For Love of a Bedouin Maid

Next the slave dealer sent one of the small boats ashore with six men, to bring St. Just and Mahmoud on board, and with orders for the main body of his band to follow the course of the river towards Cairo, keeping well in sight of the large boat, on which he himself would make the journey; for Black Ali knew better than to entrust his newly gained treasure to the hands of others; he would not lose sight of it, till it should be safely housed.

St. Just and Mahmoud were soon on board, and then the journey, that had been so direly interrupted, was resumed; but in what different circumstances!

The hurt to St. Just's head soon healed; he had received a severe, but not a dangerous scalp wound, but his skull was not fractured, and, after enduring a few days' headache, he was himself again. But only as regards his bodily health; his mental sufferings were terrible. Black Ali had taken a savage delight in informing him and his companions that they were to be sold as slaves, and from this doom there seemed no possibility of escape. The thought of Halima and the prospect of his life-long separation from her well nigh drove him mad. Then he fell to wondering whether any of his men had got away, and whether the news of what had happened would be conveyed to her. In any case, she would be suffering agonies of anxiety, either on account of her knowledge of what had taken place, or at receiving no tidings from him. What would she do when months had passed and she knew not whether her husband was alive or dead? Would she console herself with some other man? He knew her passionate, hot-blooded nature, and remembered her avowal that she could not lead a single life; the reflection was torment to him. Would she make her way to France, as she had always wished to? Most likely, when she had given up hope of seeing him again. He cursed Buonaparte, he cursed himself for the infatuation for her, that had led him to sacrifice his honor and his country and to abandon the career he loved and in which he felt he had had it in him to attain high rank. And what was he now? Disgraced, a captive, soon to be a slave. He put his hands before his face and groaned. In his despair and bitterness of soul, he scarcely noticed the harsh treatment he received; his captors' scoffs and jeers, the occasional cuffs they gave him, the coarseness and scantiness of his rations, his bonds—for, except when food was given him, his hands were tied; all these were nothing in comparison to the desolation of his soul. But for Mahmoud, who preserved his spirits in a manner that was marvelous, and did his best to cheer him by holding out hopes of their effecting their escape, he would have cast himself over the vessel's side and found relief from all his troubles in the Nile.

The days went on, and, in time, they found themselves lying off a village a few miles from Cairo. Here Black Ali sent a messenger ashore with instructions to his lieutenant, who had been proceeding along the river bank with the main body of the band, to procure fifty camels on which the treasure could be loaded.

The next day the camels arrived, and St. Just had the pain of seeing the treasure that was the cause of his terrible predicament, that he had endured so much to grasp, hauled out from the boat and bestowed upon their backs.

When this work was completed, Black Ali placed his lieutenant in command of the boat, with orders to proceed to Damietta. He himself would go with the treasure to Cairo, and, when he had disposed of it safely, would rejoin the party at that port. The prisoners were then to be shipped on a vessel of his own, and taken to Benzert on the coast of Tunis, and there sold. Then the two parties started, the distance between them widening gradually, until the camels bearing the disastrous treasure, passed out of the young Frenchman's sight.

CHAPTER XXIV

The sun, now at its meridian, was pouring its scorching rays in a vertical flood upon a long, low vessel, lateen rigged, whose sails now filled out for the wind and now flapped idly against the masts, for the breeze, which was from the starboard quarter, came only in light, fitful puffs; so that the ship's progress would have been slow, had she depended solely on her sails; as it was, aided by the impetus of powerful sweeps each worked by two men, she was making about ten knots an hour. Not a cloud was to be seen; far as the eye could reach, above was one deep blue expanse, and the color was reflected in the water, through which the vessel ploughed her way. She was hugging the African shore of the Mediterranean. Not a ship could be discerned to starboard, not a sign of life to port, where on the land naught met the eye but rocks, flat stretches of barren land and sandy dunes, some covered with dense, low scrub. Not even one of those desert scavengers, the vultures, was to be seen. For all that was apparent, those on board the vessel might have comprised the whole of the human race. The stillness and silence were profound.

