For Love of a Bedouin Maid

The ship presented a fearful sight. More than twenty men were strewn about the blood-stained deck, all showing ghastly wounds; some with their skulls smashed in, others with their faces so slashed and bruised as to be unrecognizable; some with their bowels protruding from their bodies, all bleeding from numerous wounds, which showed how desperate had been their fight for life. Their faces were horrible to behold. All but a very few were dead, for, as each had fallen, his antagonists had plunged their swords into him, until he had ceased to move; or had beaten his brains out with the butt ends of their muskets. But some still breathed, and groaned and writhed in agony. Their sufferings would soon be ended. The cry went up, "Stop the music of those howling dogs." It was received with a roar of laughter and shouts of, "Yes, kill them, kill them every one, the man-hunting tigers."

The murderous work was quickly finished. The vessel ran with blood from stem to stern, and a loathsome smell went up, the sickening odor of the slaughter house.

Some of the mutineers had been wounded, in most cases only slightly, some seriously, but none had received fatal injuries. The opposing parties had been too unequally armed for that. Now that their enemies were disposed of, those who were uninjured lent their assistance to their wounded comrades, and bound up their hurts. St. Just was among those who had escaped without a scratch.

At last they had attained their freedom; but, hardly had they begun to congratulate themselves on their success, when a new danger threatened them.

"A boat, a boat!"

The cry came from a man who was leaning over the bows.

All eyes turned shorewards. A boat had just put off; they knew it well. Black Ali and his companions were returning. Swiftly the victors had to decide upon their course. Their ability to cope successfully with the slave dealer and his myrmidons was not in doubt; they were well-armed and out-numbered them in the proportion of three to one. Moreover, their position on the ship gave them, an additional advantage; there would be little risk in the encounter; their danger lay in their nearness to the shore; the fight would be witnessed from the mole, and Black Ali's friends and the authorities of the place would come to his assistance; then all their late efforts would have been in vain. Ardently as they longed to meet their persecutor face to face and to mete out to him the punishment he had so richly earned, they were compelled reluctantly to forego their vengeance.

Their resolve was quickly taken; their only safety lay in flight. St. Just, by tacit consent, assumed, for the nonce, the post of leader. No sooner had they come to this decision, than his voice rang out, "Four men to the windlass and cast loose the anchor."

The minutes were too precious to be spent in weighing it; it would have to go, despite the risk they ran thereby.

Four men instantly ran up, and the next moment the windlass was whirling round; soon the end of the chain was reached and with a rattle was cast overboard.

"A sailor, a steersman," St. Just next shouted.

A tall Greek sprang to his feet.

"I can steer," he cried.

"To the helm, then," rejoined St. Just, "and stand by till the sweeps are out; then bring her round."

The order was obeyed.

"Out with the sweeps, and row for your lives," went on the captain. "Port side only, until you have got her head round to the sea; starboard side back water."

The men dashed to the benches and took their seats, no longer chained to the oars, but free men now. They began to pull as they had never pulled before; harder even than when under the slave-driver's whip, since they were rowing for their lives; for, if attacked, they would die, before they would yield themselves again to slavery.

Slowly and steadily the dhow swung round, until her bows were pointing seawards; then they set to with a will, pulling a long, even stroke that sent them rapidly through the waves.

"Up with the sails!" was the next order.

There was a whirring of ropes, as they traveled through the blocks, and up went the large triangular sails.

"Crowd on all you can—every rag of canvas!" their leader shouted. There was no danger in this, for the wind was light, and, fortunately, from the right quarter.

Soon every sail was set, and the ship, assisted by the rowers' efforts, was bowling merrily before the wind. So promptly had all answered to their new captain's call, that, five minutes after his first order had been given, the ship had been got round, with all sails set, and had begun to move.

