For Love of a Bedouin Maid

St. Just and his troopers, now reduced to thirty, followed in the Bey's track to the Nile bank, but were prevented from crossing the river by the destruction of the bridge of boats that had led to the Mameluke fleet. Thus checked in his advance, he rested his men in a hut hard by the river side, while he considered what course he should pursue.

Before he had come to a decision, he noticed a good deal of activity on board the vessels in the river, and that, from some of them, smoke was beginning to ascend. Instantly he understood what was going on. They were firing them, to prevent their falling into the hands of the French.

Now St. Just concluded that, if the Egyptians thought the vessels worth the burning, there must be valuable cargo on board, and that they were worth the saving. Forthwith he resolved to do his best with that intent.

Leaving half his men and all the horses, posted at the hut, he marched on foot with the remainder to the river. Several boats were moored along the bank, and one of these they seized, and in it they rowed down the river towards the burning dahabeahs, St. Just's intention being to cut some of them adrift, in the hope of afterwards capturing them.

But he had reckoned without his host, for the vessels had been too successfully set alight. There was a strong wind blowing, and the flames and smoke were such that he could not get near enough to cast the vessels from their moorings. Again and again he and his brave men renewed the attempt, but only to be as often driven back by the scorching heat. But, worse even than the flames, the enemy, who had marked them while they were some distance from the vessels, poured in a deadly fire of musketry. One by one his men kept dropping, and St. Just soon saw that it was no longer a question of capturing the enemy's ships, but of saving their own lives.

Meanwhile the ships burned furiously, producing such a light that the French troops at Gizeh could see dimly amid the crimson gleams the distant minarets and gilded cupolas of Cairo.

St. Just gave orders to row back to their starting point, close to which he had posted the remainder of his troop.

But soon he found that their retreat in that direction was cut off; for, while he and his men had been busy trying to cut adrift the burning, as well as the yet unlighted, dahabeahs, swarms of Arabs had put off in boats and had collected in their rear.

To turn the boat's head round and row towards Cairo seemed the only thing to be done, and even the risk of this was terrible, their safety depending upon General Buonaparte's having captured the city. His fifteen men were now reduced to eight, seven having fallen beneath the Mamelukes' fusillade. St. Just sat in the stern of the boat steering, pondering meanwhile on the peril of their situation and their chances of escape. He knew that some of the French troops were already moving on Cairo; and, from scraps of conversation picked up round the camp fires on the previous night, he entertained little doubt that Buonaparte would enter the city, either by storming it, or otherwise, at dawn on the following day.

Now if he, St. Just, could get into Cairo, with his men, unseen, and quietly take possession of some house, they would probably be able to maintain themselves secure in it till General Buonaparte's arrival. And this was what he set himself to do. But how to do it was the difficulty. The light from the conflagration on the river was so great that, were they to attempt to land in their French uniforms, they would be instantly discovered by the lawless and turbulent hordes scattered up and down the river banks, plundering and fighting and murdering in all directions, and would be quickly set upon, overcome and killed.

Their position was desperate, and desperate remedies were required; and the plan St. Just evolved was desperate, and depended also on chance for its accomplishment. Having explained it to his men, he ordered them to lie up under the shadow of some vessels moored in mid-stream and as yet untouched by the fire, just keeping the boat from drifting, and to wait for the chance of capturing a passing boat with Arabs on board, his intention being to massacre the crew for the sake of their clothes, which his own men would then put on; then they were to watch their opportunity to get ashore in the confusion that everywhere prevailed.

There is an old proverb to the effect that all things come to those who wait, if they but wait long enough; and so it was in this case. The men were sitting listlessly, tired of their inactivity, when a sudden cry brought them back to attention. Bearing down upon them was a large boat manned by about a dozen Arabs. A shaft of light cast from some burning wreckage floating by upon the encrimsoned waters in their direction, had betrayed to the approaching boat that in one of their own craft were some of the hated invaders. It was their fierce cry that awakened St. Just and his crew to a conviction of their danger. Ping! Ping! went the bullets from the Arab matchlocks, and at the same moment St. Just shouted, "Only two men row; the rest lie in the boat and fire at the Arab rowers. Take careful aim and don't throw away a shot. Your lives depend upon it."

The men obeyed at once. Crack, crack. Two of the Frenchmen had fired, and two of the Arabs threw up their arms and fell in a huddled heap at the bottom of their dhow. Almost immediately a wild volley was fired by the Arabs, and one of the Frenchmen, whose head had been exposed to the light, toppled over the side of the boat into the Nile, a bullet in his brain; giving his comrades a brief view of his face, ere he sank beneath the waters in the ruddy light.