But not on the ship itself; there was no quiet there; the occasional moans of the captives, stripped to the waist and bending submissively while they labored at the heavy sweeps; the measured plash of these last, in the rippling water; the harsh laughter of the leisured portion of the men; the oaths of those whose turn it was to fill the rôle of taskmasters to the hapless rowers, and who paced unceasingly the vessel's deck, ever on the look-out for any one who failed to put his whole strength into his work, and savagely lashing such a one, his bare shoulders offering a ready mark for the heavy whip they wielded; the cries for mercy of those thus struck; all these combined to form a Babel that effectually banished stillness from the ship.

Among those who manned the sweeps were St. Just and Mahmoud, with others of his men. Besides them, there were on board prisoners of various nationalities, all destined by their captor for the slave market; for no respecter either of persons or of countries was Black Ali.

Stretched on the poop under a protective awning, he now lay in sleepy indolence, even his tawny and well-seasoned skin giving evidence, by its greasy polish, of the sweltering heat.

Suddenly he raised himself upon his elbow and stroked his untrimmed beard reflectively, the while he ran his cold, cruel eye along the line of rowers—from his point of view no longer men, but mere sums of money—scanning carefully each form that met his view, to see that it was doing its full share of work with the heavy oar, to each of which two men were chained.

His glance fell now on a Greek, now on a Moorish figure; then it traveled from a Frenchman to a Negro, each crouched doglike, with his tongue out, his eyes protruding from his head, the muscles of his back and arms standing out in lumps and knots under the strain imposed on them, the sweat pouring from his skin, saturating his linen waist-cloth and causing it to cling the tighter to him.

Black Ali's eye moved down the line, beginning at the bow; at the bench nearest to him it was arrested; only one man was pulling. His fellow, overcome by his exertions, had dropped backwards, so far as his chin allowed, and, regardless of the consequences, was resting; he could work no more.

"Ho! there, you foreign dog," Black Ali shouted; and all started at his voice. "You, you sluggish Frenchman," he went on; "would you delay us by your sloth? Hadji!"—to the stalwart slave driver—"your whip wants exercise, my man; wake up this Christian dog and make him work."

Having to pass along the whole rank of rowers, Hadji thought it well to go one better than his orders. "Quicken your stroke, you dogs," he shouted, and he strode along the line. To emphasize his words, he raised his formidable whip. With a swishing sound it descended on the shoulders of the nearest man, raising a long wheal on the already cruelly scored back. A second time it fell on the devoted back, this time drawing blood. And thus down the whole line the cutting thong was wielded, finally falling upon the resting man and slashing him across the face.

Instinctively, the poor Frenchman made a movement with his arm to protect his bleeding face; but, alas, the arm was chained and could not reach it. Still, for all his pain, he made no attempt to resume his work. Either long ill-usage had made him reckless and deadened his feeling to the lash, or he was too weak to move. In another moment, his eyes closed and he fell forward.

"He is dying," said the slave driver to his master.

"Is he?" said the despot beneath the awning. "We will have no carrion on board. Cut him adrift and tow him astern; he shall feed the sharks."

The order was no sooner given than executed. The dying and almost unconscious Frenchman was unfettered from his sweep; then his wrists were bound together and lashed to a log of wood, to which was attached a rope, one end of which was made fast to the stern; then he was flung overboard, the Arabs jeering as he splashed into the water. Face forwards he was dragged onwards by the vessel. Thus, for some minutes, he floated on. Presently a dark form was seen below the surface of the water, and the wretched man, whom the sea had now restored to consciousness, knew that a shark was making for him. His terror gave him temporary strength, and he splashed and struggled wildly in the vain hope of scaring off the monster, the while he turned a backward glance of agony at the approaching foe.

Nearer and nearer came the shark, swimming leisurely, as though debating on which spot he should first strike his victim. And now his back fin could be plainly seen above the water. The spectators on the vessel, who had gathered on the stern to see the sport, were shouting and screaming in their excitement, some even making bets as to what part of the man's body would be chosen for the shark's first bite. The slaves looked on with apathy, maintaining the while the motions of the sweeps with monotonous regularity.

