Chapter IX: Part 9

After Hassan had been removed in obedience to this order, Osman Bey remained for some time in consultation with the commander of the troops and other officers respecting the punishment to be inflicted on Hassan. Ahmed Aga lingered among these, and in order to disarm the Vice-Governor’s suspicions of his sentiments towards the prisoner, he was loud in his condemnation of the offence, although he took no part in the discussion that arose regarding the punishment.

Osman Aga declared that the honour of the Pasha required it to be both prompt and severe, so as to deter others from invading the sanctity of his harem, and before the consultation closed he avowed his determination to have Hassan publicly beaten on the following morning in the open _meidàn_ in front of the palace, and be afterwards reconveyed to prison to await Delì Pasha’s arrival. Ahmed Aga, who well knew that all opposition to a decision based on motives of personal revenge and hatred would be fruitless, feigned acquiescence in its justice, and suggested to the Governor that it would be improper that the prisoner should be confined and punished in the dress of _khaznadâr_ to the Pasha: he proposed, therefore, that he should be authorised to see him deprived of his household dress and arms, and that he should be clad in a costume more befitting his disgraced position.

To this Osman Bey, willingly assenting, gave an order that the prison should be opened to Ahmed Aga to allow him to make the change; but he knew so well Hassan’s popularity in the Pasha’s household, that he intrusted the custody of the prisoner, both in prison and at the place of punishment, solely to his own followers and to the soldiers now under his orders as Vice-Governor.

Ahmed Aga, having provided himself with a suit of clothes such as was worn by the humbler attendants of the Pasha, proceeded in company with two of Osman Bey’s followers to the prison, and being aware that his every word and gesture would be closely watched and reported, he affected a tone of the greatest harshness in addressing the prisoner.

Hassan, to whom his secret motives were unknown, was more hurt at the conduct of his former friend than he could have been by any indignity inflicted on him by the spite of Osman Bey. Had he known Latin and history, he might have ejaculated, “_Et tu, Brute!_” but as it was, he observed a proud and haughty silence while delivering over his _khaznadâr_ dress, together with his shawl-girdle, purse, and dagger, of all of which Ahmed Aga took possession. Scanning with a rapid glance the walls and dimensions of the prison, Ahmed Aga noticed that it was lighted only by one small aperture, so high that escape was impossible; and he had already heard the orders given to the sentries who paced before the door with loaded pistols, and who knew that their lives were made answerable for the prisoner’s safety.

“Give him bread and water,” said he to the guards, “and let him have a light burning in the cell; it may be useful if you want to look in at any hour before morning to see what he is doing. He is a desperate fellow; beware, my men, that you do not let him escape.”

“You may trust us for that,” they replied gruffly, “as we have no wish to take his place or share his punishment.”

Poor Hassan made his solitary bread-and-water meal with the proud stoicism of a Bedouin, though his heart bled at the apparently hopeless issue of his love and the treacherous ingratitude of Ahmed Aga.

The early hours of the night had passed, and he was just about to lose a sense of his troubles and dangers in sleep, when he was aroused by seeing something drop near his feet, which had evidently been thrown in at the aperture in the wall. Reaching out his manacled hand, he found it to be a lump of clay, to which was attached a note containing a small file and the following words:—

“LIGHT OF MY EYES, BELOVED FRIEND,—Your condition is very perilous; all I could do I have done. Osman Aga swears you shall be publicly beaten to-morrow, and he will keep his oath. The place will be the wooden pillar in the middle of the _meidàn_; if you try to escape before you reach it you will be killed, according to his orders. The cords by which they tie you will be rotten; with the file you can cut nearly through one of the manacles near the wrist, where the cut will not be seen, and you may then break them with a sudden effort. Immediately in front of the post will sit the Bey, and behind him you will see a large clump of date-trees, at the back of which is a ruined sheik’s tomb, where you will find your clothes, your arms, and your horse ready saddled; if you have courage and fortune to reach that spot you are safe. You must turn northward behind the date-trees, and I will direct the pursuit westwards toward the desert. Allah bless you. I have been obliged to seem your enemy to obtain the means of serving you, but Hassan knows the truth of this heart and hand.”

“I should have known and trusted,” said Hassan, pacing up and down his cell in agitation; “but I doubted thee, Ahmed, and am unworthy of thy friendship.”

After giving himself up awhile to these thoughts, he reverted to the letter. “Beaten!” he said, while he crushed the paper in his gyved hand. “I, Hassan, the Child of the Pyramid, whose lance has emptied the saddles of warriors; I, the betrothed of Amina, to be exposed in the _meidàn_ and beaten like a thief or a slave—by Allah! rather will I die ten thousand deaths.” He cast his eye scornfully down on the rusty manacles that fettered his wrists. “Fools,” said he, “to think that the hands of Hassan could be held by brittle toys like these! The intention of Ahmed in sending me the file was friendly, and it may yet be needed, but not now. The slaves might examine these chains before leading me out, and my escape be thus rendered impossible.”

