Part 21

“Allah have mercy upon us!” groaned the Arab boatmen, recognising at once by his haughty look and towering stature the terrible outlaw of whose predatory feats they had heard so much; “we are all dead men now.”

“Mashallah! what an eye!” muttered another, who had been on hunting expeditions in Soudan; “it is like that of a lion who has been struck by a javelin.”

The freebooters dropped the half-raised packets of booty and listened in sulky silence as, addressing Abou-Hashem, who stood within a few paces of him, Hassan said—

“How have you dared to disobey my orders? Did I not tell you last night when our spy reported and described these dahabiahs that they belonged to Franghis who were my friends, whose bread and salt I had eaten, and that I would not permit them to be injured?”

“And why are we to be cheated of our spoil?” replied Abou-Hashem, furious at being called upon to resign so rich a booty; “why are we to be robbed of the fruit of our risks and toil by your sympathy with these unbelieving dogs? Am I not right, comrades?” said he, looking round at the armed men grouped behind him. “We will no longer submit to this tyranny; our arms shall keep what our arms have won.” A murmur of applause from his brother-plunderers followed this speech.

“Hark ye, men,” said Hassan in a voice which seemed to gather stern composure as the danger grew more imminent. “I am your chief, freely elected by yourselves, and, by Allah! while I live amongst you I will be obeyed. Not a parcel of booty, not a morsel of bread, shall ye plunder from these boats.”

“Take, then, example from me,” shouted Abou-Hashem to the freebooters behind him; and as he spoke he drew a pistol from his belt to level it at his leader’s breast. But Hassan’s eye had been upon him, and quick as thought one blow from the mace sent the pistol high into the air, and a second stretched Abou-Hashem senseless on the deck.

“Take example from him,” said Hassan to the freebooters in a tone of bitter scorn; “it is a deed worthy of the warriors of the desert to murder their chief and to plunder those whose bread he has eaten.” Observing symptoms of hesitation in the fierce and lawless band, he continued, “Return to your duty, and I may yet forgive you: if you refuse, the consequences be on your own heads.”

With a pistol in each hand he calmly awaited the result of the conference which they held in a few brief and broken sentences. During this time Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo stood beside their leader, pistol in hand, and ready to spend the last drop of their blood in saving or avenging him.

Hassan took advantage of the brief pause to say to Emily, who still stood trembling near her bound father, “Sit down, sit down, lady, beside your father; pistol-balls may be flying in a moment, and a stray one might strike you. It is only my life now that they seek; and if I fall, tell them in Cairo that Hassan’s death redeemed the last year of his life.”

Having uttered these words in the low and gentle tone so well preserved in Emily’s remembrance, he once more addressed the still hesitating mutineers.

“Quick, men! declare your choice—obedience or death. There is no path between the two.” None spoke, nor dared to meet the eye of his chief. “It is enough, my men; I see that you are ashamed, and I may yet forgive this morning’s work. Abd-hoo, unbind the Franghi bey. Abou-Hamedi, shoot the first man dead who moves an arm to interrupt him.”

Whilst this order was being obeyed, and Abd-hoo was cutting the cords by which Mr Thorpe had been bound, Hassan stood silently but keenly scanning the countenances of the mutineers.

“What, my men,” he called aloud, “still hesitating to repair a fault into which you were led by this headstrong fool!” pointing to the motionless form of Abou-Hashem. “Since I have been your chief have I been last in the attack or first in the flight? Have I been miserly in spending with you my blood or my money?” A murmur of “Never” broke from the group. “Why, then, when I have so often led you to plunder and to victory, did you desire to cover my head with ashes, my name with infamy? You did not know, what Abou-Hashem knew, that these dahabiahs belonged to my friends—that I had eaten from their table and shared their salt! When all the provinces of Egypt are open to our swift horses and our sharpened steel, could you, brave warriors of the desert, find no more honourable foray than to attack defenceless strangers, and those, too, the friends of your leader? If such be your mind, I know you no more. Go and choose another leader from among thieves and _moharrabin_,[109] for Hassan will no longer be your chief.”

