Part 20

No sooner did he hear that one supposed to be of some rank in the band of the formidable Hassan had been captured than he started with feigned surprise, and inquired, pointing to Abou-Hashem, who sat disarmed and pinioned at some distance, whether that was the fellow whom they had captured? A reply being given in the affirmative—

“By your head, colonel,” he said, “I will go and look at the vagabond: they have done much evil to my lord the Pasha, and I have seen service against them. You son of a dog,” continued he, drawing near the prisoner, and addressing him in a loud and angry voice, “methinks you are the very fellow who killed my brother near Siout; you have just his ugly, villainous look, and now I will have your blood.”

So saying, he drew a sharp poniard and brandished it over the head of the prisoner.

“Do not kill the vagabond, O Aga!” shouted the captain, still lazily smoking his pipe, “for I hope to get five or six purses for his apprehension: could I have caught his chief, Mashallah! I would have claimed one hundred.”

“Inshallah! you will claim them another time,” said Hassan politely. “Meanwhile, I must give this vagabond a prick with my poniard. I will not touch his life, but I wish him not to forget me.”

So saying, he brandished his poniard again, and advanced close to the prisoner in order to see how with one rapid cut he could sever his bonds.

“Do not touch him, Aga, with your knife,” cried out Abd-hoo; “here is a courbatch wherewith to beat him.”

Under this pretext Hassan led Shèitan and his own horse near to the prisoner: at the distance of only a few yards a groom was holding a horse which, from its appearance and trappings, seemed to be that of the captain.

“Now is the moment,” whispered Hassan to Abou-Hashem; “be ready to spring on that horse.”

As he spoke he raised his knife as if about to strike, at the same time continuing to threaten and abuse Abou-Hashem in a loud voice, while the Turks were laughing at the anger of Hassan and the assumed terror of the captive, who called out “Aman! aman!” (Mercy!) With one swift stroke of his knife he divided the cords with which he was pinioned, and, springing aside, knocked down the unsuspecting _sàis_ who held the captain’s horse. No sooner done than Abou-Hashem was in the saddle; Hassan and Abd-hoo jumped on their horses, and in a second the freebooters were at full speed on their way to the desert. Shots were fired at them from pistols and carabines, some of which took effect, but not enough to stop their headlong course.

Hassan received a ball in the arm and another in the side, but he succeeded in his daring attempt. A few of the best mounted of the Turks who were able to keep the fugitives in sight found themselves, after a gallop of several leagues, in sight of Hassan’s band, who received their chief and his rescued lieutenant with shouts of triumph; while the troopers, seeing that all chance of recapturing them was hopeless, wheeled their wearied horses towards Girgeh, glad to escape themselves unpursued.

One other instance of our hero’s humorous audacity which reached the Viceroy’s ears during that summer, and which excited his mirth almost as much as his anger, deserves to be recorded.

His Highness had collected a body of troops in a camp near the town of Esneh, in Upper Egypt, who were undergoing drill and training for service against the refractory tribes in the Soudan.

Hassan had received intelligence from one of his spies that a large sum of money had just been transmitted to Esneh for the payment of these troops, and was in the keeping of a certain Moktar Effendi, who resided in a village a few miles distant from the encampment, and who on account of this charge was dignified in the neighbourhood by the title of Defterdar.

Of this sum Hassan resolved to endeavour to obtain possession by stratagem, and he set about it with the confident coolness which characterised all his proceedings. Leaving the greater part of his band in the desert, at a considerable distance from the village, he dressed himself in his former _khaznadâr_ uniform, and six or eight of the most resolute and best mounted of his followers in dresses becoming the attendants of a man in authority, gathered from the spoils of plundered caravans: he took with him also a firman bearing the seal of Mohammed Ali, which had been obtained by similar means. This firman stated in general terms that Latif-Aga, the bearer, was on duty in Upper Egypt on Government service, and ordered the governors of towns and provinces to afford him all necessary assistance.

