In breathless attention, utterly oblivious of all else, Mohammed had listened to the words of the scha-er; and long after he had concluded, and the audience begun to disperse, he still sat, his eyes widely extended, and gazing fixedly at the cushion on which the sha-er had sat, as though he were still there, relating the deeds and wonders of the Mamelukes. Suddenly the silence that surrounded him aroused him from his preoccupation. He arose and walked slowly out, still hearing the voice that related such wondrous stories of distant lands. Thoughtfully he wandered on toward the rocky pathway. He had forgotten all else: the mother on whose account he had been so anxious, the boys whom he was in the habit of regarding so contemptuously when he met them, and whom he now scarcely sees as they pass by; the cave, too, his paradise, is forgotten. He would no longer desire to return to this dark, dreary solitude.
Upward, upward to the highest point of the rock, to which the name "The Ear of Bucephalus" had been given! He climbs the rocky ascent like a gazelle. Thither no one will follow him; there the eye of the prophet alone will see, and the ear of Allah alone hear him. Up there he will be alone with God and his dreams.
Now he is on the summit, gazing fax out into the sea, into the infinite distance where heaven and sea unite and become one. He stretches out his arms and utters a cry of exultation that resounds through the mountains like the scream of the eagle:
"Thither will I, to the land of promise and of fortune!--to the land where slaves become heroes, and heroes princes! Mother, your dream shall be realized! There I shall find palaces on whose summit I shall stand with uplifted sword, nations at my feet. To Egypt will I go. To the land of grandeur and glory, where for thousands of years the greatest and mightiest have made of themselves princes and rulers. I will become mighty; I will cultivate my mind, that it may help me to rule men. Then I will make of myself a prince before whom all other princes shall fall in the dust!"
He shouts again exultingly, and the walls of the cliffs echo back his cry. He feels so happy, so free from all earthly care. He seems to float in upper air like the eagle, looking down upon the lowliness of earth beneath.
As he looks out into the distance, he sees a little dark spot rise on the horizon. His eagle-eye perceives that it is a ship. As it comes nearer, it dances on the waves, and its white sails expand like the wings of a giant swan. It is a beautiful, majestic object. The young Mohammed rejoices at the spectacle, and says, in low tones, to himself; "Some day I shall possess ships, too. Some day I shall tread the deck of the great admiral's ship."
The ship glides over the glittering mirror of the deep, and comes nearer and nearer, and the curious are now assembled on the shore to gaze at it; for rarely do vessels seek the rocky promontory of Bucephalus to land in the bay of Contessa. The peninsula is desolate and barren, and there is nothing here for merchant-ships but the tobacco for which this region is celebrated. A Turkish galleon comes semi-annually for the taxes which the governor has levied, to bring them to Stamboul to the coffers of the grand-sultan.
But the vessel now approaching is no Turkish galleon, but a magnificent ship; and one can see on the deck, under the gold- embroidered tent, a Turk reclining on cushions. Slaves in rich attire are on their knees before him, others are behind him fanning the flies away with fans made of peacock-feathers.
"Who can this great man, this stranger be?" ask the curious, who are standing on the beach, gazing fixedly at the ship that has now entered the little bay, and is steering toward the landing.
Mohammed has also hurried down to the beach. To-day, while his heart and mind are filled with the narrative of the scha-er, to-day every thing seems to him so strange, so wonderful; it seems to him that he is about to receive intelligence from the world his whole being longs for so intensely, the world that is one day to lie at his feet.
The ship has entered the bay, and a boat containing three Turkish gentlemen is coming from it to the shore: They haughtily step ashore, and pass by, without saluting the crowd, to the pathway that leads up to Cavalla. But the grand-looking Turk is still on deck, reclining on his cushions; the slaves are still about, filling and refilling his long chibouque, on whose golden mouth-piece brilliants are seen glittering.
Mohammed's keen eyes observe all this, and he follows each movement of the aristocratic Turk with breathless attention. Thus, he thinks, will he also do some day; thus will he, too, recline on his silken cushions, surrounded by his slaves he; the prince!
How would those who were standing around the boy have laughed if they could have divined Mohammed's thoughts, if they had known that he was dreaming of his future magnificence while standing there on the beach in his wide cotton pants, tied at the bottom around his ankles with strings, his felt thrust into a pair of peaked shoes of doubtful color, a faded red shawl bound around his waist, on his body a well-worn brown shirt, the whole crowned with the red tarboosh that covered his dark hair, around which was wound a white and riot particularly clean kufei!
