Hassan to his own apartment, and the conversation was resumed through the medium of Demetri, who had been so thoroughly abashed by his first rebuff that he would not risk a second, but performed his interpreting duties with an accuracy which surprised himself—for he did not add more than one-third from his own head.
A quarter of an hour, then half an hour, passed away, and still neither the Doctor nor his patient returned. Several cups of coffee had been presented, and nearly an hour had elapsed ere the Hakim Bashi entered the room alone.
“Come here!” cried out the impatient Viceroy. “By Allah! your absence has been long. Where is the youth?”
“I left him lying on a divan in my room, your Highness, and he must not be moved for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Was his hurt, then, so bad?” inquired the Pasha.
“It was such,” said the Doctor, “that if your Highness had not desired me to examine and dress the wound, in a few days the amputation of his arm at the shoulder might have been necessary. I found on the top of the shoulder a large blue circle, which convinced me that there was something seriously wrong below. I was obliged to cut it open, and to cut deep, too. Then I took my probes and began to examine the bottom of the wound. As the inflammation was great, the pain must have been most acute; but, my lord, I never saw such a youth. He remained as firm and unmoved as if he had been made of wood or stone; and in the middle of the operation he said to me with a smile, ‘Hakim Bashi, Mashallah! what an eye our Prince has got.’ At last my instrument met with some hard substance, which, with some trouble, I succeeded in reaching with a forceps, and I drew it out. It proved to be the point of the dagger with which he had been stabbed, and which, encountering the bone, had broken off. Here it is.” So saying, he produced to the Viceroy about half an inch of the point of a steel dagger.
“Aferin! aferin!” (bravo! bravo!) said the Viceroy. “Well have you done, my good Hakim Bashi. The young man will recover the use of his arm now.”
“Yes, if it be the will of Allah. But he must remain at least twenty-four hours in the position in which I have placed him. I shall dress the wound once or twice, and at this hour to-morrow I can tell your Highness whether he is fit to pursue his journey.”
“What do you think?” said Mohammed Ali, addressing Mr Thorpe; “if I had two or three regiments composed of fellows like this Hassan, might I not march to—any part of the world?” Another termination was on his lips, but he checked it, and substituted the vague phrase. A slight smile might have been noticed on the face of the medical interpreter, who well knew the word that had nearly escaped his chief, although the idea was not carried into execution until many years had passed.
“I have travelled in many countries,” replied Mr Thorpe, “and can assure your Highness that men of the stature, strength, and symmetry of Hassan are rare everywhere; but your Highness knows better than I do, and has proved it to the world, that however advantageous to the individual may be the possession of these qualities, in an army there is nothing but discipline among the men, and skill in their commander, that can ensure success.”
“May your life be long!” said the Viceroy, acknowledging the compliment; “but now you must tell me what you wish to do, for you see this Hassan cannot go forward for a day or two. Will you wait for him, or will you pursue your journey, and I will have him sent on in the first boat that passes?”
“Nay,” said Mr Thorpe, “we are not so hurried but that we can wait for a day; and it would be unkind to leave him behind, as he received his wound in defending us.”
“Be it so,” replied the Pasha; “and there is another advantage in your staying. The Governor of Damietta has written me word that a Christian kassis[38] is coming up the river on his way to the South. They say he is a very learned man, and has been some years in these countries: perhaps you might like to join him to your party?”
“Willingly,” replied Mr Thorpe, “if he arrives in time. Meanwhile, I will take my leave, having trespassed too much on your Highness’s time.” So saying, he arose, but the Viceroy would not let him go until he had made him promise to come again on the morrow to breakfast.
The Thorpe party returned to their boat, and spent the remainder of the day in talking over the occurrences of the morning, and in discussing the character and qualities of the remarkable man whom they had seen for the first time.
A few hours later Demetri came into the cabin and stated that the Viceroy’s interpreter was without, accompanied by a stranger. Orders having been given for his immediate admission, he came in and said to Mr Thorpe—
“I have been charged by the Viceroy to present to you Mr Müller, concerning whom his Highness spoke to you; and I do it with much pleasure, as he is a friend of mine, and a most worthy person.”
The new-comer was apparently about forty-five years of age. His countenance was intelligent and benevolent, and his complexion, from long exposure to sun and weather, was tanned almost to the hue of an Arab. On his head he wore what had once been a German cap, but which, from the folds of grey serge wrapped around it, might almost pass for a turban; and his beard, which was bushy and slightly grizzled, fell nearly half-way to his waist. His outer dress was composed of a long robe or gaberdine of dark-grey cloth, with loose sleeves, and confined at the waist by a leathern girdle, from which depended a bag, made from the skin of an antelope, and containing all the sundries which the good missionary most frequently required in his long excursions in the forest and desert. His sandals were of undressed hide, and he had made them himself; and he carried in his hand a stout staff which he had brought from the Abyssinian woods, and which had been his constant companion in many a remote peregrination.
The two visitors remained some time, and the conversation turned on Egypt and the wilder regions to the southward, with all of which Müller seemed so familiar, and described them with so much truthful simplicity, that the Thorpe party were delighted with him.
On the following day they returned to breakfast with the Pasha, and were glad to learn that Hassan had passed a quiet night, and that the inflammation had so far subsided that he might go on board without risk.
“I have no fear,” said the medical interpreter, “of any bad consequences now that you have agreed on going with Müller; he has had so much experience that he is half a Doctor himself: indeed,” he added, smiling, “I doubt whether he has not more skill than many who hold the diploma.”
The breakfast passed as agreeably as that of the preceding day, and after it Hassan was summoned into the Pasha’s presence. He came in with his left arm in a sling. His Highness spoke kindly to him, and after receiving the thanks of the youth for the attention shown to him by the interpreter, the latter was desired by the chief to reseal and restore to Hassan the letter from the merchant to Delì Pasha, adding in the margin that it had been opened by himself, and, in conclusion, he whispered a few words in his ear, to which the interpreter only replied by the customary “On my head be it.”
A few minutes sufficed to execute this order, and when the interpreter returned the letter to Hassan, he at the same time presented another to Mr Thorpe, informing him that it contained an order to the Kiahya Pasha[39] to furnish his party with an escort to the Pyramids, and a guard while remaining there. His Highness also said that on their return from Upper Egypt he should probably be at Shoobra,[40] and he hoped they would come to see him there.
Mr Thorpe having duly expressed his thanks for his Highness’s hospitality and kindness, now rose to take his departure, and Hassan came forward and touched his forehead with the skirt of the Viceroy’s pelisse; Mohammed Ali looked at him with a smile, and said—
“Good fortune attend you, Hassan—a mad follower going to join a mad lord—but you are a good lad, and I am pleased with you.”
They all retired to their boat, Hassan taking an opportunity before they left to thank the medical interpreter for the service he had rendered him in restoring him the use of his arm.