Armed with this instrument, and with others of a more deadly kind in case of necessity, Hassan proceeded leisurely about midday to the village, having desired his followers to observe the strictest gravity and decorum in their demeanour, and having, as usual, invested the ready-witted and faithful Abd-hoo with the office of pipe-bearer, while Abou-Hamedi was to be left in charge of the horses and of the attendants, who were not expected to accompany their chief to the presence of the Defterdar.

Hassan had no difficulty in finding the residence of that well-known personage, and having announced himself as being charged with an important message from the Viceroy, was immediately ushered into the room where sat the Defterdar.

Moktar Effendi was a fat, pursy little man, and, though extremely timid, puffed up with a high sense of his own local importance. Hassan, as is the custom in the East, began the conversation with all sorts of commonplace observations, which he took care to interlard with fulsome compliments gratifying to the vanity of his host; and after two pipes and cups of coffee had been with due ceremony discussed, he prepared to enter upon the business with which he was supposed to be intrusted. But having observed a small room at the side, which seemed better suited to his purpose than the reception-room, which commanded a view of the court below, he proposed in a confidential tone that they should retire thither for a conference, which he said it was necessary that their attendants should not overhear.

To this proposal the Defterdar, who had read the firman presented to him by Hassan, made no objection, and they retired thither. No sooner were they seated than our hero, who had taken care to place himself between his host and the door, proceeded to inform him that he had come to relieve him of the charge of the money which had been transmitted to him for the payment of the troops. The astonished Defterdar said in a hesitating tone that, although he had no doubt of the authority under which his guest was acting, he could not transfer such a charge without direct instructions from the Viceroy.

“I will show you the authority under which I act,” said our hero in the same polite and affable tone which he had hitherto used; and as he spoke he threw open his outer pelisse, and drawing a pistol from his belt, presented it within two feet of the Defterdar’s forehead, who observed with horror another pistol and a dagger suspended from the same formidable belt. “Excellent Defterdar,” he continued, “I do not wish to expose you to any unnecessary alarm or danger, but it is necessary for your safety that you give up to me the money in question. I am not Latif-Aga, but Hassan, the Child of the Pyramid, of whom you have perhaps heard, and who, as you may know, am not to be trifled with.”

At the sound of that dreaded name, and at the sight of the pistol still pointed at his face, the unfortunate Defterdar grew speechless with affright; a cold perspiration broke out upon his forehead, and his tongue clove to his palate.

“For the love of Allah,” he gasped, “do not murder me!”

“I have no intention of hurting you,” said Hassan, “if you only do as I bid you without delay; but I warn you that if you utter a sound to compromise my safety you are a dead man. My pipe-bearer, at your outer door, and all my attendants below, are armed as I am, and we are strong enough, if it be requisite, to destroy you and all your household. But though I am not ‘Latif’ by name, I desire to be so in my conduct;[104] therefore if you are quiet and reasonable you have nothing to fear. You will please now to call whichever of your confidential servants has the care of this money, and tell him to bring it here and deliver it to me, as I am charged to convey it to the commanding officer at the camp. If in giving him this order you endeavour to betray me by word or sign, you die where you sit, and your servant will be killed by my pipe-bearer without.”

The unhappy Defterdar, after giving vent to sundry suppressed groans, in which “Allah!” “Oh my misfortune!” “Mercy and destiny,” were feebly uttered, and seeing no hope of saving his life excepting in implicit obedience to the orders of his formidable guest, clapped his hands, and on the entrance of his servant desired him forthwith to bring the money which Latif-Aga was charged by the Viceroy to convey to the camp.

The servant noticed the evident tremor and perturbation under which his master spoke, but like a true Oriental he attributed it to regret at losing so fair an opportunity of appropriating a certain portion of the money to his own advantage by cheating the soldiers in its distribution, and he soon reappeared, bearing with him three or four bags of gold, and one of larger dimensions containing Austrian dollars.

“Is the whole sum here?” said Hassan in a stern voice. “Bring me the letter that accompanied the money, and then count it before me, that I may see whether the amounts tally.”