Who could have imagined that this poor Turkish child was dreaming of future glory, and saying to himself, as he regarded the grand gentleman on the deck of the ship: "I will one day be as you are, and even greater than you!"
The governor, accompanied by the strange Turks, and followed by servants carrying palanquins, was now observed coming down the pathway from Cavalla. Hastily he walks to the beach, and, with the Turks, enters the boat and steers for the ship.
The governor has now reached the ship and climbed to the deck, but the grand gentleman does not stir from his cushions, and only greets him with a gracious nod. The people on the beach observe this with astonishment, and ask each other: "Who can this be? Tschorbadji Hassan is the greatest man on our peninsula, and every head bows down before him. And this gentleman dares to salute him with a mere nod. Truly he must be a very great man!"
Mohammed regards the people who are speaking contemptuously, and murmurs to himself: "I shall be a greater man some day. He is no prince, else his ship would show the admiral's flag, and the governor would fall on his face before him. The scha-er told me that such is the custom in the presence of princes. But the people shall one day prostrate them selves on their faces before me!"
At last the grand gentleman arises slowly from his cushions, and lays his arm on the shoulder of the governor, who walks at his side, his head bowed down, and seemingly delighted at being permitted to bear this burden on his shoulder.
They walk to the stairway; the governor busies himself in helping the stranger to descend, jumps into the boat, and extends his band to assist him to enter. He tranquilly receives these attentions; the slaves follow, and lay gold-embroidered cushions on the bottom of the boat, and the grand gentleman reclines on them in an easy attitude. The governor stands before him, addressing him with an air of profound reverence, and the slaves take up their position behind him, and waft refreshing breezes to him with their fans. As the boat reaches the beach, the governor turns and addresses the people in imperious tones:
"Bow down in the dust before the grand-vizier--before Cousrouf Pacha! Salute his excellency!"
All fall on their knees, and remain there in mute reverence, while the pacha, accompanied by the governor, and followed by his slaves, ascends the pathway to Cavalla.
One person only had not fallen down on his knees, and that person was Mohammed Ali.
He had secreted himself behind a rock, and there he stands, regarding the pacha with eager eyes, and glancing contemptuously at those who, at other times so noisy and arrogant, are now bowed down in the dust, and who have as yet not even ventured to raise their heads.
But now the scene on the shore becomes an animated one. The governor has ordered that other boats be sent out to the ship, and a peculiar and wondrous sight presents itself on board.
White female figures, closely enveloped in long white veils, appear on deck. Tall men, with black faces and fat bodies, stand at their side. The sailors have disappeared from the deck; no one is now visible but the white female figures and the fat black men.
"That is the harem of the grand-vizier," the people now whisper to each other, "and those men at their side are the eunuchs."
Two of these eunuchs now come to the shore, and, in threatening tones, order the men to leave the beach at once, and to go up to Cavalla to announce there that no one shall allow himself to be seen in the streets.
The men hurriedly ascend the pathway to the city, without even venturing to look back at the pacha's harem.
Mohammed Ali alone is nowhere to be seen. He has crouched down behind the rocks, and no one sees the fiery eyes that peer out cautiously from his hiding-place.
The women, looking like white swans, are now rowed to the shore.
The beach is bare--no one sees them. They can venture to open their veils a little, and look about them on this strange shore.
Oh! what glowing eyes, what purple lips, are disclosed to the boy's sight! For the first time, his heart beats stormily; for the first time, he feels a strange delight in his soul. Yes--beautiful are these women, as are the houris in paradise, and enviable is he to whom they belong.
Two of the eunuchs walk before the women, four walk beside them, and imperiously command them to draw their veils closer together. They approach several of them with profound respect, and extend their hands to assist them in entering the palanquins that stand ready to receive them; the others must go on foot.
Loudly resounds the cry of the eunuchs who walk in advance: "The harem--the harem of his excellency! Away, ye men! The harem!"
At this cry all flee to their houses in the city above, and none are to be seen in the deserted streets but the ladies of the harem that are being borne along in palanquins, and the train of veiled figures behind them.
The procession moves on to the governor's house, where a strange scene presents itself. Servants are standing about in gold- embroidered garments; all is confusion and motion. His excellency the pacha condescends to take up his abode in the governor's palace, and the upper saloons are being opened and prepared for the distinguished guest. Adjoining the main building, a side building, with barred windows, extends far out into the garden. Until now it had stood empty, for the governor cares not for the society of women; his heart is cold toward them; he loves nothing but his son. The harem is empty, and is therefore ready to receive the women and slaves of his excellency Cousrouf Pacha. The shutters of the windows have long stood open--the eunuchs now come forward and fasten them securely. The vast building has now become quite still.
