CHAPTER XXIII.

The fears of Miss Poles were only too well founded; if M. de Morin still lived, and there were grave reasons for doubting it, he was in very great danger.

What had happened was, briefly, as follows. As soon as the steamer had cast anchor in the port of Djiddah, the travellers, attended by Joseph, went on shore, and after a tolerably long promenade through the bazaars, described by Miss Poles in her letter to her friend Emily, Madame de Guéran and her English companion expressed a desire to return to the ship, MM. Delange and Périères at once offering to escort them. M. de Morin, wishing to make a more minute inspection of the town, remained behind with Joseph, who followed him at a respectful distance, got up in a new bûrnus, purchased in Cairo to replace the one stolen together with the rest of his baggage.

M. de Morin, on leaving the bazaars, turned his steps towards the road to Mecca, and in a short time found himself before a large painted gate, ornamented with horizontal stripes of green and red. He was just passing underneath the archway leading to this gate, when one of the attendants, hired at Cairo and employed as an interpreter, came up to him, and said—

"Master, do not go beyond this archway. It leads to the passage used by the Mussulman pilgrims, and the inhabitants of Djiddah do not like a Christian to go along it. On the wall you can see the iron hooks used in olden times to hang such infidels as might be foolhardy enough to venture this way. Under the rule of Mehemet-Ali, such barbarity, of course, is unknown, but the road to Mecca is dangerous, and you might be roughly handled by some more than usually fanatical band of pilgrims."

The trusty Mohammed-Abd-el-Gazal, in spite of the bûrnus, which ought to have given him courage, turned on his heel on hearing this news, and M. de Morin, after a momentary hesitation, followed his example. The latter recollected that he had engaged to accompany Madame de Guéran to Africa, that his excursion on the Arabian shore was a digression, and that it would be very bad taste in him to expose himself to personal danger from sheer curiosity.

However, his walk was not at an end yet. From the gateway on the Mecca road, the young Frenchman, still followed by Joseph, but this time also by the interpreter, Ali, went towards a second gateway, the one leading to Medina, and, after having left the walls of Djiddah behind him, found himself in front of a mosque.

"It is the tomb of our common mother," said Ali, in answer to a questioning look from de Morin. "According to the Koran, Eve, driven forth from the terrestrial Paradise, took refuge on the site where Mecca now stands, died there and was buried here."

M. de Morin, after casting a profane and contemptuous glance at this tomb, which did not strike him as being very authentic, continued his walk, now across a vast and arid plain bounded by a chain of mountains. In the distance could be seen Djiddah, with its houses surmounted by terraces, thus imparting to it an Italian character, its minarets, its line of walls, and its mosques.

Tired and almost overcome with the heat, he very soon seated himself under the shade of a stunted palm, and was lighting his cigar, when a miniature caravan, consisting of six Arabs, one on horseback and the rest on camels, appeared on the scene, and, passing by him, halted behind the ruins of some old windmills, built by Mehemed-Ali, in 1815, during one of his campaigns against the Wahabees in El-Hejaz.

One of these Bedouins, he with the horse, separated himself from his comrades, rode round the mill, and then dismounted and brought himself to anchor about fifty yards from M. de Morin. The latter at once took out his drawing materials, and made a rapid sketch of the new comer, whose costume appeared to his inexperienced eyes most picturesque. A brown and white striped bûrnus, rather the worse for wear, covered the whole of his body; a camel's hair cord held round his head a black cotton handkerchief which served him as a turban; in one hand he held a match-lock, and in the other a lance, whilst a long knife hung by a piece of string from his girdle.

The young painter had completed his sketch, and was putting away his pencils, when suddenly he heard a shout. He turned quickly round and looked for Joseph and Ali, but neither of them was in sight. Alarmed at their absence, he was preparing to run in the direction of the mill, which doubtless hid his companions from him, when the interpreter appeared. He seemed to be in a state of despair, raised his hands towards Heaven, and entered into an animated conversation with the Bedouin, whose costume the painter had just succeeded in transferring to his sketch-book. M. de Morin hurried to him, and soon learnt all that had occurred.

Whilst his master was sketching, Joseph, curious, no doubt, to know if, on account of his bûrnus, the Arabs would take him for one of themselves, approached them with a smiling air. But very soon his smiling face grew dark, with anger, his eyes, which had been wandering over the scene, fixed themselves on one particular spot, his arm was gradually extended to its full length, and his finger pointed to something or other in front of him. On the back of one of the camels he had just perceived the greater part of the baggage stolen from the custom-house at Suez. Not only did he recognize his favourite portmanteau, but he read on one of packages the name he had himself traced upon it in Paris—Mohammed-Abd-el-Gazal. He had found the thief at last! Unwilling to let him escape he rushed forward towards the Bedouins, but the group thus formed by Joseph, the camels, and their owners was hidden from M. de Morin by the ruins of the mill, and the young painter, absorbed in his sketch, had neither seen nor heard anything.

"My baggage! my baggage!" cried Joseph. "Give me up my baggage, you thieves!"

