The capitan pacha had himself come over in his admiral's ship to greet the newly arrived soldiers, and to review the fleet of stately vessels-of-war. He graciously caused Osman, the bim bashi, and Mohammed Ali, the boulouk bashi, to be presented to him.
"You have employed the time well during your passage," said he, slightly inclining his proud head. "You have converted rude peasants into disciplined soldiers."
"It is not my work," replied Osman, who stood attired in his full uniform before the capitan pacha. "No, excellency, I suffered from the unaccustomed sea-voyage, and could hardly leave my cabin. Mohammed Ali deserves all the credit; he drilled the soldiers on the deck incessantly, day and night."
"Well done, well done!" said the pacha. "His services will be recognized and rewarded."
"I beg your excellency to see that they are," said Osman, quickly. "Truly my boulouk bashi deserves to be rewarded. I should like to take the liberty of suggesting how he can be rewarded."
With a haughty and astonished expression, the capitan pacha regarded the young man that stood blushing before him, his eyes sparkling with unaccustomed lustre. He considered it somewhat presumptuous to advise him, the capitan pacha. Yet this is not a time to be ungracious. The newly-arrived soldiers are to be used this very day, and should be kindly and cordially treated.
"Then tell me, bim bashi, how can I reward your lieutenant? I will gladly do so, if it is in my power."
"You have the power, if you have the will. I beg you to give the boulouk bashi my position."
"Give him your position! And what is to become of you?"
"Of me?" said Osman, smiling sadly. "Only what I have always been--a poor, weak invalid. Cousrouf Pacha, our distinguished guest, wished to show me a kindness, and, with this intention, appointed me him bashi. Yet I at once feared that my poor body would not be able to bear the fatigues of the service. I am weary and exhausted, and my weak arm falls to my side when I attempt to raise the sword. I beg that your excellency will graciously permit me to return home with the ship to Cavalla, after the soldiers shall have been disembarked. I also entreat of your excellency that my boulouk bashi be made captain in my stead."
The capitan pacha turned and looked at young Mohammed Ali. Perhaps his tall, well-knit frame, and his earnest countenance, with its sparkling eyes, and his determined bearing, impressed him favorably.
"Bim bashi, we will see what can be done. It will depend chiefly on the events of this day, and I will observe your boulouk bashi closely. If he proves capable of doing well what I shall require of him, I give you my word he shall be made bim bashi, and you shall then be permitted to return to your home. I will, however, first observe your boulouk bashi, and see of what stuff he is made.--I have orders for you, boulouk bashi. But first tell me your name."
"I am called Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga," replied Mohammed, inclining his head with an expression of such profound reverence that the proud capitan pacha was well pleased, and smiled graciously.
"Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga, step aside with me; I have something to say to you."
The pacha walked to the end of the deck, motioning to the two slaves who accompanied him to withdraw; he then turned to Mohammed, who stood before him, his head bowed down in humility; his ear all attention to the words spoken by the pacha, in low, impressive tones.
Important words, of great and dangerous import, must they have been, that fell slowly one after the other, like drops of blood from the pacha's lips, for, from time to time, a deathly pallor overspread Mohammed Ali's cheeks, and a slight shudder coursed through his whole being. The pacha looked at him keenly, and said in a low voice, "One can see that you are a novice."
"Yes, a novice," replied Mohammed, "but I shall soon become accustomed to blood, and cease to recoil from dead bodies."
"Then you will achieve success in Egypt," said the pacha. "The air here is freighted with the scent of corpses, and the sea and the Nile have often been reddened with blood. We will see, boulouk bashi, if the waves at our feet are not once more made red with blood, and not with the rays of the setting sun. And now, boulouk bashi, it will be shown whether you have understood what I have said, and whether you are the man to execute my orders."
"I am your servant, excellency," replied Mohammed, quietly. "The soldier has no will of his own. I am an instrument in your hands, and I will faithfully carry out your orders."