His orders having been obeyed, the servant counted the money before him, which (wonderful to relate of Egypt) agreed precisely with the letter of advice.

“You are a faithful servant,” said Hassan, “and although I cannot touch this money which belongs to others, here is a bakshish for yourself.” So saying, he threw him two or three pieces of gold from his own purse, adding, “Send hither my pipe-bearer and _mirakhor_ [chief groom], that they may take charge of this money; and bring me a _dooàyeh_ [oriental case containing pens and ink] and some paper, that I may give your master a receipt in due form.”

Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo having been summoned and taken charge of their trust with a gravity and deportment suited to their assumed characters, our hero wrote the receipt in a bold hand, and in the following terms:—

“I, Hassan, Child of the Pyramid, hereby acknowledge that I have received from Moktar Effendi the sum of one hundred and twenty purses [£600] belonging to the Egyptian Government, and that it is my intention to repay the same when it suits my convenience. I further add that the said Moktar Effendi only delivered me this money when under fear of his life, and when he had no means of resisting the force which I had at hand: he should therefore be held exempt from blame by his humane and just lord, Mohammed Ali.”

Having delivered this receipt to the still bewildered Effendi, Hassan said to him, “My good friend, now that our business is terminated, we will have one more pipe of fellowship before we part; but remember that my eye is upon you.”

The pipe having been duly smoked and the attendants dismissed, Hassan addressed his terrified host—

“Effendi, the most disagreeable part of my duty remains to be performed, as I would fain have parted from you with politeness and friendship; but as your duty would require that you should alarm all the village as soon as my foot is in the stirrup, it is necessary for my safety and for yours that I should secure your quietude: your servants will soon come to release you, but for a while it is requisite that you should be bound.” So saying, he produced a cord, which he had brought for the purpose, and having bound his terror-stricken host hand and foot, and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth to prevent his calling out, he left the room, and leisurely descending the stairs, mounted his horse, giving pieces of silver to the servants at the door with a liberality worthy of a Bey or Pasha.

He and his party proceeded slowly on the road towards the soldiers’ encampment until they were out of sight of the village, when they suddenly turned off towards the desert, and after an hour’s gallop rejoined the remainder of the band. On the following morning at daylight they were eighty miles distant from the scene of this feat.

It is needless to portray the astonishment of Moktar Effendi’s servants when they found their master bound and gagged in a corner of his room, grunting and sputtering in his vain endeavours to call for help. When they released his tongue and his limbs, his first act was to ask in a trembling voice, “Is he gone?”

“Who?” they replied; “his Excellency the Bey, your visitor?—yes, he is gone.”

“The Bey!” muttered Moktar Effendi, whose courage was now partially restored. “Know ye not, sons of dogs and asses that ye are, that the scoundrel was no Bey, but Hassan Ebn-el-Heràm, the outlaw chief, who has plundered me and laughed at my beard. Allah! Allah! what dust has fallen on my head—what dirt have I eaten! There lies his cursed receipt for the money. How can I send it to Mohammed Ali? he will defile the graves of my forefathers. Alas! alas! there is no power nor trust save in Allah.”

Such were the terms in which the unhappy Defterdar bewailed his fate, and prepared to enclose to the Viceroy a full report of his misfortune, together with the receipt left by the audacious outlaw. Mohammed Ali, in one of those moods of clemency and generosity which were not unfrequent with him, forgave the poor Defterdar, and replaced the plundered money from his own purse, saying, “Hassan shall one day fulfil his promise of repayment.”

* * * * *

The cool breezes of November had returned, and the Thorpe party were again at Cairo, on their way to Thebes, where they proposed to pass the winter. During the few days that they spent in the capital before prosecuting their voyage, they visited the various objects of interest which they had not found time to see during their former stay. One scene, however, which they witnessed was so illustrative of the superstition of the “Cairians,” or inhabitants of Cairo, that it is not unworthy of notice.