So saying, he hid the file in the folds of a linen girdle that supported his _serwal_ (or drawers), and having carefully reperused Ahmed’s letter so as to fix it firmly in his memory, he tore it piecemeal and buried it in the dust in a corner of his cell, so that in case he should fall in his attempted escape there might not be found anything to compromise his friend.

Having made these preparations and recited his evening prayer, he lay down and slept soundly till he was awakened by the drawing of the bolts of the prison-door, and the entrance of half-a-dozen armed men appointed to conduct him to the place of punishment.

In obedience to their orders, before leaving the prison they examined the manacles, which Hassan held up to their inspection with an air of good-humoured confidence, which, together with his noble and distinguished mien, impressed the rough fellows in his favour.

They were strangers to him personally, but they thought it a pity that so handsome a youth should be subjected to a degrading punishment for speaking a few words in the garden beneath the window of a Khanum whose life he had saved only a few days before. However, they knew Osman Bey’s character, and dared not disobey his orders, so they marched their prisoner to the appointed spot, where a man stood ready to tie his hands to the post mentioned in Ahmed’s letter.

While performing this office, his back being turned to the Bey, a single wink of the eye sufficed to show to Hassan that he was a friend, and that the cord was either half-cut or rotten. Osman Bey sat on a cushioned carpet smoking his chibouq, some of the officers of his household standing on either side, while behind him Hassan recognised many friendly faces of Delì Pasha’s attendants, on which sympathy and indignation were legibly written: beyond these again he noticed the palm-grove, where his horse and liberty awaited him if he could escape from stab or bullet on the way. The attempt seemed desperate; yet, although Hassan had resolved to risk it, none could read any agitation or emotion in that calm, proud eye, which, after surveying the surrounding crowd, rested its scornful glance on the Vice-Governor.

“Osman Bey,” said Hassan in a loud, firm voice that was heard by all present, “I warn you to desist from this unjust punishment. I have appealed to Delì Pasha; it is he alone who should judge his own _khaznadâr_.”

“Dog!” replied Osman Bey, “dost thou teach me my duties and my powers? Am I not Governor till Delì Pasha arrives; and shall I not punish a scoundrel who dares to invade his harem? I will have thy back beaten till thou canst not speak, and I will leave thy feet for Delì Pasha to beat till thou canst not stand. Slaves,” he continued, addressing two men armed with sticks who had silently taken their places on each side of the prisoner, “strike! and if you do not lay it soundly on, by my head you shall taste the stick yourselves.”

Even as he ceased speaking the fall of a heavy blow on Hassan’s back sounded over the _meidàn_, and an involuntary groan burst from many of his former comrades in the Pasha’s household. Uttering the single word “Allah!” in a voice of thunder, Hassan burst the cord that bound his hands to the post, and dashing them apart with the full power of his gigantic strength, the rusted manacles snapped like whipcord: a single bound brought him to the side of the astonished Bey, who had scarcely time to take the pipe from his mouth ere he received from the iron chain still hanging from Hassan’s right hand a blow which broke his nose and deluged his face in blood. Without turning even to give him a look, Hassan dashed impetuously forward, brandishing a sword that he had snatched from the Bey’s nearest attendant. Some made way for him apparently paralysed by fear or surprise, some doubtless from secret friendship, so that, here and there parrying a random cut or thrust, he succeeded in gaining the palm-grove.

Such was Hassan’s extraordinary fleetness of foot that he had distanced all pursuers when the Bey, rising from the ground and holding a handkerchief to his bleeding face, roared aloud in fury to his _kawàsses_ and Bashi-Bazouks to mount in pursuit. “A hundred purses to any one who takes him dead or alive!”

It may well be believed that a reward of such unheard of magnitude sent many of the greedy soldiers to their saddles with all possible speed.

Hassan meanwhile sped his way to the sheik’s tomb, beneath which he found a friendly young Mameluke of the Pasha’s mounted and holding Shèitan by the bridle.

“Quick, quick!” said the youth; “here is your belt and pistols—they are primed and loaded; here your sword and dagger; in these small bags, firmly tied to the saddle, are your clothes and purse. Away, away to the right, round these palms; I will gallop off to the left and shout as if in pursuit.”

With a grasp of the hand, and without exchanging another word, Hassan fastened his arms in his girdle, and vaulting into the saddle, went off at full speed; while the young Mameluke galloped off in the opposite direction, shouting aloud, and followed, as he expected, by the first horsemen who came up, and who, supposing him to be in sight of the fugitive, hastened in pursuit, hoping to snatch from him the coveted prize of one hundred purses.

One of the mounted _kawàsses_ only, a powerful fellow, and greedy, like the rest, to secure the promised reward, had heard the sound of Shèitan’s retreating hoofs, and followed in the right direction; nor was it long ere, leaving the palm-grove and entering on the adjoining open fields which bordered the desert, he caught a view of Hassan in full flight before him. Well knowing that he could trust, if necessary, to his horse’s speed, Hassan did not wish to distress him at the commencement of a chase the length of which was uncertain. He contented himself therefore with going on at a moderate hand-gallop, which soon allowed the impatient _kawàss_ to gain on him. Hassan perceiving, as he came nearer, that the man was armed like himself with sword and pistols, drew one of the latter from his belt and quietly awaited his adversary’s approach.