While his instructions were being carried out, St. Just, as well as others, was turning anxious glances towards the shore. Nearer and nearer came the approaching boat and, by the time the dhow was under way, it was little more than three hundred yards astern. But, before this, Black Ali had seen, from the activity on board, that something was amiss: and what that was he was not long left in doubt. Then his fury knew no bounds. Just when he had made arrangements to turn his living cargo into money, to see his ship and freight both taking flight certainly was calculated to excite his ire. He jumped up in the boat and cursed and raved and threw his arms about and shook his fist in menace at the retreating ship; his crew also set up a howl of baffled rage. They were answered from the dhow with jeers. Then Black Ali's men fired musket shots, but the bullets only made little splashes in the water and drew more derisive shouts and mocking laughter from the new masters of the ship.

Black Ali saw that pursuit was useless, for the distance between him and the runaway dhow was ever growing greater. He turned his boat's head towards the land and rowed for the harbor with all speed, his intention being to get some swift vessel lying there and overtake and recapture his own. In this he would have no difficulty, for, by the laws of every country, St. Just and his companions were mutineers and pirates.

The ship's crew cheered when they saw their late oppressor give up the chase, but St. Just looked grave; he would have been better satisfied had it been maintained; he guessed what Black Ali meant to do.

"Don't waste your breath in cheers, men," he exclaimed. "You will need it all. Wait till we are clear of him. He has gone for the moment, but he will soon be on our track in a ship that will out-sail us. Row your hardest; your lives and liberty are at stake. Our only chance is that they shall not sight us. In that the coming night will help us. Bend your backs, strain every nerve and muscle until the darkness shrouds us. Meantime, those of us who are now resting will lighten the vessel of this Arab carrion, and swab the deck."

The rowers saw the force of what he said, and their efforts were redoubled. The others set to work on throwing the dead bodies overboard; and, when the last was gone, began to wash the blood-stained deck; it would take many washings and scourings with holy stone to obliterate the last vestiges of crimson.

Meanwhile the breeze had freshened, the sails were stretched almost to bursting, but there was no listing of the ship, for the wind was dead astern; the masts and cordage creaked and groaned and whistled, and the dhow seemed to be going at racing speed, the bows ploughing up the water in a deep furrow and leaving a stream of foam in the vessel's wake.

On, on, she flew, plunging into the trough of the great rollers, now rising over their crests, the water gurgling and lapping against her stern. Gradually the land became more and more indistinct, until, finally, it faded out of sight.

At last night fell; never surely had darkness been so longed for. Then the rowers' exertions slackened, and the heavy sweeps were shipped; it was time, for the men were nearly spent. Soon a fresh gang would take their places; but, before that, a palaver would be held. So far, they had sighted no pursuers, nor, look which way they would, had they seen a sail of any sort; they seemed to have the Mediterranean to themselves.

They had captured the ship; they had slain their persecutors; they had gained their liberty; they had now to consider how to avoid recapture. They would not be safe until they should have made some European port. The English had swept the Mediterranean of all war ships, but their own; and them they did not fear, for capture by them would, at the worst, mean only temporary restraint. On learning the particulars, the English authorities would hold them justified for all that had occurred. The men they feared were the slavers, privateers and pirates, with whom those waters swarmed.

When a lantern had been swung at the mast head and another placed within the binnacle, the whole crew assembled in council on the poop. St. Just opened the proceedings.

"The first thing to be done," he said, "is to appoint a captain. I am wholly ignorant of nautical affairs, so I am out of it. Now, how many practical sailors are there present?"

Half a dozen hands were raised; at the same time several voices called out, "Theodori!"

This was the tall Greek at the tiller.

"Theodori," resumed St. Just, "you seem to be the only candidate, and I am ready to place myself under your orders, till we gain the land. At the same time, I think it would give all greater confidence, if you would state your qualifications."

"I have had ten years' experience in the Mediterranean before the mast," Theodori promptly answered. "And have served for twelve months as first officer in a large coasting vessel. I can navigate the ship and, if we are not captured, can take you safely into port."

There was a mixture of modesty and confidence in his tone and bearing that favorably impressed his hearers. All felt he was the right man for the post.

"I like your answer," said St. Just, "and for my part, am prepared to place implicit trust in you." Then he turned to the men. "What say you, comrades, shall Theodori be our captain?"