"Then you will awaken to-morrow as bim bashi. And I believe that will only be the first step toward the fame that awaits you. I like you, boulouk bashi, and I wish you a brilliant career. And when you shall have reached the summit of renown, then remember, boulouk bashi, that it was I who gave you the key to the gates of honor. Remember the day and the hour, for I have read a great future in your countenance."
He then inclined his head to Mohammed Ali, and returned to where Osman was standing, leaning against a mast, in utter exhaustion.
The pacha also spoke a few kindly words to him, and afterward entered his boat to return to the shore of Aboukir. Mohammed then walked up to his friend, took him in his arms like a child, and carried him down into his cabin. He laid him on the divan, knelt down beside him, and whispered in his ear: "Osman, no matter what you may see or hear, do not leave your cabin to-day. Stay here, my friend, and do not be anxious; if you hear a tumultuous noise, and outcries, do not be alarmed, even if death-groans should resound from the deck. The world is a hard thing, and he whose hands are not of iron should hold himself aloof from its rude contact. You, my Osman, are too good to play an active role in this miserable earthly existence; and I am, therefore, almost glad that you are to return to Cavalla; I repeat it, you are too good for this world."
"If it depended on goodness, Mohammed," said Osman, smiling, "you should not serve the world either, for you have a better heart than any of us."
Mohammed shook his head. "You are mistaken, you look at me with your kindly eyes, and give me credit for your noble thoughts. I am not good, no, do not believe that of me! Now that we are about to separate, I do not wish you to be deceived in your Mohammed Ali; I am only good when with you, and under the influence of your gentle nature; I fear I have the stuff in me of which hard and cruel men are made. But let us drop this subject. Duty calls me away. And let me repeat this, Osman, whatever outcries you may hear, whatever fearful noises may resound through your cabin, remain quietly here; remain here in peace, my Osman. The pack will soon be let loose, and your Mohammed, whom you call good, has been chosen by Fate to howl with it, and make common cause with the bloodhounds. Do not speak, Osman. Through blood must I march onward to my goal! There is no other r Farewell, and remain here."
He ascended hastily to the deck, called the soldiers together, spoke to them for a long time in low, impressive tones, and issued his orders. They listened attentively to his words, and then hastily began to carry out his orders. They ltheir guns, try the locks, and then repair to the port-holes on the lower deck, and hold themselves in readiness to fire at the word of command.
There is to be a merry chase to-day. But after what game? Who has seen it? No one knows as yet.
The boulouk bashi will give the signal, and when he says "Fire!" they will fire, no matter at what or at whom. The command will be given, and they will obey. It will be their first deed of arms, their baptism of fire.
The hour has not yet come. Mohammed is standing on the deck above, leaning against the mast, his arms crossed on his breast, looking over toward the shores of Aboukir.
There all is gayety; the decorated boats dance merrily and rapidly over the waves; the Mameluke beys are going by sea to Alexandria, to take part in the festival of the newly-arrived admiral. There will be warlike games and races; a grand banquet is prepared for the guests; there will be music, dancing, and singing; altogether it will be a most brilliant festival. The Mameluke beys esteem themselves happy in having been invited by the capitan pacha to take part in this glorious festival. To-morrow peace will be concluded between them and the grand-sultan. To-morrow their lands will be given them and the boundaries determined, but let to-day be a fete day, a day of rejoicing.
Mourad's widow, Sitta Nefysseh, is standing at the entrance of her tent, her countenance closely veiled, looking at the Mamelukes who are going down to the shore to their boats. She sees that the Turks stand aside, and that only the Mamelukes enter the boats.
"You are not going with us?" ask the astonished beys of their Turkish friends. They shake their heads, and only step farther back from the shore.
"No, ye proud beys, this honor is for you alone, you alone go with the capitan, you alone are invited to attend the grand festival of the English admiral, Lord Hutchinson. We remain here to await longingly your return, in order that you may tell us of the brilliant festival. We remain here!"
"They remain," repeated Sitta Nefysseh ; "they remain because death goes with the others in their boats. O Osman Bardissi! why would you not hearken to my words? I shall remain also, to await our dead."