The _kawàss_, thirsting for the hundred purses, and trusting to his skill in the use of his weapon, galloped by our hero, discharging his pistol as he passed. The ball whizzed by Hassan’s head, but missed its mark; and, driving the stirrup into Shèitan’s flanks, he brought him quickly within range of his opponent, when he fired with so true an aim that the _kawàss_ fell dead at the first shot.

“Fool!” said Hassan; “what harm had I done you that you must strive to take me?”

He dismounted, and, seeing that no other pursuers were in sight, dressed himself in the _kawàss’s_ clothes, and throwing the body into an adjoining ditch, added a second brace of pistols to his own means of defence, and led off his late opponent’s horse, which he resolved to retain or turn loose as circumstances might render it advisable.

A few days after these events Delì Pasha, who had been released from his attendance on the Viceroy, and had performed the voyage up the Nile in a light Government _canjah_, arrived at Siout, where he learnt the various “moving incidents” that had occurred in his household: the imminent peril of his favourite child, rescued by the devoted courage of Hassan, her name become the subject of scandal in connection with that of her deliverer, and the disgraceful punishment awarded to his _khaznadâr_ by Osman Bey, who, as Delì Pasha well knew, had gratified his own revengeful hatred under a semblance of zeal for the honour of his chief.

All these things combined to rouse the feelings of the choleric old soldier to the highest pitch of excitement. He was angry with Hassan, angry with his daughter, angry with Osman Bey, and angry with Destiny, which had brought all these troubles on his old age. His attendants saw the cloud settled on his brow, and waited in silent apprehension to see when and how the storm would burst.

At last it fell, as is too often the case in this world of injustice, on the feeblest and most innocent head. Amina alone, of all the objects of his wrath, was under his roof and entirely in his power; she had heard from Fatimeh Khanum and the eunuchs the indications of her father’s gloomy state of mind, and as on arriving he had neither come to see her nor sent her any message of affection, she dreaded the first interview. When, after the lapse of some days, he visited her apartment and ordered all the attendants to retire, she advanced to meet him, and observing no welcome sign of parental embrace, she kissed the hem of his robe and sat down in silence at his feet.

Notwithstanding all his stoic and stern resolves, the feelings that struggled for the mastery in his breast betrayed themselves; and as he contemplated her surpassing loveliness, and the touching and subdued melancholy by which it was shaded, he could not forbear the reflection that, had it not been for the courageous devotion of Hassan, that face and form, which he had so often caressed with all a father’s love, would now be sleeping cold and lifeless in the muddy bed of the Nile.

“Better so than disgraced and dishonoured,” said he to himself, rousing his own angrier passions, and giving them vent in a volume of reproaches directed against herself and her lover. For a long time she bore them in silence and in tears; but when at length he reproached her with giving her affection to a nameless adventurer, and said that he would rather see her dead than united to one who had ungratefully brought dishonour on his house, she started to her feet, and while the eyes so lately bathed in tears now flashed with the fire of indignation, she said—

“Father, you shall have your wish. Death has no terror for me, and I would meet it in any hour and in any shape rather than renounce a faith that I have plighted in the sight of Allah. Cruel and unjust father, how dare you tax with ingratitude one who risked his own life to save that of your child? Father, neither your anger nor your power can arrest the decrees of destiny. Was it Hassan’s fault or was it mine that on that dark and stormy night I was cast into the waves of the Nile? He heard a faint cry, and though he knew not who uttered it, he plunged into those troubled waters and reached me just as I was about to sink from cold and exhaustion. Cheering and sustaining me, he brought me to the shore. In the very jaws of death I vowed to devote to him the life that he had saved; he stripped off his own cloak to shield me from the cold; he bore me to the friendly Arab tents, and his heart beat against my heart as I rested in his arms. He had seen my face uncovered, and we mutually swore to love each other faithfully until separated by that death from which we had just escaped. Cruel father, do you think that after this any other man would wish or dare to wed your daughter? In the sight of Allah, Hassan is my husband. The cruelty of man or Fate may doom me never to see him again; but I warn you, father, that I am Delì Pasha’s own daughter, and if you compel me to become the bride of another, the bridal bed shall be the grave of one or both.”

The Pasha gazed with mingled awe and astonishment on the flashing eyes and dilated figure of his transformed Amina as she uttered these words; while one of her hands rested on her girdle, as if seeking the hilt of that dagger to which her closing sentence had so plainly alluded.

“Amina,” he said in a voice rendered tremulous by emotion, “you are right; it has been the work of destiny. I meant not to be cruel to you or unjust to Hassan. Come to my arms.”

Who has not experienced the pleasure of seeing a dusky summer cloud, which lately obscured the sun and sent forth the lightning’s flash and the thunder’s growl, suddenly dissolve and pass away in gentle rain, while the sun resumes its empire over the sky, and the shower-spangled leaves and herbs and flowers exhale the grateful incense of their odorous breath?