Mohammed had watched the procession until the last white swan had disappeared upon the plateau above. He now slipped out of his hiding-place, and walked down to the beach to look at the ship. He had not observed that other boats had put off from the ship to land more passengers.
"I should like to know the destination of this proud and beautiful ship. I should like to sail with it," murmured the boy.
"Then do so!" cried a loud voice behind him. "If you wish to, my lad, come with us. One leads a splendid life on such a ship. You are tall and strong, and will be gladly accepted."
His countenance beaming with joy, Mohammed turned and saw at his side a boy of slender figure, in simple Turkish garments, but his hair was closely cut, and not covered with the fez and kuffei. Mohammed glanced fiercely at the boy.
"You are a slave!" said he.
The boy nodded and laughed.
"I am a slave. But I don't expect to remain one long; I have already heard that the capitano intends to sell me over there, and there one can make his fortune, that I know!"
"Over there?" said Mohammed, eagerly. "What do you call over there?"
"Well, the place we are going to!" exclaimed the boy, laughing. "To Egypt we go, carrying rich goods, and I myself, so to speak, am a piece of goods for the capitano."
"You go to Egypt?" asked Mohammed; "to the land of wonders, where slaves become heroes, and heroes princes?"
"Ah! you have heard it spoken of, too!" said the boy, laughing. "Yes, the sha-ers everywhere have something to relate about Egypt. In Stamboul I have often heard them tell of the Mamelukes, too!"
"Of the Mamelukes? Of them, too, you have heard?"
"I have not only heard of them, but I intend to make a Mameluke of myself. As you know, these Mamelukes are the slaves of the beys in Egypt. I hope to have the good fortune to be purchased by a bey. I know all that is necessary to become the servant of a Mameluke."
"And what is necessary?" asked Mohammed, eagerly. "What is it that you know?"
"I can ride as well as the best of the horsemen of the grand-vizier. On a bare horse I can fly over the plains with the speed of a bird. I know how to handle the sword and the spear, and in the fastest gallop I can sever the head of a horse from his body. These are arts that are useful over there, and in them I am a master. You may look at me in astonishment if you will! I am not as tall and stout as you are, but I can tell you I have the strength of a giant, and, in spite of my fourteen years, I am a man. I expect to make my fortune in Egypt."
"And where have you been until now? From what place do you come?"
"I have been a slave from my youth; I was well brought up and had an education; I know how to wait on fine gentlemen. I served a nobleman as first valet for three years, but couldn't stand the dull, effeminate life. I longed to be out in the world, and committed all sorts of freaks in order that my master might drive me off. To be sure, I received the bastinado daily, but I stood it like a man. I determined to continue to annoy my gracious master until he should sell me. Look at my feet!"
He took off his shoes and showed Mohammed the scarred soles of his feet.
"These are the scars with which I have purchased my future. Yes; but why do you look at me in such astonishment? By Allah! I should not like to live on this rock here, like you! I must out into the world; must go to Egypt, and make something great of myself."
"But how will you begin it?" asked Mohammed. "I should like to do so, too."
"I don't know yet," replied the boy, carelessly; "it will depend upon how I succeed in recommending myself to a bey with my horsemanship and sword. One thing I can tell you, if I once become a Mameluke, I shall rise. In case you should hear of me some day, in case my celebrity should reach even this desolate rock, I will tell you my name. My name is Osman, and in mockery, because I served a nobleman, they added bey to it. But I tell you, I will make of the name given me in derision a real title! If you hear of me some day, I shall be called Osman Bey in earnest."
"I will tell you my name, too," said Mohammed, proudly, "and if you ever hear of me, you shall know that you once met me here upon the beach. My name is Mohammed Ali, and I am Ibrahim Aga's son. I am a freeman, you must know, and have never bowed my head beneath the yoke of another! Remember my name, little Osman, and, if Allah wills it, you shall hear of me someday. My name is Mohammed Ali."
He nodded to the boy contemptuously, and walked off.
Osman laughed, and cried after him:
"You will probably hear of me first, you bold boy, you beggar- prince! I shall probably never hear of the beggar-prince, Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga, but of me you shall hear, you silly lad! Don't forget my name: I am called Osman Bey."