“We never knew that these Franghis were your friends, or that you had eaten their salt,” said one, who undertook to be spokesman for the rest.

“I thought so,” replied Hassan; “but he, Abou-Hashem, knew it well. He deceived you, and he has paid the penalty. Come hither, men, and remove him to yonder _sant_-tree[110] on the bank: perhaps he yet lives, and may be wiser hereafter. Remember that not a man is to remove the value of one _para_ from these boats. I have sworn it, and, Wallah! if I live I will keep my oath.”

Like hounds chidden by a huntsman, the subdued freebooters mechanically obeyed.

Whilst they were employed in removing their stunned and still senseless lieutenant, Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo busied themselves, by Hassan’s order, in cutting the bonds of the captives, all of whom, Mr Thorpe included, came to shake hands with Hassan and to thank him for his generous interposition on their behalf, and would not listen to his expression of deep regret that they should have been exposed to so much alarm and inconvenience by his followers. But the victory had been won, for they slowly left the dahabiahs without attempting to remove one of the parcels of plunder which they had collected on the deck.

Mr Thorpe, after listening with grave attention to a few words whispered in his ear by Emily, said to Hassan—

“My brave young friend, we owe all we have on board, perhaps even our lives, to you, and we cannot bear that you should again incur the risk of living among those lawless and bloodthirsty men: they will owe you a spite for depriving them of their spoil, and perhaps when you are off your guard will assassinate you.”

“Alas! sir, you are in error,” said Hassan, in a voice whose melancholy and soft cadence contrasted strangely with the stern, deep tones in which he had lately addressed his followers. “You owe me nothing but forgiveness; for were it not for me, this lawless band might not have existed, and you might have pursued your journey without this vexatious incident. My lot is cast among them for the present; least of all could I leave them now, when my doing so would be attributed to fear. We all of us owe a life to destiny, and if a sword or bullet put an end to mine, where is the father or mother, sister or child, to shed a tear on the tomb of Hassan. No; these men must know and feel that I am their master and fear them not! The day will come, Inshallah! before long when I can part with them without regret or shame. May your journey be prosperous and your days prolonged.”

As he said these words he bade them adieu, and in the Franghi fashion shook hands with all the Europeans, without distinction of rank.

“Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe, taking him aside and speaking in a low voice, “before we left Cairo my wife and Emily paid a visit to the harem of Delì Pasha: they saw his daughter, and I must tell you that your present mode of life makes them both most unhappy.” Hassan averted his face and spoke not. Mr Thorpe continued, “Yes, Hassan, it makes every one unhappy who has an interest in your welfare. It is a career in which you are exposed every day to lose your own life, or to take that of others, without honour or glory. Be persuaded to abandon it ere it is too late.”

Mastering his emotions by a strong effort, Hassan replied—

“You know how I was driven from society by injustice. I feel that the advice which you give is kindly meant, and I thank you for it; but we who are children of the desert attach no dishonour to the life that I now lead: it is such as our fathers have led before us for centuries.”

“But you are not in the desert, Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe gently; “those to whom your band is a terror are merchants, villagers, and travellers. Even now it was only at the risk of your life that you saved us and our property from the ferocity of those who call you chief. Can you wonder that the daughter of Delì Pasha should weep when your name is mentioned?”

“Did she weep? when and where?” said Hassan.

“Yes; she wept in my daughter’s arms. She could not speak, but her altered appearance shows how much she has suffered.”

“Allah! Allah!” said Hassan, hiding his face for a moment in his hands; then, as if ashamed of his emotion, he wrung Mr Thorpe’s hand with an energy that nearly dislocated the worthy antiquary’s fingers, and hastily uttering, “Farewell, sir; I will not forget what you have said,” he leapt ashore, followed by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, and rejoined his band beyond the copse whence they had attacked the dahabiah.