Such, only so much more lovely as moral is superior to natural beauty, was the change wrought in Amina by a word of parental love. Throwing herself into his arms with a wild cry of irrepressible joy, she looked up in his face, and pressing his hand fondly to her lips, said—

“Father, dear father, I fear that my words have pained you; tell me that you forgive me. I can bear anything but to hear him ill-spoken of; then my heart jumps to my mouth, and my tongue knows no restraint; but now I am your own little Amina again. Kiss me, and love me, dear father, and, Inshallah! I will never do anything to offend you.”

Delì Pasha could not trust himself to speak, but he folded her to his heart in a silence more eloquent than words, and the reconciliation between father and daughter was complete.

Often afterwards, when alone together, they spoke of Hassan, and wondered what had become of him, till at length reports reached them which, although they threw a light upon his fate, filled them with grief and dismay.

In order to explain these more fully we must resume the thread of our narrative at the point where we left our hero clad in the dress of the _kawàss_ whom he had despoiled, and journeying northward along the border of the desert, leading his spare horse by the bridle.

He had travelled some four or five hours at a round pace without halting, when he met half-a-dozen wild-looking Bedouin Arabs, well-mounted and armed with lance and sword. Forgetting at the moment that the dress which he wore might not find favour in the eyes of these children of the desert, he rode forward to meet them, when one who seemed their leader, after conversing for a few moments with his companions, called aloud to him—

“Halt, you _kawàss_, servant of some grasping Turk; if you would have us spare your life, dismount and give us up those two horses.”

“I am no _kawàss_,” replied Hassan, addressing the surprised Arabs in the deep-toned guttural accents of a Bedouin, “but a son of the desert like yourselves. ’Tis but a few hours since a _kawàss_ attacked me, and I killed him and took his horse. If you wish to fight, the same arms that killed him are ready for you. If you desire peace, Bismillah! I am your friend.”

While speaking, he deliberately drew a pistol from his girdle and brought round the hilt of his sword ready for his hand. The Bedouins were completely puzzled by his appearance and language; his powerful figure, noble mien, and the perfect coolness with which he challenged six men to combat, compelled their involuntary admiration, while his dress denoted hostility to their predatory band, and his horses excited their cupidity.

While they were holding a brief consultation as to the course which they should pursue, another Arab belonging to their party, who had followed them at some distance, came up: he was a broad-shouldered, stout fellow, with a black patch covering one-half of his face, and from the eagerness with which they crowded round him it was evident that his voice was not without weight among them.

“Let me see this _kawàss_ who pretends to be a Bedouin,” said he, pushing his way through them; “I will soon tell you whether he be lion or jackal.” So saying, he advanced to within a few yards of our hero.

“Mashallah! Mashallah!” exclaimed the new-comer; and, to the astonishment of his comrades, he jumped off his horse, and running up to Hassan, kissed his hand, crying aloud, “Ya sidi, ya sidi,—My master, my master,—do you not know your faithful Abou-Hamedi?”

It was, indeed, no less a personage than our old friend the Damanhouri whom Hassan had thus unexpectedly encountered, and who was now out upon a marauding expedition with a fragment of the lawless and numerous band of which he was a member.

“The black patch could not disguise Abou-Hamedi from the eyes of a friend,” replied Hassan, cordially returning his greeting. In a few minutes hasty salutations and mutual inquiries had passed, and Hassan found himself on his way to the Bedouin encampment, where he was invited to sup and pass the night.

Abou-Hamedi took the bridle of the led horse, and treated our hero with such evident deference that the other Arabs unconsciously adopted a similar manner towards him, and he entered their encampment rather with the air of its chieftain than of a homeless fugitive.

The band consisted of forty-five or fifty men, who were sitting in a circle round a large fire, at which a couple of black slaves were roasting several sheep and baking Arab bread on the cinders. The horses were picketed in a semicircle at the back of the party, and other black slaves were bringing them their evening supply of forage. Tents there were none, these hardy sons of the desert contenting themselves with a blanket for a bed and the open sky for a canopy.

Hassan saw at a glance that more than half of the band were Arabs from the West—rough, powerful fellows, who, having come across the Great Desert to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca, had on their return been attracted by the “fleshpots of Egypt,” and had remained behind to do a little business in the plundering line, while the rest of their caravan had continued its course to the desert borders of Tripoli and Tunis. The residue of the party was composed of Arabs who were either outlawed for some offence against the Egyptian Government or had been compelled to fly from some Bedouin tribe to avoid retaliation for a deed of blood.

Hassan had no sooner taken his seat among them than he was expected and requested to relate the circumstances which had brought him among them in the dress of a Turkish _kawàss_, and with iron manacles attached to each wrist. This he did in a simple and unpretending manner, which would have carried conviction with it even without the confirmatory evidence of the manacle chain which still hung from his right hand.

The Bedouins listened with grave attention and interest to his tale, and at the end of it Abou-Hamedi drew near to his side, and asking him for the file which the forethought of Ahmed had provided, set about the task of delivering our hero from bracelets which were neither convenient nor ornamental. This was a more tedious task than it appeared; and when at length they were removed, they were passed from hand to hand, the Arabs casting their eyes from the broken chain to the powerful limbs which it had failed to fetter, and paying that involuntary tribute to lofty stature and manly beauty which these qualities command still more in savage than in civilised life.