If they both could now have known the future! If a prophet had permitted the two boys who met here for the first time, in order that they might angrily impress their names on each other's memory, to look into the future, what would they have seen in its mirror?
Two heroes opposed to each other in ardent love, and in wild enmity. Both equally great, equally ambitious, and equally greedy of glory. They would have seen blood flowing in streams for their sake. They would have seen how Osman Bey, called by the name of Bardissi, dashed onward, flourishing his cimeter at the head of thousands of devoted followers. They would have seen Mohammed Ali in a glittering uniform, mounted on his proud steed, at the head of thousands charging with uplifted sword against Bardissi.
Here on a rock in the bay of San Marmora, the boys met for the first time, and instinct permitted them to feel the enmity that existed between them throughout their entire lives, and which caused thousands to fall, and blood to flow in streams.
They know nothing of this now. Osman whistles a merry air and jumps into the boat that bears him back to the ship. Mohammed Ali ascends the rock to a quiet and solitary spot. There he will rest and meditate on what he has seen and heard to-day.
The ship sails out to sea. Like a giant swan, proudly, majestically, it glides over the blue waves, until at last it rises up in the distance with its masts and spars against the horizon, faintly, like a mere vision of the air.
Above, on the Ear of Bucephalus, stands Mohammed Ali, leaning on his gun, his eyes fixed on the ship. He sighs profoundly as it now disappears without leaving the slightest trace behind, as though engulfed by the waters.
"Gone," he murmured--"gone! What was the name of the boy, the slave who so defiantly charged me to remember his name? I remember, it was Osman. Yes, Osman Bey, he said. Well, he may depend upon it I shall remember his name, and he may also count on remembering that my name is Mohammed Ali, if we should ever meet again. Oh, I envy him," said he, in low tones, looking longingly at the horizon. "Oh, I would so gladly have gone with him to the wondrous land the scha-er told of, where slaves become heroes, and heroes princes. He, the slave, goes thither; and I, who am free, am bound to this rock by my poor mother, and must remain!"
The ship sailed on farther and farther on the bright waves. It glided onward over the deep-blue sea two days longer; on the third day the sailors shouted with joy, for the water had become green, and this announced to the experienced seamen that they should soon see land.
When the waves of the Mediterranean Sea change from blue to green, the yellow coast of Africa is near. Another day passed, and the ship entered the harbor of Alexandria. The black and brown people came out to the ship, howling and yelling in their little boats, and with them came the slave-dealers to look for human wares, to bargain for the living as well as for the dead freight.
The captain shows the slave-dealers his line piece of goods, the boy Osman Bey, and offers him as a good article of merchandise. "He is a splendid servant, and knows how to color the chibouque, and how to wait on his master with soft words."
"He knows more than that!" exclaimed the boy Osman Bey, indignantly. "He knows how to scour across the desert on his steed without saddle or bridle, and loves to flourish the cimeter and lay the heads of men and animals at his feet with a single blow."
The slave-dealer regards him with favorable glances. That is what he needs. The great Mameluke prince Mourad needs many servants and warriors, and he gave the dealer authority to purchase men for him, young, strong, and healthy men. The ranks of his Mamelukes need recruiting. He will make a fine Mameluke, this slender young man with the keen, glittering eyes.
"What will you have for the boy?"
The captain shrugged his shoulders. "He is really beyond all price; for, as I tell you, he is a splendid servant, and, as he tells you himself, he is a fine horseman, and knows how to wield the cimeter. He is priceless, and I hardly think we shall come to terms."
They now began to bargain for this human merchandise. They made a great deal of noise, quarrelled, and shook their fists in each other's faces, while young Osman Bey stood at their side, his arms folded on his breast, calmly looking on and smiling at the uproar created on his account. At last they came to terms. The dealer received his living goods, young Osman Bey, and paid the captain the price agreed upon.
If young Mohammed Ali could see this: if his dark brown eye could send a glance with the speed of an arrow across the waves and through the days and nights ; and if he could hear how the slave, Osman Bey, is traded off for sugar and coffee; if he could see Osman standing in the slave market awaiting a purchaser; if he could see Mourad, the Mameluke bey, at last approach, smile approvingly on young Osman, and finally purchase and place him among his followers; if he could have seen this and the future, he would have felt proud and happy in being a free man, although a poor one. His hands are not fettered, he serves no master, and he cannot be bargained for and sold like a bale of goods ! He is a free human being, conscious of his own worth, and also conscious of the great future that awaits him.