There was a rush, a splash, then a piercing shriek, the shark made off with a leg and the sea around the mutilated man became dyed a ruddy hue. In his agony the victim writhed and splashed about and cried aloud. At this, the laughter of the inhuman witnesses of the scene grew louder.

But the sufferings of the wretched man were not to be much prolonged. Other sharks came up and soon another shriek was heard. Then there was silence; the hapless Frenchman had been torn limb from limb.

The day wore on, and night succeeded afternoon, and the wearied rowers were relieved by others, and allowed to sleep, in so far as the caprices of their captors would permit.

But an awful horror had fallen on them; the dreadful sight that they had witnessed had filled them with the fear that at any moment a like fate might overtake each one of them. Hurried whispers were exchanged and dark threats muttered against their captors, that boded ill for them, if only they could be put in execution. The slaves' only chance to rise and fall upon Black Ali's men would be when the gangs were changed and, for the moment, their fetters were removed. At such times, however, a careful watch was kept upon them.

Meantime they could only wait and hope.

CHAPTER XV

In a few days the little seaport town of Benzert came in sight, and, soon afterwards, the Arab dhow was riding at anchor off the mole, about half a mile from the shore. It was the hour of noon, and across the water, in the still, clear air, could be faintly heard the hoarse shout of the muezzin calling the Faithful to the mid-day prayer. At the sound, all the slavers, murderous, thieving ruffians though they were, without a scrap of conscience or humanity, fell on their knees and bent their heads, while they muttered their formula of praise and prayer. It was a curious sight.

This duty performed, a boat was manned and lowered, and Black Ali went ashore to arrange for the sale of his living cargo on the morrow.

The captives had done their last spell at the sweeps, and were no longer fettered to them, but were chained together by the wrists in gangs of from two to half a dozen. They were now lying huddled in groups about the deck, enjoying such repose as their thoughts allowed them. Their seeming hopeless apathy had inspired their callous taskmasters with confidence in their docility and resignation to their fate; so that Black Ali's satellites now paid little heed to them, and would have laughed to scorn the suggestion that they meditated mutiny. They believed their captives so completely cowed by the floggings and other cruelties they had undergone that all their manhood had gone out of them. And almost it had; but, cowed and abject, as they were, there was still some manhood left, and below the even surface of resignation and submission was a seething mass of rage and hatred which, given the opportunity, would find a vent, and, boiling over, would overwhelm their torturers as ruthlessly as does a stream of molten metal that has burst its way from a smelting furnace upon the unsuspecting workers.

So far, whether from the cowardice or the hopelessness of the slaves, or that a favorable opportunity had been wanting, no attempt at a rising had been made. Now there seemed a chance, for the number of their guards had been reduced, many of Black Ali's men having accompanied him ashore. Those who remained behind were lolling lazily about the deck, for the most part gazing at the shore.

St. Just and Mahmoud, chained together, were stretched in the shadow of a boat, apparently asleep. Certainly the carpenter, who was repairing a damaged boat hard by them, thought so. Occasionally he gave a glance at them, then turned his back and resumed his work, unconscious that his tool basket lay within reach of Mahmoud's hand.

But St. Just's eyes were fixed upon it covetously; given time and opportunity, in it he saw the instrument of their enfranchisement. Cautiously inclining his hands towards the apparently sleeping lad, he whispered in his ear, but no sound escaped his lips. Silently, stealthily, first looking around to see that he was not observed, Mahmoud advanced his unchained hand; gradually it neared the basket; over the edge and into it made its way. The next moment it was withdrawn, but it was no longer empty; it held a strong three-sided file. With the speed of lightning the lad thrust it into his waistband out of sight. Then he cast his eyes round furtively, to see whether any one had noticed him. His heart was beating violently, he breathed painfully, the sweat was pouring from him, he was trembling from head to foot. His glance assured him; he was satisfied that no one, but St. Just, whose trepidation was equal to his own, had seen his act. A deep sigh escaped him; it marked his unspeakable relief, and he breathed easily.