Returning one day from an excursion to the Mokattan hills, they saw an immense crowd of persons, of all ages and conditions, on horses, mules, donkeys, and on foot, flocking to a spot called Sabaâ Benât (the seven daughters), on the edge of the desert. Piercing through the outskirts of this mixed assemblage, they were surprised to see beys, effendis, merchants, priests, and beggars all divested of their outer garments and rolling themselves with frantic energy and gesticulation in the sand.

On inquiring through Demetri what was the meaning of this strange ceremonial, they learnt that it was a miracle wrought through the instrumentality of a Moghrebi saint (such as in Algeria are termed Marabouts), who had been warned in a religious trance that the sand in this spot possessed a healing virtue, and that all who rolled themselves therein should be immediately cured of any malady.

News of this miracle had spread through the city, and for several days all who were, or imagined themselves, under the influence of any disease hastened to avail themselves of the holy panacea.

In some instances the pious fraud worked out its own verification. One fat bey, whose only ailment was plethora, brought on by gluttony, actually rolled himself so energetically and effectually that he perspired and vomited under the unwonted exertion. He returned home so much relieved that he spread the fame of the miraculous spot throughout all the members of the divan, and thus the superstition of the fanatic Arabs was communicated to the grave and influential portion of the Turkish community.

Mr Thorpe and his party made their way through this motley crowd with no little difficulty, and they found the whole road from the sacred spot to the city dusty and thronged as that from London to Epsom on a Derby day.[105]

“How can they believe,” said Mr Thorpe to Demetri, “that by rolling in that sand they can cure all diseases? Have the saints and dervishes so much power over the people’s belief?”

“Saints and dervishes,” said Demetri, “can make them believe that the Nile comes from the moon, or that the Pyramids were built of cheeses made from the milk of Pharaoh’s cows. But that is nothing; priests can do as much in my country. If you want to see what the Cairians can swallow, you should go to that dome, under which you will find a jackass daily fed on the best of provender at the public expense, and almost worshipped by the people.”

As he spoke he pointed to a cupola erected over the tomb of a saint or sheik, in the interior of which a donkey was contentedly chewing his straw and beans, totally unconscious of the religious honours paid to him.

“How came the donkey to obtain this great measure of respect?” inquired Mr Thorpe.

“He belonged,” replied Demetri, “to a builder who was engaged in repairing some tombs in the neighbourhood: this donkey had been one of a score employed in carrying bricks and mortar. It would seem that he had contrived to shake off his load, and had gone for shelter into that half-ruined sheik’s tomb: meanwhile his owner, with the other donkeys, had been suddenly called off to do some building-work at a distance for the Viceroy.

“That night it appears that a _fikih_ [priest] of some celebrity in the town had a dream, warning him that if he wished his prayers to be heard he must go to the sheik’s tomb in question and pay honour to whomsoever he might find under its roof. Hastening thither in the morning, he found it tenanted by a donkey, to which, in order to obey the warning he had received, he made an offering of some beans and barley. Having communicated his dream to his religious brethren, it was soon spread all over the town. Pious Mussulmans flocked thither to pray for their sick relatives, and the long-eared recluse tasted of the sweets of idleness, plenty, and all the other ingredients in the cup of donkey-happiness.”[106]

“Why, Demetri,” said Mr Thorpe, laughing, “you have finished your tale in a style worthy of the ‘Arabian Nights.’”

“It is no wonder,” replied the Greek; “I hear so many of those story-narrators at the Arab cafés in the town that I borrow their style almost without knowing it.”

“Mohammed Ali well knows,” continued the Greek, “how to take advantage of this popular reverence for the tombs of sheiks. A short time ago one stood close to a garden of his, and the visitors who flocked to it disturbing his privacy, he determined to remove it in a manner that should offer no offence to the reputation of the sheik or the fanaticism of the people.

“Collecting in secret a large body of labourers from one of his distant villages, he caused them in the course of a single night to destroy the tomb and to rebuild it at a spot about two miles distant, in the same form and of the same materials, after which they were sent back to their own village as secretly as they had been summoned.