No sooner was Hassan relieved from his gyves than he rose up and went to see that his faithful Shèitan was duly cleaned and fed. He found a grinning negro belonging to Abou-Hamedi already employed on this service, whose goodwill he further stimulated by a smile of encouragement and a five-piastre piece slipped into his palm. The horse taken from the _kawàss_ likewise received his due allowance, and both it and Shèitan were provided with a coarse rug to protect them against the cold of approaching night.

While Hassan was thus engaged, and in the subsequent recital of his sunset prayers, which, like a true Mussulman, he never omitted in any presence or under any circumstances, Abou-Hamedi was eloquently haranguing the listening Arabs concerning his character and qualities. He related to them how he himself owed his life and liberty to Hassan’s youthful generosity; and after extolling in the highest terms his deliverer’s daring courage and aptitude for command, he proposed that the band should invite him to become their leader.

One of the party, named Abou-Hashem, who had hitherto acted in that capacity, listened to this address with a clouded brow. He was a strong, active man, well skilled in the use of his weapons, bold and resolute in danger, and versed in the various modes of Arab warfare. He expressed his dissent from the proposal of Abou-Hamedi, and said that he for one would not agree to surrender his own claims to command to a stranger, and one of less age and experience than himself. Abou-Hamedi replied, and the discussion was so warmly sustained on both sides that they did not perceive the return of Hassan, who had taken his seat in the circle and listened to the arguments of the disputants.

“Let this discussion cease, my brothers,” he said in a voice whose deep authoritative tone commanded general attention. “I seek not to be your leader, and would not accept the charge otherwise than by your unanimous choice. So long as I remain among you I will be faithful to your cause; and if I see amongst you treachery or cruelty, or aught else that I do not approve, I shall leave you and follow my solitary path. In a band like this, where there is no hereditary title to command, the boldest heart, the strongest hand, and the wisest head must be your chief. In the first fair day of fight that we may have, show me the man who is first in the fray, stoutest in the _mêlée_, and last to leave it,—let him be our leader; I will cheerfully follow and obey him.”

This speech was received with general acclamation. The party having set their guards, retired to rest, and thus Hassan found himself transformed from a Turkish _khaznadâr_ into a comrade of predatory outlaws.

Not a week had passed ere Abou-Hamedi went disguised into Siout to perform various commissions and to gather information. On his return he told his companions that after two days the great annual caravan of _gellabs_ (slave-dealers) was about to set out for the Soudan; that their sacks would be full of money and trinkets for the purchase of slaves; and that they were to be escorted by fifty Bashi-Bazouks, or irregular Turkish cavalry.

He also informed them that he had seen Osman Bey in his divan with a large black plaster covering his broken nose and lacerated cheek, at which intelligence a smile of satisfaction played over Hassan’s features, which had worn an unusually grave expression. It was unanimously resolved to plunder the caravan, and a council was held as to the place and plan of attack, in which Abou-Hamedi and Abou-Hashem, as being best acquainted with the localities, were the principal speakers. After the council had broken up, Abou-Hamedi retired with Hassan, and produced from his saddle-bags a complete Bedouin dress, which our hero gladly donned in place of the Turkish costume which he had of late been accustomed to wear.

On the day fixed for the departure of the _gellabs_, our band, guided by Abou-Hamedi and Abou-Hashem, was posted behind a desert sandhill on the caravan-road to the south, at a distance of about fifteen miles from Siout. Swords were loosened in their scabbards, the priming of pistols and the points of lances duly examined, when towards four in the afternoon the caravan was seen slowly approaching, half of the armed escort in front, half in the rear, with the wealthy _gellabs_ and their baggage containing money, jewels, trinkets, and numerous sets of manacles, in the centre.

Our Bedouins were awaiting them in profound silence, when suddenly their ambush was betrayed by one of their horses, a fiery and impatient animal, that began to neigh, snort, and execute various curvetings which exposed his rider to the view of the leading soldiers of the escort, who, seeing that the Bedouin endeavoured again to find concealment behind the sandhill, suspected the true state of the case and began to look to their arms and prepare for action.

“Upon them at once,” shouted Hassan, “and overthrow them before the rear-guard has time to come up to their support! Strike only the soldiers; the merchants and travellers must be ours.”

As he spoke these words he struck the stirrups in Shèitan, and charged at headlong speed the leading column. It was in vain that Abou-Hashem, jealous of his honour, strove to be first in the fray: he urged his horse with voice and stirrup, but before he came up Hassan had already emptied two troopers’ saddles, and was dealing death among their fellows, uttering terrific shouts that rose high above the din of arms and the cries of the dismayed merchants.

At first the freebooters seemed about to gain an easy victory, but the rear-guard of the escort came up, and for some time the fight was continued upon nearly equal terms. Abou-Hashem, who fought that day with a fierce emulation, was wounded in the sword-arm by a pistol-shot, and having been thrown from his horse, was about to be despatched by a trooper, when Hassan’s sword flashed above his head and the trooper fell senseless beside the body of his intended victim.