Hardly had he concealed the file, when the order was given for the gang to move forward to receive their rations. St. Just and Mahmoud whispered a word to their neighbors, and quickly the news would permeate the band.

The lynx-eyed slave driver, by way of encouraging them to speed their steps, gave each man, in passing, a sharp cut with the whip. But St. Just and Mahmoud received theirs in silence, for both were inwardly rejoicing, and they scarcely felt the pain, so buoyed up were they with the thought that, before another hour should have passed, the inspiring cry would have been whispered through the gang.

"A file, and freedom at the hour of sunset!"

The afternoon wore on, the captives seemingly even more quiet and subdued than usual. No one, to look at them, would have guessed the hope, the impatience, the thirst for blood, that were raging beneath their calm demeanor. But, indolent and listless though they seemed, one by one they were actively employed. The file was furtively at work. Surreptitiously and with infinite caution it was passed from hand to hand, each man filing almost, but not quite through the link that joined him to his neighbor, so that with a slight effort, it could be snapped asunder. This achieved, the file was handed on.

It had been planned that, if the file's work were done in time, the rising should take place at the next call for prayer, for then their custodians would be on their knees and, for the moment, off their guard. St. Just was to give the signal; he was to raise his hand; no sound was to be uttered.

Meanwhile everything was going in their favor. The crew had given themselves up to rest, or sport, or dissipation, according to their respective moods. Some were singing boisterously, some were gaming with cards, some dicing; others were devoting themselves to the bottle; for though followers of the Prophet, these lawless preyers on humanity took no heed of his injunctions to abstain from alcohol; and with this all were more or less inflamed. Some indeed, were so far overcome that they were stretched upon the deck in drunken stupor. Most of them had cast aside their scimitars, which were lying here and there, retaining only their daggers on their persons. The muskets were stacked just below the poop deck. The laughter, the coarse jokes, the quarreling of the gamesters and the singing of the half-drunken men combined to form a Pandemonium that was almost deafening. But for this, the sound of the continued rasping of the file could scarcely have escaped their notice.

St. Just and his companions noted with satisfaction, and almost with a smile, the condition and fancied security of their oppressors; and, even more, the arms that lay about, and that they hoped would soon be in their own hands. The order had silently been passed along that, the moment they had broken their shackles, each man was to pounce upon a weapon, and then throw himself upon a foe. Should there not be arms sufficient to go round, belaying pins and other articles that might serve as substitutes were to be seized; and the places of these had all been marked, that there should be no hunting about when the moment for attack should have arrived.

It was fortunate for the conspirators that a portion of the crew had landed with Black Ali, for their work would be the easier; and St. Just trusted that the others would not return in time to help their comrades. But, even should they, the rising would still take place, for "death before slavery; liberty at any cost," was the motto of one and all.

Hour succeeded hour and, at last, the word was passed along that the file had done its work; every man could now free himself at will; all that was wanting was the auspicious moment, and for this only patience was required.

As the sun sank hour by hour, bringing the Mussulman's prayer time ever nearer, the suspense and mental tension of the slaves became almost insupportable, and anxious eyes were turned in the direction of the shore, on the look-out for any sign of an approaching boat; but nothing intervened between them and the land. There was a strained look on every face, for the sun was now so low that the crisis might arrive at any moment. It sank below the horizon, leaving only its reflected radiance of gold and crimson. Then faintly across the water—so faintly as to be almost inaudible, and but for the land wind it would have been wholly so—came the echo of the muezzin's call. Spite of the din on board the vessel, some one heard it and called out, "The Muezzin!"

The word acted like a spell. Drinking, dicing, card-playing were laid aside; the swearer checked his swearing, the singer ceased his song; two men who had quarrelled over their game, each accusing the other of cheating, and had drawn their daggers to fight it out, replaced their weapons in their waist cloths—they would renew the fight the moment they should have performed their orisons—and even the sleepers roused themselves. Every voice was hushed; then every knee was bent.