For many days the life of Abou-Hashem was despaired of, and even when by slow degrees he recovered somewhat of his strength, and was able to sit on horseback, his senses seemed wavering and unsettled. Many amongst the band wore a sulky and dissatisfied air, and Hassan saw that on the first favourable opportunity they were not unlikely to desert or betray him. With the bold frankness which formed the leading feature of his character, he resolved to come to an open explanation with them, and then to resign the office which they had conferred on him. Having called them all together, he said—

“My men, I see that you are still vexed at my having disappointed you of the spoil of those dahabiahs. As for the blow which I gave to Abou-Hashem, I speak not of it: you saw that he attempted to take my life, and I defended it. How much, think you, would you have obtained had I permitted you to plunder those Franks?”

“We might have divided perhaps twenty purses [£100], besides the Franghi clothes, which were indeed of little value to us,” replied one fellow, in a sulky tone.

“How much have you belonging to me?” said Hassan to Abou-Hamedi, who had charge of that portion of the spoil which had fallen to his share as leader.

“I have forty purses,” replied Abou-Hamedi, after examining the contents of a bag which he carried in his belt.

“Here then, my comrades, are thirty purses,” said Hassan, again addressing the freebooters; “take them and divide them among you: they will compensate for your disappointment. Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, you have both been true and faithful to me; here are five purses for each of you. Now I resign my command, and leave you to follow your own counsel and your own path. We part as friends, I hope?”

“Mashallah! your hand is always open,” shouted the freebooters, ashamed of their late conduct. “Stay with us, and be still our leader; we will never disobey you again.”

“It cannot be,” said Hassan; “my destiny compels me to go to Cairo, where certain death would await you all, and where it is not unlikely to await me also: but what is written must come to pass—there is neither power nor strength but in Allah. Abd-hoo, bring me my horse. Farewell, comrades; may happiness attend your path.”

So saying, he vaulted on the back of Shèitan and rode slowly away in a southerly direction.

It was evident to all the band, from his abstracted air and the grave melancholy of his voice, that something weighed heavily on his spirits, and they noticed also that although he spoke of going to Cairo, the path he had taken went in the direction precisely opposite.

For an hour he rode slowly forward, revolving in his mind the last words addressed to him by Mr Thorpe, when, hearing behind him the sound of horses’ feet, he turned and found he was followed by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, the latter driving a mule laden with saddle-bags containing Hassan’s clothes and spare arms.

“What is this?” said Hassan; “did I not bid you farewell?”

“And did you think,” said Abou-Hamedi, in a tone in which indignation almost mastered his habitual respect for his chief, “that Abd-hoo and I would take your money and leave you thus? What have we done that you should think so meanly of us?”

“Forgive me,” said Hassan, “I have done you wrong; but my heart was heavy, misfortune hangs over me, and I thought it best to meet my fate alone.”

“Be it misfortune, or prison, or death, we will share it with you,” was the exclamation of Abou-Hamedi, echoed by a hearty “Yes, by Allah!” from the faithful black.

“Be it so,” said Hassan, much affected by their devoted attachment; “we will part no more.” So saying, he rode once more forward in the same direction as before; but Abou-Hamedi, who had in gaining his point recovered his former spirits and energy of character, came up to him and said, with a comic gravity—

“Hassan, you told us you were going to Cairo; have you forgotten that the path we are following will take us to Esnah and Assouan?”

“I know it,” he replied; “but before returning to Cairo I wish to see El-Uksor[111] and the wonderful monuments of which I have heard so much. The party of Franks are there, and I must speak to them again before I visit Cairo.”

“There is a governor at El-Uksor; will the Franks not betray us to him?” said Abou-Hamedi doubtingly.

“Never!” replied Hassan with something of his former energy. “Allah has not given them light to dwell in the true faith, but they have hearts open to kindness and friendship.”

We may here mention that the band lately commanded by Hassan, dispirited by the loss of a chief who had been the life and soul of every daring enterprise, and anxious to retain, without molestation from the Egyptian authorities, the considerable booty which they had amassed, were not long in breaking up, some seeking concealment among the Arabs bordering the desert, and the greater number joining a large caravan of pilgrims returning from Mecca to the west by the route of Cosseir and Keneh.