In the large, richly-decorated boat, stood the capitan pacha, and beside him the chief Mameluke beys; among them are Osman Bardissi, the hero, the favorite of all the women, and Osman Tamboubji, now one of the most distinguished of all the beys. These two, especially, have been invited by the capitan to sail with him in his boat, and while with him what have they to fear?
Sitta Nefysseh murmurs to herself:
"He takes them into his boat in order to deceive them. This is surely to conceal some trickery, and when the boat lands at Alexandria, the capitan pacha will not be with the Mameluke beys."
The Mamelukes have entered the boats joyously, and joyously they sail out over the waves, toward the shores of Alexandria.
The day is beautiful, and the sunshine glitters upon the water; laughter and jesting resound from every boat; but now, when Osman Bardissi begins to sing a warlike song, all are silent and listen attentively. He sings words with which he has often led his hosts out to battle. And the rest, at the end of each verse of the glorious old song, shout exultingly from boat to boat, and unite in the joyous chorus:
"The bey lifts high his sword, and down it sweeps upon his proud foe's head! Down swoops the bey, and raises high in air the severed head, and, when he homeward rides, the head hangs dangling at his saddle's side!"
"A beautiful, a glorious song!" exclaims the capitan, as it is ended, and its last accords resound over the waters.
But what is this? A strong boat is approaching, the admiral's boat of some strange vessel that has probably only just arrived in the harbor. Signals are given in the boat, and a flag is waved. The flag proclaims what the capitan expected. The young boulouk bashi, who stands in the admiral's boat, holds up a folded paper. It is an official letter, the large red seals that hang from it by silken strings show it to be such. The capitan pacha calls the attention of the Mameluke beys to the boat now rapidly approaching.
"Alas, the service leaves one no time, not even a short hour, for recreation and merrymaking. See, here comes another messenger! What can he want? The capitan pacha is, after all, a mere servant. See! The messenger holds the paper higher and beckons to me. No, he shall not break in upon the joy of our festival with his presence! This beautiful boat shall not be desecrated with business matters! Come closer, and I will get into your boat and read the letter."
"But after you have read it, capitan Pacha," says Osman Bardissi, in a frank, kindly voice, "after you have read it and have disposed of this annoying business matter, you will come back to our boat, will you not? we will wait for you."
"Yes, wait for me! But it may, after all, be necessary for me to return, to attend to some important affairs with my officials, instead of enjoying myself with you. Therefore you had best go on, my friends, and, if Allah permits me to join you in your festivities to-day, I will hoist a signal, and you can stop for me and take me in again." The capitan then steps into the strange boat. The two proud bays see him take the paper from the hands of the stranger boulouk bashi, break the seals, and read it.
With his eagle glance, Osman Bey Bardissi observes that the capitan pacha's countenance becomes gradually clouded as he reads.
"He will not have time to return to us," says Tamboudji Bey, who stands at his side. "It seems that grave intelligence has reached him. Yes, it is so," the boat being rapidly rowed toward the admiral's ship. "But look, Osman Bey! he cries, in alarm, as he raises his arm and points to the departing boat, "look, there are swords in the boat!"
"Yes, I see! Swords, Turkish swords! What are they in there for?"
"That is what I should like to know," replies the other, nervously grasping the pistol in his girdle. "See, a ship is rapidly approaching, and the capitan is steering toward it! But that is not his ship! Where does it come from? What is it doing here?"
The countenance of the Mameluke chieftains is now threatening. They observe the ship, rapidly approaching, with an eagle's glance. They see the capitan ascend its side; they see the portholes filled with glittering muskets.
"Treachery! This is treachery!" cries Bardissi.
And he turns toward the other boats, and cries out to them: "Grasp your swords and prepare to defend yourselves. We are betrayed. The capitan pacha has deceived us, and "--a ball whistling close by his ear at this moment--" to your swords and pistols, my friends; the enemy and treachery are upon us!"
The Turks are rowing rapidly down upon them in their boats, while volleys of musketry are being discharged at them from the ship that is approaching nearer and nearer, following the Turkish troops that man the boats.