To dismount from his horse and remount his fallen comrade was to Hassan the work of a moment: springing again on the back of Shèitan, he plunged into the thickest of the _mêlée_, and ere long the discomfited troopers were in rapid flight towards Siout.

The Bedouins, not caring to pursue them, surrounded the caravan and commenced the work of plunder and distribution of the spoil with a readiness and order which proved them to be adepts at the trade. Hassan stood at a little distance wiping his stained sword and tying a handkerchief over a flesh-wound in the arm, from which the blood freely flowed.

The booty proved greater than the most sanguine of the Bedouins had expected, and Abou-Hashem himself proposed and demanded that the leader’s share should be set apart for Hassan. Our hero, scarcely deigning to cast a glance at the heap thus placed before him, gave his hand to his late rival, and inquired kindly after his hurt. Abou-Hashem felt that, morally and physically, he was in presence of a superior, and from that day Hassan was uncontested chief of the band.

The merchants and other trafficking members of the caravan, with their servants, sat in melancholy silence on the ground, looking on at the distribution of their goods and money among the captors.

When Hassan, at the request of Abou-Hamedi, condescended to examine the share of booty allotted to him, he found that it consisted of two black slaves, three mules, a number of jewels and trinkets, and nearly £100 in money. Of the slaves, one was a sickly-looking youth, to whom Hassan gave a piece of money, saying, “Go where you will—you are free.”

The other was a tall, powerful fellow, with a look of pride and resolution in his eye which pleased Hassan’s taste: he was a native of Darfour, and had accompanied the caravan as an interpreter among the tribes of that region. In appearance he was more like one of the Lucumi, or other warrior tribes of South-Western Africa, than the woolly-headed negroes usually met with in the Egyptian slave-market. At his girdle hung a short club made of the heavy ironwood of his native land, and in his hand he carried a long stick or cane, one end of which was tipped with a kind of fibrous cover of basket-work, while at the other end was an iron hook, which gave to the stick the appearance of a shepherd’s crook.

“What is your name, and whence are you?” inquired Hassan.

“From Darfour, and my name Abd-hoo,” replied the black.[102]

“Have you been a warrior in your own country?”

“I have seen some fighting,” said Abd-hoo with a grim smile.

“Why did you not, then, fight when we attacked your caravan?”

“Because that _gellab_ broke his faith. He promised me forty piastres a-month and has paid me only twenty. I would not move a finger to save his life.”

As he said this he pointed to one of the slave-dealers, who was looking in mute despair on his rifled bags and boxes.

“If your muscles answer to your appearance, you should be a strong fellow,” said Hassan.

“Try me,” replied the black, thrusting out from beneath his blanket an arm that would have done credit to the champion of the fistic ring in England.

A laugh among the Bedouins followed this sally of the sturdy negro. Hassan noticed it, and simply answering, “I will try a wrestling fall[103] with you, and if you throw me you shall go free,” threw off his _abah_ (outer Arab scarf) and laid aside his weapons. The negro followed the example, and though he was half a head short of Hassan in stature, the vast size of his bull neck and shoulders, and the muscular development of his arms and legs, created an impression among the Bedouins (none of whom, excepting Abou-Hamedi, had any experience of Hassan’s extraordinary powers) that their newly-appointed chief would be no match for the Darfouri.

When, however, they grappled, and all the sleights and desperate exertions of the negro failed to move Hassan from his firm position of defence, or to disturb the quiet and confident smile that played upon his countenance, it soon became as evident to the bystanders as it was to Abd-hoo that he was in the grip of his master, and not many minutes elapsed before he measured his length upon the sand.

Hassan then resumed his _abah_ and his weapons, and continued the conversation with his defeated opponent as if nothing had occurred to interrupt it.

“Abd-hoo, you are a stout fellow, though you have yet some sleights to learn in wrestling. Canst thou be faithful?”

“Where I promise I keep my word,” said the negro.

“Enough,” replied Hassan; “I want no slave. Here is a piece of gold for you; take it. You are free to go where you will or to serve me: if you choose the latter, you shall have your share of my bread and my purse.”

“I will follow you to death,” replied Abd-hoo, looking up to his new master with a reverence inspired by those physical powers which, in his rude breast, afforded the highest claim to respect.

Hassan, having given into his charge the horses which had fallen to his share, cast his eyes over the disconsolate group of merchants and their followers, among whom his quick eye detected a feeble old man whom he had more than once seen at the Governor’s house at Siout. Approaching him, he inquired what had brought him on this route.

“My son is a merchant who deals in gum and senna in Soudan,” replied the old man. “He has fallen into illness and trouble, and I was going to Dongola to see him, and to give some money to the Governor’s secretary to get him released from trouble. Now my fifty dollars and my mule have been taken from me, I am ruined and my son is lost.”

“I hope your case is not so bad,” said Hassan, smiling good-humouredly; “here are one hundred dollars to make good your loss. You must now return to Siout, and, Inshallah! you will soon set out again for Soudan with a better escort and a more fortunate caravan.” He then turned to the group of _gellabs_, and said in a voice that carried dismay to their already trembling hearts—

“Hark ye, I know you all, and shall know all your doings in Siout: if ye dare to touch one _para_ of what I have given to this old man, your lives shall answer for it. Now gather up what you have left of clothes and goods and be gone.”