About a week after the occurrence of these events the Thorpe party were assembled at Thebes. Mr Thorpe, accompanied by Müller, was busy in copying hieroglyphic inscriptions. At a little distance from them Emily, seated on a fragment of stone, was sketching the interior of that magnificent temple whose massive proportions and antique beauty excited the admiration of the Romans eighteen centuries ago.

“What a picturesque and appropriate addition to this classic scene!” said Emily, half aloud to herself, as her eye rested upon the figure of a stranger who had just entered the temple from the side, and was looking up, apparently awed and surprised, at its gigantic though harmonious proportions.

He was a large, powerful man, considerably above middle height. His dark eye, sparkling with the fire of vigorous manhood, belied the age which the massive grey beard descending on his breast might seem to indicate, while the folds of his ample turban, the cashmere shawl around his waist, in which were two silver-mounted pistols, and the sword that hung at his side, bespoke at once a man of rank and a soldier.

“Do you know who he is?” said Emily, addressing Demetri.

“Yes, signora,” replied the loquacious interpreter; “though he only arrived here yesterday, I have found out all about him. His name is Dervish Bey, known as Es-Seyaf, or the Swordsman. He was one of the most celebrated warriors in Mohammed Ali’s army of Arabia. He has lately been Governor of Assouan, but is now on his way to Cairo. His boats are gone on and wait for him at Keneh, to which place he travels on horseback attended by two or three mounted followers. They say that with that very sword now at his side he has often cut off the head of an ox at a single blow.”

“I hope he will not cut off any of our heads,” replied Emily, smiling.

“Were he to attempt it, lady, you would not be without a defender,” said a low voice in English immediately behind her. At the sound of that well-known voice the blood rushed to Emily’s temples as she turned and saw Hassan before her.

“I beg pardon for having startled you by my sudden appearance,” said Hassan.

“I was, indeed, surprised at your unexpected appearance,” said Emily, recovering herself; “but you know we are always glad to see you, Hassan. Will you come and speak to my father?” and she led the way to the spot where Mr Thorpe was transferring hieroglyphics to his album.

From him, as well as from Müller, Hassan received a friendly welcome, and in a brief conversation which ensued our hero informed them that he had finally quitted his roving life and his lawless band. Whilst they were still conversing, Dervish Bey approached the party, and observing that Hassan spoke to them in their own language, saluted him, adding, “Will you ask the Frank ladies whether one of them has lost a ring?”

Hassan having repeated the question, Emily, looking at her hand, observed that in the surprise which his sudden appearance had occasioned a ring had dropped from her finger. “Yes,” she replied, “I see that I have lost my small emerald ring.”

“I have had the good fortune to find it,” said Dervish Bey, “near to the spot where the Khanum was sitting.” So saying, he handed it to Hassan, who delivered it to the owner.

“Pray express my thanks to him,” said Emily.

In obeying this command Hassan employed language so correct and courteous that the Bey’s curiosity was excited, and he fixed upon him a glance of keen scrutiny. His eye was met by one frank and fearless as his own; and while the Bey looked with admiration at the noble features and commanding form of the young Bedouin, our hero thought that he had never seen the vigour of manhood so happily united to a snowy beard—that object of profound reverence to youth in the East.

No sooner had the Bey left than Mr Thorpe asked Hassan if they had ever met before.

“No,” he replied; “I am only just arrived, and know not who he is.” They then communicated to him the intelligence which Demetri had obtained respecting his name and history.

“What!” exclaimed Hassan, “is that the famous Dervish, the swordsman? Often have I heard Delì Pasha speak of his gallant feats in Arabia, and he looks like what they say of him: would that I had met him when he was twenty years younger!”

“Wherefore, Hassan?” inquired Emily, timidly.

“That I might have proved my sword against his,” replied Hassan, his eyes flashing as he spoke.

“Surely, Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe, mildly, “you could not indulge in hostile feelings towards one whose manner and appearance entitle him to respect.”