"He shall," they shouted with one accord. "Theodori! Theodori!"

St. Just put up his hand for silence, and went on. "Now we must be agreed on one thing, we must yield our captain absolute obedience—and cheerfully and willingly; there must be no questioning his orders. Only so can we hope to plant our feet on land again. So far, we have been successful; let us not jeopardize our success; there is much to be done before our safety will be secured. Captain!" to Theodori, "I await your orders."

"I accept the post," said the new captain, "and thank you all for your confidence. I hope so to sail the vessel as to show that it is not misplaced. But, before I begin my duties, we must decide whither we are bound. What port am I to make for?"

This point had not before occurred to them, and it gave rise to much discussion. The few Frenchmen among them, captured stragglers and couriers from Buonaparte's army, suggested a French port, Marseilles for choice; some, one of the islands in the Levant; others Sicily, or Italy; some wanted to go back to Egypt. St. Just was mute. His mind was so unsettled that he resolved to leave to chance his destination. After all who desired to do so had had their say, the Greek captain spoke.

"What we all want," he said, "is to get to shore as soon as possible. Now the South West corner of Sicily is the nearest land in front of us—almost due North. I shall have to sail the ship by dead reckoning, and from memory, for I hear there are no charts, chronometer or instruments for taking observations. Therefore, the less distance we have to go, the less liability of error in reckoning. I strongly advise Sicily, and the first port there we sight. But, if all agree upon some other quarter, I will do my best to take you there. What say you, men?"

There was a short, murmured conversation, and then one man, acting as spokesman for the rest, addressed the Greek. "We will be guided by you, Captain. Sail the ship to Sicily, and good luck go with us."

The meeting then broke up.

Theodori at once began to issue orders, and in a tone that showed that, once appointed, he meant to be obeyed. He called up the six men who were sailors and, after a few questions, soon learned how to place them. One he sent to the helm with instructions to keep the ship's head North; two others were made first and second officers respectively of the watch; a fourth was to be boatswain. The other two would take their turns at the tiller. He decided to keep the first watch himself.

When he had made all his arrangements, he gave orders for the men to have their rations. Then a man was placed on the look-out, and all turned in for the rest they so well deserved and greatly needed.

The night passed uneventfully and the morning broke bright and clear; then earnestly was the horizon scanned by all, Theodori standing by the helmsman with the telescope to his eye. Presently he started almost imperceptibly; astern of them a little to their port, he had discerned a small white speck—a sail in the far distance; the hull was not yet visible. Probably it was in pursuit of them, and Black Ali was on board. The captain cast his eyes up to the sails; they no longer filled out bravely, as on the night before, but swayed limply in and out, as the wind first came in little puffs, then fell away; sometimes they even flapped against the masts, for the breeze had died away, though still dead aft of them; the dhow was making but little way. For the moment the Greek looked anxious; the vessel in their wake was a much larger one, with greater sailing power; then his face brightened and a smile of triumph passed across it. What had seemed to forecast their destruction might prove the saving of them. The pursuing vessel's progress depended solely on the wind; the dhow had added propulsive power in the strong arms of her men. Even in a dead calm they could keep on their course.

"A sail astern of us," he said, and the cry was repeated by the crew. Then he called the boatswain.

"Man the sweeps," he said, "and change the gang every hour. Every man must do his best, until that ship is out of sight."

The men obeyed the orders with alacrity, St. Just and Mahmoud being the first to seize a sweep between them. Soon, assisted by the little wind there was, the ship had a fair way on her. Gradually the rowers' efforts began to tell; the vessel in their wake grew less and less and, in two hours, not a trace of her could be seen. But still the men rowed on, a fresh set being put on each hour; they required no urging to their work; they had too much at stake for that.

They saw no more of their pursuer, if such she was. Occasionally they sighted other vessels on both sides of them, but far away.

A few days passed, their freedom ever nearing consummation, and, at last, from the look-out man rang out the welcome cry of "Land ahead."