"Onward," cries Bardissi to his followers. "Onward! We may escape. We may, if we make every effort, succeed in reaching Alexandria."
With the speed of the wind the boats sweep onward, and now turn into the bay of Aboukir.
The Mamelukes all cry, "Treachery! treachery!" and every one sees the three Turkish ships bearing down upon them from the front, while the boats and the strange vessel are coming upon them from the rear. From that direction comes the order, "Fire! fire!"
Death-shrieks resound everywhere among the boats. But the proud Mamelukes are at least resolved to sell their lives dearly. They reply from their boats to the shots. Now the enemy's boats are among them, and a murderous but unequal conflict rages. The three men-of- war send whole volleys into the boats of the Mamelukes.
Of what use to fire their pistols, how can they relthem? Of what avail to draw their swords against the overwhelming foe?
They can only die, and die they must. The flower of the hero-beys was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under foot--is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery.
Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones:
"O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!"
Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water.
A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball. He has thrown away his pistol, and now grasps the hilt of his dagger, when he is suddenly stricken down by a blow upon the head, dealt from behind. The vessels have completely surrounded the Mamelukes; the Turks on the ships jump down into the boats to assist the others, and the work of slaughter is soon ended. All is now still. Those who are not dead lie severely wounded in the boats. The Turks return to their vessels, and the boulouk bashi orders the wounded to be brought on board.
The order is executed; the dead are left in the boats, and the wounded are carried on board.
They now lift up the wounded man who lies beside the dead bey, in the large boat in which they had first seen the capitan standing with the two beys.
"Bring him up the ladder," cries the boulouk bashi.
He is unconscious, and is bleeding from three wounds. But even in this condition he still grasps his dagger so firmly that it cannot be torn from his band, and as the soldiers attempt it he awakens and opens his eyes.
"You are treacherous scoundrels, all of you! Osman Bey Bardissi declares you to be such."
The boulouk bashi starts as he hears this name, steps forward and gazes long and earnestly at the bey, whom he had once seen as a boy.
Must he meet him now in this condition? His gaze is fixed on him, and he tries to recognize in his features the boy of former days.
"You are scoundrels!" cries, for the second time, the proud chieftain. "Ye slaves of bloody tyranny--ye murderous, treacherous villains--shame and disgrace upon you all! Before Allah's throne will I accuse you, ye treacherous, slavish Turks."
With cries of rage they throw themselves upon him to strangle him.
But an arm burls them back with a giant's strength.
"Do you wish to murder those who can no longer defend themselves? Back! The life of the wounded, of the vanquished enemy, is sacred."
Bardissi, who has again fallen back exhausted, looks up in astonishment at the stranger who protected him, and was even angry with his own soldiers on his account. How comes it that this traitor's heart is touched?
Mohammed kneels down beside him.
"What is your name?" asks he, in low tones.
"Osman Bey Bardissi," replied the wounded man, and now, exhausted as he was from loss of blood, a proud smile flittered over his handsome countenance. "Not knowing me, you must be a stranger in Egypt," added he.
"Yes, I am a stranger in Egypt, and this accounts for my not knowing you. Yet, it seems to me that we once met; were you not once on the shores of the bay of Sta. Marmora?"
"Yes, I was once there!"
"Do you recollect meeting a boy there? You spoke to him of your proud future."
"I remember," murmured the bey.
"And you spoke proud, contemptuous words to this boy. Do you still remember his name?"
"I do; he was called Mohammed Ali, and I told him my name, Osman Bey. Were you the boy?"
"I was, and there we first met, and now we meet again. I regret, Osman Bey, that we meet as enemies."
Osman Bey Bardissi shook his head slowly. "We were enemies, Mohammed Ali; yet, if Allah permits me to live, you shall soon learn that you have found a friend. I well know that I owe you my life, and I shall be grateful while life lasts."
He ceased speaking, and again lost consciousness.
Mohammed beckoned to one of the soldiers to approach. "Carry this man to my cabin, and let no one dare to touch him with a rude hand. He is my prisoner."
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