“I was wrong, sir,” replied Hassan; “I should ask pardon for my hasty speech. I have lived so much of late among those who are always engaged in strife, that I almost forgot that life has any other occupation. Believe me that I pay due honour to his white beard, and in the hasty words which I spoke I only meant that I envied him the honourable fame that his sword has obtained for him.”

A moonlight November evening at Thebes—who that has once enjoyed can ever forget it? The mild and temperate air; the noble river—the author and nourisher of all the fertility of Egypt—rolling its majestic tide beneath the time-honoured remains of the temple of Luxor; a mile or two to the northward the yet more ancient and magnificent ruins of Karnak; while at some distance inland, on the opposite banks of the Nile, are dimly discernible the Memnonium, celebrated in classic fable, and the hills, within whose chambered sides repose the ashes of the mighty of olden time—monarchs who had conquered kingdoms and raised imperishable monuments of architecture and art ere Greece or Rome had emerged from the insignificance of barbarism.

Such was the scene where the Thorpes were assembled on the evening which followed the events just related. Hassan was with them, and had already during the day drawn from Mr Thorpe a detailed account of the ladies’ visit to Amina; and as he heard recounted the deep emotion caused by the mention of his name, hope had once more arisen within his breast. Near, too, sat Dervish Bey, who had deferred his departure, and had courteously accepted Mr Thorpe’s invitation to take a cup of coffee with their party. None of them failed to observe with how scrutinising a glance his eye rested upon Hassan, and Mr Thorpe felt convinced that the ex-Governor either had learnt or suspected that the young Bedouin before him was no other than Hassan, the far-famed outlaw. Upon Mr Thorpe’s hinting as much to Hassan, he replied with a smile—

“If it be so, there is no harm. Dervish Bey is a brave soldier, not a spy or informer.”

On the following morning Abou-Hamedi, who had been absent the greater part of the night, reported to Hassan that he had obtained information of a band of thieves in the neighbourhood who seemed to have evil intentions towards Dervish Bey. He had accidentally fallen in with one of these fellows at a small coffee-house in the village of Luxor, and suspecting from casual expressions that he belonged to some band who meant mischief, he plied him so well with arrack and the intoxicating drug called _hashish_ that he was able to learn from the man that he was associated with a body of thieves and _moharrabin_, the latter of whom had escaped from the conscription lately issued in Upper Egypt for the levy of troops to march into Sennaar. Several of these fellows had been flogged for insubordination by Dervish Bey, who was a severe disciplinarian, and having ascertained that he was travelling down to Keneh on horseback with only a few followers, the greater part of his suite being on board his boats, they had laid a plot to waylay and rob him in some unfrequented part of the road. Abou-Hamedi encouraged his tipsy friend to believe that he highly approved the scheme, and hoped to participate in its execution.

Hassan lost no time in returning to Luxor in order to put Dervish Bey on his guard, and was disappointed to find that the old soldier had started at daybreak, and was already some miles on his way.

Hassan resolved to follow him immediately. Before doing so he called on Mr Thorpe, and having informed him of the intelligence that he had received, recommended him to communicate it without delay to the Governor of Luxor, and to have the guards doubled for the protection of his own dahabiahs, lest the predatory band should be tempted to pay him a visit.

Mr Thorpe thanked him for his warning, and placed in his hands a letter, which he requested that he would find means to deliver to the Viceroy’s interpreter, a commission which Hassan promised to fulfil. He was not aware that it contained an account of the attack made upon his boats by Abou-Hashem’s band, and of the manner in which his party and his property had been rescued by Hassan at the imminent risk of his life. Our hero was so anxious to overtake Dervish Bey, and to warn him of the plot laid by the _moharrabin_, that, bidding the Thorpes a hasty but cordial farewell, he galloped off in the direction of Keneh.

Meanwhile Dervish Bey, unsuspicious of any danger, passed the ruins of Karnak and continued his course to the northward, intending to reach at nightfall a small village called Solemieh, which belonged to him, and the rents of which had fallen somewhat in arrear. He was accompanied only by his _khaznadâr_, his _chibouqchi_, two armed servants, and a couple of _sàises_, who looked after his baggage-mules, which were three in number.