At first there seemed only a long, low, far-off cloud, but to the seaman's practiced eye it was the goal of all his hopes. The rowers were not now at work, for the wind had freshened, and a good stiff breeze was blowing. Rapidly the land grew more distinct, and presently Theodori, who was at the bow, viewing through his glass the line of coast, which he knew well, exclaimed,

"Sicily! Our nearest port will be Marsala: we will make for it."

In a few hours they were off the town; or, to be precise, two miles to the right of it, it being thought advisable to land where they would be little noticed. The sails were lowered; then the vessel was hove to. Next, a few men were put to the sweeps to steady her, there being, as it will be remembered, no anchor to let go. There was only one boat on board—for Black Ali had the other—and this was manned and lowered, and as many took their places in it as it would safely carry. "Give way men," was then the order, and they pushed off, and started for the shore, amid the cheers of those on board. All felt now that their liberty was assured, and they were mad with joy.

The boat had to return four times before all were taken off the vessel. St. Just and Mahmoud were among the final batch. Theodori, who had so ably steered them into safety, was the last to leave the dhow. She was abandoned for any one who chose to seize her. Black Ali might regain his own, should he come up in time.

So far, there had been no mishap in landing. When the boat was run ashore for the last time, those assembled on the beach gave voice to a hearty cheer, which the others answered with a loud hurrah. Then, in their excitement and in all good temper, they began to scramble from the boat, each striving to be the first. In the general scuffle St. Just, who was standing on one of the thwarts, received a violent push, that was not intentional, from behind. He fell headlong forwards, his head striking the boat's edge with fearful force. He rolled over unconscious, with the blood pouring from a terrible gash that extended from the temple to a considerable distance behind the ear.

EPOCH II

THE CONSUL BUONAPARTE

CHAPTER I

A few days before the close of November 1803 a small trading vessel was making her way towards the Southern coast of France. A tall, handsome, though careworn-looking man, about thirty years of age, was standing in the forepart of the ship. Despite his civilian garb, there was an air about him that proclaimed a military training. His eyes were fixed with a far-off, dreamy look on the distant haze that heralded their approach to land. But he seemed to take but little interest in the prospect; he showed none of the excitement of a man returning to his country after years of absence; only a dull, leaden curiosity.

At his elbow stood a young fellow with gleaming teeth and smiling face and dark twinkling eyes. His coal-black hair and swarthy skin gave evidence that he hailed from some Southern or Eastern clime.

The older man was St. Just, the younger Mahmoud, who had now broadened and thickened, and become a man of powerful frame.

To explain their presence on a trading vessel a brief retrospect is necessary.

When last before the reader, St. Just lay unconscious in the boat, with a dreadful injury to his head. His companions, seeing that he made no attempt to rise, picked him up and laid him on the beach. Then a cloth was bound tightly round his head to check the bleeding, and they did their best to bring him round. But all their efforts were unavailing; St. Just remained in a state of stupor.

What was to be done? They did not like to leave him, and Theodori and Mahmoud would not hear of it, the latter saying that nothing would induce him to forsake the wounded man. On the other hand, to carry him into the town, would call attention to them and might lead to their arrest. Their intention had been to disperse on landing, and make their way thither by different routes in twos and threes. After some discussion, it was decided that four of them should remain with him, until a place of shelter had been found for him. The main body then separated, taking different directions. Mahmoud, of course, and Theodori were among those left behind.

When the others had cleared off, the latter started in search of help. A little way inland, was a village, and thither Theodori bent his steps. He had gone not far, when he met one whose dress showed him to be a priest. The very man, opined the Greek, and he approached him and told what had occurred. He was familiar with all the tongues in use about the Mediterranean, of which Italian was the most prevalent, and in this language he addressed him. Naturally, all he told him was that, in landing from a boat, a man had been seriously hurt, and was in dire need of surgical assistance. The padre's sympathies were enlisted, and he at once set off with Theodori to the shore and instructed the men to bear the wounded man to his own house. This done, the Greek and the two other men departed, leaving Mahmoud with St. Just. Then the good priest fetched a doctor, a friend of his, and St. Just's injuries were attended to.