The Bedouins laughed heartily at the sight of this great, big, fair man, red as a turkey cock, shouting in a foreign language, but, nevertheless, habited like one of themselves. This mirth, all subdued though it was, for the Arabs are never boisterous even in their funniest moods, roused Joseph to a pitch of exasperation. The idea of recovering his lost treasure, whose loss he had so bitterly deplored, gave him courage. He ceased to speak, a very sensible proceeding on his part seeing that nobody understood him, ran to the camel and laid hold of his pet portmanteau.

This time the Bedouins understood him fully and they evidently disapproved of his proceedings, for they came up to him and endeavoured to drive him away. Joseph resisted, repulsed the enemy, and, once more laying hold of his portmanteau, showed signs of decamping with it.

There was no laughing now amongst the Arabs, who held a brief consultation over the state of affairs. Their conclave was of short duration and, rushing suddenly upon Joseph, they took him by the arms and legs, lifted him up and hoisted him on to the back of one of the camels, where they made him fast with a rope alongside his portmanteau. Then they mounted the other camels, and the one which carried Joseph and his little all set off after his companions at full trot.

Such was the scene as described to M. de Morin by his interpreter.

"But why," enquired he of his informant, "did you not resist this abduction, and call me to the rescue of my servant?"

"I did not at first understand what was going on," replied Ali, "and when I did go to his assistance it was too late. It all passed in a second."

"To what tribe do these Bedouins belong?" asked M. de Morin.

"They are Nomads, and do not belong to any particular tribe."

"And who is the man you have brought with you, whose portrait I have just been taking? Why did he not take to flight with his comrades?"

"He was not one of them. He had ridden out with them thus far, to say good-bye, but he was not following them. He had, in fact, just left them."

"Then you do not think him an accomplice of them?"

"No, he was just as much astonished as I was at the whole proceeding."

"Find out from him in what direction they have carried off my servant."

The Bedouin hesitated at first, but in the end declared that he was ignorant of the plans of his whilom companions.

"At all events," said Ali to him, "you know in what direction they went. Were they going to Medina?"

"No," said the Bedouin, "they took the road to the desert."

"Then you think they will cross the frontier of El-Hejaz?"

"I am sure of it."

"Can we overtake them easily?" asked the interpreter, by order of M. de Morin.

"No, their camels are first-rate."

"Good ones, I admit, but overladen," observed Ali.

"True," replied the Bedouin, looking round him on every side, "but I do not see an unladen camel to go in pursuit of them."

Ali translated this reply.

"Tell this man," said the painter, "that if I have not a camel, I have, at all events, a horse."

The interpreter, in astonishment, looked at his master without understanding in the least what he meant.

"Don't you see that horse there, by the ruins ready saddled and bridled?"

"But it does not belong to us; it is this man's property."

"Quite so, and I am going to take it from him."

"Take a horse from an Arab? Don't you believe it, sir! You may take his wife or his children, but his horse, never!"

"Ask him for how much he will sell it to me."

"It is a very handsome, well-bred horse, and he would not part with it at any price."

"Never mind! Ask him."

As Ali had foreseen, the Bedouin declined to deprive himself of his steed.

"Then," said M. de Morin to the interpreter, "I order you to translate to him exactly what I am going to say, word for word, and at the same time with me."

"I will obey you."

The Frenchman, calm and self-possessed, but very determined, approached the Bedouin, who, resting on his lance, remained motionless.

"Your friends," said he, "have carried off one of my servants. It is my duty to go to his assistance and rescue him. You decline to sell me your horse, which is indispensable to me, and consequently I am going to take it. If we are not killed, I swear to restore it to you. But, if you stir a finger, or make any attempt whatever to hinder my departure, I swear I'll shoot you dead. Here is my weapon, and I am not joking."

He drew out of its case, slung from his shoulder-belt, a six-chambered revolver, of large bore, and ready loaded.

The Bedouin changed colour, but did not answer a word.

"Go and bring me the horse," said M. de Morin to the interpreter.

The order was given in so peremptory a tone that Ali had nothing to do but obey.

M. de Morin, revolver in hand, at a couple of paces from the Bedouin, held him in check.

Ali returned with the horse on which, without taking his eyes for an instant from the Arab, M. de Morin leaped at a single bound. There was nothing now, indeed, to be feared from the stranger, who understood from M. de Morin's words and looks that he was face to face with a man against whom it would be more than useless to struggle. He made a virtue, therefore, of necessity, and bowed before the superior force of his adversary, as all these semi-barbarians, harsh and cruel to the weak, but yielding and cowardly before the strong, know so well how to do.

In readiness, now, for a start, M. de Morin issued his final orders.

"You will go," said he to Ali, "to my friends in Djiddah, at once. You will tell them that I could not abandon to his fate a European who had left France with me. My protection is just as much due to him as his services are to me. My friends will understand me, for they would have done the same in my place. Ask them to consult amongst themselves without the loss of a moment, and to come to our rescue, in their turn, if they deem it necessary."

"Master," exclaimed Ali, "you are exposing yourself to certain death. What can you do, alone and unaided, against these Arabs, even if you overtake them?"

"In certain cases," replied M. de Morin, "argument is futile, and I have been arguing too long already. Do what I bid you, and do not lose sight of this man so long as I am within range of his gun. Good-bye!"

He took his horse by the head and set off at full gallop.

The Arab, still motionless, smiled a malicious smile, the meaning of which it was easy to divine. I shall not be long, he seemed to say, without my revenge upon this dog of an unbeliever.