The discomfited traders collected the goods and the sorrier nags and mules which the freebooters had left as useless to themselves and retraced their way to Siout, while Hassan and his band went off with their booty into the desert.

The news of this audacious _razzia_, exaggerated as it was by the defeated troopers and the despoiled _gellabs_, created the greatest consternation in Siout. Hassan’s band was magnified into a force of two or three hundred ferocious and well-armed desperadoes, and he himself into some _jinn_ or _afreet_ in human shape, equally proof against lance, sword, or bullet.

Osman Bey was furious at this new triumph of his mortal enemy, the more so as a portion of the money captured by the Bedouins had been advanced by himself to the _gellabs_ on speculation.

Delì Pasha was scarcely less vexed at the lawless and desperate course of life on which his late favourite had been driven to enter, although his former feelings towards him were kept alive by the trait of compassionate generosity which he had shown to the old man, who had himself related it to the Pasha with tears in his eyes. Hassan’s warning threats to the _gellabs_ had not been without effect, for none had dared to take from him a _para_ of the hundred dollars given to him by the dreaded leader of the plundering band. The latter ere long acquired a notoriety equalled by that of Robin Hood in the olden time of England; nor were Hassan’s character and conduct very different from those of our prince of archers and foresters. To take from the rich and bestow generously on the poor and oppressed was the base of his system. Thus in every village he had voluntary and grateful spies, who gave him timely notice of the approach of any troops sent against him, and according to their numerical force or his own inclination, he either defeated or eluded them.

The attention of Mohammed Ali was ere long aroused by the depredations of this formidable band; but although he sent the most angry and severe orders to his provincial governors to seize the audacious rebel who set his authority at defiance, their exertions remained infructuous.

Tales of Hassan’s deeds of prowess, daring, and generosity became current among the villagers of the whole valley of the Nile, among whom he was generally spoken of as “Hassan eed-el-maftouha,” or “eed-el-hadid”—that is, “Hassan of the open hand” (_i.e._, the generous), or “Hassan of the iron hand”; and the provincial governors were completely stupefied by his apparent power of ubiquity, for no sooner did one of them send a force in pursuit of him near some village where his presence had lately been reported, than they heard of his having plundered some Sheik-el-Beled or caravan one hundred miles off.

This latter circumstance, though devised by Hassan, was carried out by the versatile talents of Abou-Hamedi, who had secret friends and spies in most of the Nile villages. These fellows were instructed from time to time to run to the nearest town or residence of a governor bawling for help, and stating that they had seen Hassan and his band prowling near their village on the preceding night. Soldiers would be sent to watch for him, and then news would arrive that some depredation had been committed by his band in another province.

Meanwhile Hassan did not neglect the precaution of maintaining a good understanding with the Bedouin tribes: totally indifferent to money himself, all his share of booty that he did not bestow on the poor and helpless he gave in presents to the most powerful of the Bedouin sheiks, so that when Mohammed Ali tried to employ against Hassan his favourite method of “setting a thief to catch a thief,” by calling upon some of the Arab chiefs to assist in apprehending our hero, they apparently obeyed the Viceroy’s wishes, but it was after having sent a secret and timely notice to Hassan, and, as might be expected, their ostensible efforts were without result.

We have said that the wild and lawless career upon which our hero had entered caused deep regret to Delì Pasha, and it may be imagined that it caused the tears of his daughter to flow. Neither these tears nor these regrets were much diminished by a letter which the Pasha one day received, and which was brought by a stranger, who disappeared as soon as he had delivered it. Allowing for the difference between Turkish and English idiom, it ran as follows:—

“_To the High in Rank, the Honourable and Honoured
Delì Pasha, Governor of Siout._

“Hassan, his faithful servant, having been driven from his honourable place in his Excellency’s service, and having been degraded in the eyes of the household and others by the tyranny of Osman Bey, has had no other choice than to maintain his honour and life as the chief of a Bedouin band. He may be exiled—outlawed, perhaps—if such be the will of Allah, put to death by the Egyptian Government, but no act of cowardice, treachery, or cruelty on his part shall cause his Excellency to blush for having once extended to Hassan his generous protection. His life is in the hands of Allah; but so long as it endures, his thoughts, his hopes, his heart, and his faith are a sacrifice at the feet of Amina, and his prayers are for her and for her honoured father.”

Nothing can be more dull, hot, and disagreeable than a summer in Upper Egypt; we therefore take the liberty of skipping over the following six months, briefly mentioning the changes that took place in the destinies of our principal _dramatis personæ_.

Mr Thorpe and all his party had gone to pass the summer among the cool breezes of the Lebanon; but as the health of his daughter caused him some disquietude, he had determined to return to Upper Egypt in the following winter, for which purpose he re-engaged the two dahabiahs in which he had before made his voyage up the Nile.

Delì Pasha had obtained the Viceroy’s permission to return with his family to Cairo, leaving Osman Bey in charge of the government of Siout; and the latter received a significant hint from his Highness that if he did not contrive some means of apprehending the formidable outlaw whom his ill-timed harshness had driven to revolt, it might prove the worse for himself.