“On the following day all Cairo was full of the new miracle—Sheik-el-Ghazi had transported his own tomb two miles in the course of the night. Thousands flocked to the miraculous shrine, which is to this day an object of the deepest reverence in the neighbourhood.”[107]

The next day Mr Thorpe and his party went to pay a visit to Delì Pasha previous to their departure for Upper Egypt. Emily and her mother were conducted to the harem, where, after a brief and uninteresting visit to the senior Khanum, they went to the apartment occupied by Amina.

Both were struck by the change which a year had wrought in her appearance. She was not less lovely than before, but her bright and mirthful glance had given place to a look of saddened tenderness and a general expression of melancholy.

Neither did it escape Amina’s observation that Emily looked more pale than on her former visit; and when her two guests were seated, one on each side of her, with the wife of one of the Italian doctors, who officiated as interpreter, she began to inquire after Emily’s health, and how and where she had passed the summer.

These inquiries having been replied to, and the customary compliments exchanged while they sipped their coffee from lilliputian cups enclosed in _finjâns_ of gold filigree studded with diamonds, the conversation assumed a more general turn; for Amina soon found that neither of her guests could bear the pipe, although the tobacco was of the mildest fragrance and the jewelled amber mouthpieces were such as might tempt the lips of a smoke-abominating admiral.

In the course of the conversation Mrs Thorpe observed—

“How sad it is that young Hassan, who came up with us in the dahabiah last year, and who seemed so gentle and polite, should now be a ferocious captain of outlaws and banditti! I hear that he has become a terror to the whole country.” At these words a burning blush mantled over Amina’s neck and crimsoned her cheek up to the temples.

“The subject is painful,” she said, in a tone in which anger was discernible through embarrassment. “You forget, madam, that he risked his life to save mine, and was afterwards driven from our roof by an act of cruelty never sanctioned by my father. He is now once more a Bedouin in his native desert, and an English lady should know that Bedouins, although wild and warlike in their lives, are not banditti.”

Mrs Thorpe saw by the hurried accent and kindling glance of the Turkish maiden that she had ventured on dangerous ground, and she and her daughter rose to take leave, and rejoined their dahabiah on the Nile. They passed Siout and Keneh, and were already within a day of Thebes. Mr Thorpe held in his hand a volume of Diodorus Siculus, but his eye wandered often from its pages and rested on Emily’s countenance, where he gladly traced the symptoms of improving health which the climate had produced.

Suddenly were heard loud cries for “help” and “mercy” from the boatmen on the shore who had been employed in slowly towing the heavy dahabiahs from the bank against an adverse wind and current. Immediately above the path was a dense copse of low brushwood, from which twenty or twenty-five men, well armed, sprang upon them, and in an instant they were thrown to the ground and secured, whilst the steersman, and the few others who remained on board, exclaiming, “It is the band of Hassan Ebn-el-Heràm,” gave themselves up for lost. The dahabiahs having been hauled up to the bank (during which operation loaded carabines were presented at the helmsman to warn him of the consequence of resistance), the freebooters sprang on board, and having bound all the men of the party, they proceeded to ransack the cabins and collect the spoil with a coolness and deliberation which could only be the result of long practice.

“Quick, my men,” shouted Abou-Hashem, for he it was who led the party; “let us collect the spoil and mount for fear of interruption.”

The last package brought out from the cabin contained Mr Thorpe’s writing-desk, and he called to Demetri, who was likewise tied on the deck, to tell them that he would willingly give them his money, but that the desk contained papers of value to him but of no use to them, for which reason he hoped they would leave it. While Demetri was explaining this to Abou-Hashem a crashing noise was heard among the bushes of the copse on the bank, and in a second Hassan, followed by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, stood on the deck of the dahabiah. The perspiration that streamed from his face, and the crimsoned foam that stained the lower border of his _serwal_,[108] betokened the furious speed at which he had ridden; the veins on his forehead were swelled, and there was a dangerous fire in his eye, which his habitual self-command was unable at the moment to quell.