The moment the captives had so yearned for had arrived. Every eye was turned upon St. Just.

Silently he raised his hand. Instantly, like one man the mutineers were on their feet; there was a sound of jingling metal, and each man's hands were free; a rush was made for the weapons, but there was no confusion, for each seized the arm marked out for him, those nearest the stern making for the muskets. Had they been drilled soldiers, their movements could not have been better executed. The hope of liberty had lent them discipline.

Then all their pent up fury burst its bonds, and, with a roar more awful than that of a dozen lions sighting prey, their eyes glaring with revenge and thirst for blood, they threw themselves upon their captors.

At the sound of the clanking fetters, Black Ali's men had risen from their knees; at first so bewildered as to be incapable of taking in the situation. But, in a moment, they understood too well, and they rushed to seize their weapons, only to find they were too late. Some tried to gain the firearms, but here also they were foiled. Two or three had swords, but the rest had only daggers. They looked at one another in consternation, and their faces fell; they read their doom in the murderous looks of their assailants; but, merciless scoundrels though they were, courage was the one virtue they possessed; and, resolved to sell their lives as dearly as they could, they did not flinch from the encounter.

Then the murderous work began. The fighting was all hand to hand, for St. Just had given orders not to fire, save in the last resort, for fear of arousing those on shore; but muskets were clubbed and swords were flashed, and soon every member of the crew was hotly pressed by an opponent—some by more than one, for the mutineers now outnumbered their late masters. Having for the most part only knives and daggers, there was scarce a possibility of opposing and guard, and the others gave them little chance of coming to close quarters, whirling their clubbed muskets about until they saw their opportunity, when down with a crash they would come on some devoted head. And it was the same with those who were armed with swords; such was the rapidity of their cuts and passes, as effectually to keep the pirates at arm's length; they seemed to move with lightning speed; then, at the first opening, a dull swishing sound was heard, and the deadly steel was buried in a palpitating body, and another of Black Ali's men was sent to his account. Now and then, one of these, more agile and wary than the rest, would manage to evade the opposing sword or musket, and, rushing in, would strike his knife into his adversary. They fought with the hardihood and courage of despair, but these availed them nothing against the fury and ferocity of their assailants, who, goaded by the memory of their sufferings for the past month, now saw their way to be avenged on their tormentors, and seemed endowed with superhuman strength. What cared they for a few slashes from sword and dagger? They scarcely felt them. Among the whole of them there was not a trace of ruth or pity, no thought of quarter. They were more like raging beasts than men. They did not even think of liberty; they were swayed only by the impetus to kill. They were irresistible.

Some of them were on the poop, shouting. "A moi, mes camarades, à moi!" to those of their compatriots among the slaves. St. Just dashed up the companion leading to it. He was followed by Mahmoud and a Frenchman.

A huge Arab, one of the few who were armed with swords, rushed forward, raised his sword aloft and, putting all his strength into the blow, made a cut at St. Just's head, that, if it had found its mark, would have ended his career. But St. Just guarded himself and the blow fell on his sword. Such was its force, however, that he staggered under it, so that the Arab was the first to recover himself for another onset. He was on the point of delivering a second blow, when, once more Mahmoud saved his master's life. With the agility of a cat, he sprang on the fellow's back and twined his arms around his throat. The next instant St. Just's sword was through his adversary's heart; it even slightly wounded Mahmoud. The Arab fell forward with a groan.

Meantime others of the slaves had gained the poop and, with the help of those already there, they made short work of the remaining members of the crew in that part of the ship.

Then all went down again to the deck. Here the fight was nearly over, for, whenever one of Black Ali's men had fallen, his late adversary had gone to the assistance of a comrade; thus the odds against the ship's defenders kept increasing. Only three of these last now survived; they struggled bravely, desperately, striving not so much to defend themselves—for they knew that this was hopeless—as to inflict injuries on their assailants. But, faint from pain and loss of blood, their efforts were but feeble: one by one, they were struck down, until the last had fallen. Then a yell of frenzied triumph went up from the emancipated slaves.