As for our hero and his band, the heat of summer and the cold of winter were alike to their hardy frames, and the terror of his name spread far and wide with every succeeding month. The reports of his daring achievements excited the Viceroy’s anger, sometimes mingled with admiration, sometimes with mirth, which he cared not to suppress.

On one occasion Abou-Hamedi (who had received several flesh-wounds in a late encounter) went into Siout disguised as a fellah, and, rushing into the presence of Osman Bey, claimed redress of his wrongs, stating that not more than five leagues from the town he had been plundered, beaten, and wounded by Hassan and a part of his band. His ghastly appearance, the blood on the bandages that bound his head and arm, the tone of helpless misery in which he told his tale,—all conspired to induce the Bey to give credit to it. A surgeon was ordered to remove the bandages, and there were the unhealed wounds to speak for themselves.

On being asked where Hassan now was, and how many of his band were with him, the pretended fellah named the place, and said that the greater part of the band had gone elsewhere to plunder some caravan, and that Hassan had with him only six or eight of his followers.

When told that he must guide a party to the place, he evinced such a dread of Hassan, and bargained so obstinately for the amount of his reward when the formidable chief should be captured, that all doubts of the truth of his tale were removed.

Osman Bey resolved at once to whiten his face before the Viceroy by heading in person the party selected for this important service, which was to consist of twenty of the best mounted and armed of his followers, each man being provided with a coil of cord to bind the prisoners.

Without relating all the details of the expedition, it is sufficient to say that the unlucky Bey fell into an ambush laid with admirable skill by Hassan. He and his party found themselves suddenly attacked in front and in the rear by two bands, each of which was as well mounted and more numerous than his own, so that after a brief resistance he and his followers were all captured, and bound with the same cords which they had brought to secure the freebooters. Their arms and horses having been taken from them, and having been placed at some distance under a strong guard, Hassan ordered them all to be released from their bonds; and Osman Bey having been brought before him, he said—

“Illustrious Governor, I think that two hundred and fifty was the number of blows which you once ordered to be administered to the back of your humble servant, and in dealing with so high a personage I surely ought not to show myself less liberal in my measure of reward. Neither have I forgotten the debt that I owe you for the kindness which you showed me in Cairo, when you endeavoured to take by treachery a life which you had not the courage openly to attempt. Inshallah! I will now pay my debts; after which we will be friends or enemies, as you may choose.”

At the conclusion of this address two of the freebooters stepped forward by Hassan’s order, and, in spite of Osman Bey’s struggles and cries, applied their courbatches vigorously to his shoulders until Hassan called out “Enough!” They then tied him firmly, with his arms pinioned, on a lively young donkey, to the tail of which they fastened a bunch of prickly shrubs to quicken its movements, and having started it on the road to Siout, left the discomfited Governor to re-enter his capital in this humiliating guise, amid the suppressed jeers of its population.

As for the troopers, Hassan gave them a good supper, expressed to them his regret that he could not restore to them their arms and horses, which had become the property of his band; told them it was a great pity that such brave, honest fellows should be obliged to serve under so unworthy a chief, and having given each of them a present of five piastres, told them that they were at liberty to return to their several homes, or to their service in Siout, as it might suit their own convenience.

On another occasion Abou-Hashem, who had been engaged with a small portion of the band in a predatory excursion not far from the town of Girgeh, had been attacked by a party sent for that purpose by its governor, and in spite of a desperate resistance had been taken prisoner. His comrades, most of them wounded, escaped and brought the news to Hassan, who was with the remainder of the band encamped at a well a few leagues distant from the scene of the affray.

After reproaching them bitterly for their cowardice in surviving the capture of a comrade who had once been their chief, and after ascertaining from them that the soldiers were too numerous to afford him a reasonable prospect of rescue by open force, he resolved to effect it by stratagem, or perish in the attempt. Dressing himself in his _kawàss_ costume, and taking with him only the trusty black, Abd-hoo, on whose fidelity and presence of mind he could confidently rely, he mounted Shèitan and set off at speed towards Girgeh, hoping to intercept the party before they reached the immediate neighbourhood of the town. Both he and his follower were fully armed, and the latter bore with him a chibouq and tobacco-bag to support his character of attendant on the supposed _kawàss_. Hassan gave his instructions to Abd-hoo as they galloped across the plain, and the confident grin of the sturdy negro assured him that he was understood, and would, if possible, be obeyed.

Fortune so far favoured our adventurers that several miles before reaching Girgeh they saw the party of which they were in search seated on the ground near a spring of water, and refreshing themselves with the fragrant fumes of the pipe.

Slackening his speed as he approached, Hassan drew near the group, and saluting them courteously in Turkish, sat down in the midst of them, nearest to one who by his dress he knew to be their _yuzbashi_, or captain, and ordering Abd-hoo to fill his pipe, our hero commenced a conversation on the heat, and indifferent subjects, with a careless ease that would have done honour to an old diplomatist. The captain was charmed with the polite frankness of his new guest, who failed not to call him colonel by mistake, and who ere long drew from him an account of the object and success of his morning’s expedition.

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.”