He is thinking of it now as he stands on the rock leaning on his gun, and staring out into the air after the vanished ship. He does not see the future; he only dreams of it as he looks out into the vacant air, oblivious of the present. Nor does he see the mother, who, while he stands there, is hastening painfully and breathlessly, her head bowed down, from her humble but to the proud, main street of the city, to the store of the merchant Lion.
The merchant saw her coming, met her at the door, and held out his hand to her.
"Is it you, Sitta Khadra?" he cried, as she reached the door. "I must tell you I have expected you, esteemed lady, light of my eyes"
She tottered into the hall and seated herself in the chair which the merchant had hastened to bring her.
"Why these fine phrases, sir? Talk to me in short and terse language, as you Franks are accustomed to do, and pay no attention to the flowery words which, with us, the men are in the habit of mocking instead of flattering us poor creatures."
"I am not mocking you, Sitta Khadra," said the merchant, gravely. " I esteem you, for you are a good woman, and therefore I addressed you as I did. I know you well, and I know what you have there hidden under your veil."
"What have I there, sir?"
"You have brought me back the gold-embroidered goods, and the veil bordered with golden fringe, which your son Mohammed bought for you."
"Yes, sir; I have brought them back. They do not become me. I did not like to tell the boy so, for it pleases him to think I will array myself in them. I therefore accepted them, hoping you would take them back."
"I expected you, and see, I have the money ready for you. When I saw you coming, I took it quickly from my purse. Here, good Sitta ghadra, are the six ducats which Mohammed gave me."
She shook her head gently.
"You are very kind, sir, and I thank you. Yet, I cannot accept them. Mohammed would scold me when he learned it. He told me, himself, that he had given you four ducats and not six. I divined that you had given him the goods at a cheaper price, and that he could not have paid for them at their real value. By this I perceived that the sale was only a pretended one, and have hoped you would take back the goods. But the money I will not receive."
"To whom shall I give it, then?" asked the astonished merchant. "I dare not offer it to Mohammed; I believe it would make him so angry that he would raise his hand against me. You must not tell him, Sitta Khadra, that you have brought me back the goods."
"You are right, sir; I should not like to cause him this unhappiness. I shall tell him I have taken the goods to the tailor to have it made into a dress by the next Bairam's festival. But when the festival comes, I shall no longer be here, and he will not see that I have not put on the costly dress."
"You will not be here, Sitta Khadra? Then where will you be?" asked the merchant.
She slowly raised her arm, and pointed upward.
"Up there, sir, with my beloved master, Ibrahim Aga; I shall see the glory of Allah, and shall see the prophet, the great prophet to whom my heart-felt prayers so often ascend."
"What is it you are saying, good Sitta? At the next Bairam's festival, you will surely still be with us on earth."
She slowly shook her head.
"I am dying, sir. I have been dying for the last two days look at my lips."
"They are red and fresh, and show that you are in health, Sitta Khadra."
"Yea, my lips are red, because I have colored them with henna, that Mohammed may not see how pale they are. For him I have colored my cheeks, too. Good sir, one may deceive out of love, and Allah will forgive me for having made my face a lie out of love for my son. I tell you I am dying; therefore have I come to bring you the goods, and to beg you to take the money and keep it. When he is in want give it to him, and tell him Mother Khadra sends it with her best blessing, and that he must accept it as a present from me, and make a good use of it. I know, sir, that you will give it to him, and that you will watch over him that you may know when he needs it.
"And one thing more I beg of you, whenever you see my beloved son, say to him: --Mohammed Ali, your mother Khadra, loved you very dearly, and sends you a greeting from Heaven, through me. She dwells, above with your father, Ibrahim Aga, and both are looking down upon you, and observing your actions. Therefore be thoughtful, Mohammed, to walk pure and free in the sight of Allah and your parents. Promise me, that you will often say this to my son."
"I promise, Sitta Khadra," said the merchant, solemnly. "I promise you that I will watch over your dear son, and that, if it is in my power, I will at all times be ready to lend him a helping hand. I give you my hand to seal this promise, Sitta Khadra."
She took his hand, and the merchant knew by the heat of her thin, wan fingers that a burning fever was in her blood, and that Death had kissed her lips.
"Now, all is well," said she, as she rose to her feet with a painful effort. "Now I will return home, that my darling, my Mohammed, may find me when he comes. I have but a few more days to live, and I would not lose a moment that I can spend with him. Farewell! Allah be with you!"
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