He made steady progress towards recovery, so far as concerned the wound, which in a month healed up; when, in bodily health, he was as well and strong as ever.

But the injury to his head had had a strange effect upon his brain. When he regained consciousness, his memory had wholly left him; he was oblivious of everything that had occurred before the accident; the past was an absolute blank to him. Even Mahmoud he did not recognize; had he been asked his own name, or Mahmoud's, he could not have given either. The lad had told the priest that his master's name was St. Just and his own Mahmoud, and St. Just hearing the names so used, accepted them. It was strange that this should not have aroused some memories in his dormant brain; but so it was.

Mahmoud had begged so hard to be allowed to remain and serve St. Just, that the padre could not find it in his heart to say him nay; he was touched by the young man's devotion. The lad was both amazed and shocked at the condition of his master's mind, and, for a long time, tried every means to awake his sleeping memory.

He talked of Halima and the old sheik; of his accident, of Cairo, of Black Ali, of the treasure, of the French Army, and of every circumstance known to St. Just that he thought likely to take his mind back to the past; but, with all his efforts, he failed to strike one responsive chord. St. Just would give him all his attention, looking wonderingly in Mahmoud's face, would seem to be striving hard to dig into the recesses of the past, and then would answer wearily, "It is useless, Mahmoud; my mind in regard to what is in the past is dead. I recollect nothing that occurred before I woke up to find myself in bed in this good man's house. I do not even remember having ever seen you before that moment. I do not doubt the truth of what you tell me, but I remember nothing of it, nothing."

So, seeing its uselessness, and that it even gave his master pain, Mahmoud rarely made any reference to the past, and, after a month, ceased altogether.

Both the padre and the surgeon were much interested in the case, especially the latter; he had never met with such a one before. At first he thought St. Just was shamming, that he had done something that would not bear the light, and had artfully assumed his rôle of ignorance, to shelve unpleasant questions. But he soon abandoned this idea; there was no pretense about his patient's loss of memory. Then he brought other medical men to see St. Just, and all were as puzzled as himself. They talked of depression of the skull, of lesions, and abscesses on the brain; but all agreed that nothing could be done; time only might effect a cure. Should the lesion, or abscess heal, or whatever was the mischief, be removed, most likely his memory would return. They could say and do no more; in those days surgical and medical science had not attained the position it holds to-day.

So desirous was the surgeon to see the outcome of the case, that he cast about for a means to keep his patient under his eye. To this end, St. Just being nothing loth, and also grateful for the surgeon's care, he exerted himself to find him employment in the neighboring town; with the result that, aided by the priest, he obtained for him a post with an important shipping firm. St. Just's mind was active and intelligent enough in all that concerned the present, and he performed his duties with promptitude and assiduity.

With the same firm a subordinate post was found for Mahmoud. The lad's account of who they were and how they came to be where they were found was but a skeleton of the truth. He had all the cunning and shrewdness of the Arab, and, in his master's strange condition, he feared to betray something that might do him injury.

Occasionally a gleam of light from the regions of the past would flash across the Frenchman's brain, but it was only momentary and was extinguished even before it had begun to glow; and it left no trace behind. As time went on, this occurred more frequently, and he told the surgeon of it; whereat the latter argued that time would, indeed, effect the restoration of his patient's memory.

Thus three years and a half went on. Then, one day, St. Just sought the surgeon in great excitement. "Doctor," he said, "to-day there came to me a thought that surely must be a reminiscence of the past. Hitherto, when what I take to be a memory has flashed across me, it has vanished ere I could lay hold of it: I never could remember what it was. But to-day I can recall what passed through my brain an hour ago. It was but confused and faint, but, such as it was, I can remember it. A scene of battle floated before my eyes; I could hear the boom of guns, the call of trumpets; the men were dressed in uniforms that seemed familiar to me; some spoke French and some Italian; the latter gave way before the former. Then the whole scene dissolved away. I can connect this with nothing in my life; still, surely, surely, it means something to me—or is it all hallucination?"