St. Just's measures were prompt and decisive, and his voice rang out like a clarion on the night. "A volley, all of you; then pick up your oars and row for them as hard as you can go."

The order was as promptly obeyed. The seven shots flew straight and, before the Arabs could recover from the confusion they had occasioned, the French picked up their oars, crashed into them and boarded them. A few moments later, there drifted down the Nile an empty boat; while, pulling for the distant domes, which marked the city of Cairo, were eight men dressed as Arabs and speaking French.

CHAPTER VII

The flames from the burning vessels on the river wrapped the city of Cairo in a lurid glow, and above it hovered a cloud of smoke, but which the breeze that heralds the approach of dawn, was gradually, though almost imperceptibly dispersing. The air was rent with cries and groans and yells. The thoroughfares were thronged with the panic-stricken citizens. Some, laden with goods, were fleeing with their families into the desert towards Philiae; others, their clothes torn and blood-stained, their muskets still in their hands, their dress proclaiming them to be soldiers who, routed in that day's fight, had fled for refuge to the city, were occupying themselves with pillaging the houses of the merchants.

In marked contrast to the general glare and din, one little narrow side street near the citadel remained wrapped in gloom and silence. Running parallel to the river, as it did, the houses on its river side shut out the light of the conflagration and only a faint reflection was visible overhead.

Hugging the walls of the houses on one side of this court—for it scarce merited the name of street, so narrow was it—St. Just and his followers, enveloped in "haic" and "burnous," crept stealthily and silently along. No one was about, nor was a light to be seen in any of the houses.

So far their venture had been successful; aided by the semi-darkness and the confusion that was prevailing in the busier parts of the city, where the crowd had drawn together, St. Just had managed to run his boat ashore on an unfrequented spot and to land unnoticed. Then separating, the better to escape observation, but still keeping close enough together for mutual help, should they be attacked, they had made their way towards the citadel and had joined a mob that was pouring into its gates. At that point, however, St. Just had turned aside to investigate the little street which seemed deserted.

He and his men had almost reached the top, when, suddenly, a piercing shriek rang out upon the stillness of the night. It came from a house St. Just was passing. He halted instantly; then, in the shrill and fearsome tones of a woman, came some words in Arabic. Now, during the few weeks the young officer had been in Egypt he had, in his journeyings with despatches, contrived to pick up a few words of Arabic; and the knowledge thus acquired now stood him in good stead. Thus he could translate the woman's cry, "Let me go; Yusuf, let me go!"

What Frenchman could listen unmoved to such a call for help? Certainly not St. Just. In a whisper, he told the man next to him to close up and pass the same order on from each man to the one behind him. Then he cast his eyes up and down the house; it was a tall stone building and white-washed, and was windowless, save that high up from the ground were a few square holes protected by bars of iron. A strong iron-studded door, set deep in a stone archway, formed the entrance to this house.

Earnestly as St. Just desired to go to the rescue of the shrieking woman, the door was too strong to be forced, except after continued and strenuous efforts, and there was no other possible entrance from the front. He was debating whether to try to make his way round to the back of the house, in the hope of there finding a means of getting in, when, all at once, the heavy door swung open, and a swarthy Arab came out, bearing on his shoulders a woman, who was either dead or senseless, for she made no movement. With the opening of the door, the light from within fell upon St. Just and those behind him, disclosing to the man's astonished eyes that they were not Arabs, but Frenchmen. St. Just made a forward movement; the Arab hesitated for a moment, then dropped his burden and turned and fled into the house again.

St. Just's action was speedy. Fate seemed to be playing into his hands. Here was a house that might serve them for a refuge and that, to all appearance, could be defended for some hours, at any rate, by the small body of men he had at his disposal. At once he decided to take possession of it. Turning to the two nearest men, he said, "Pick up the woman, and take her inside." Then to the others, "Follow me, then close the door and make it fast."

His orders were promptly carried out. Then the party—two of them bearing the still unconscious woman—traversed the length of a narrow passage lighted by a small brass lamp that hung from the ceiling. At the end of this they found themselves in an open court, in the center of which a marble fountain was playing, the water falling into the basin with the sound of gentle rain, and moistening the air with its tumid spray.

At the further side of the courtyard was a colonnade, and above it were the latticed windows of the women's apartments, now open. But no dusky beauties peeped from them, nor was there any sign or sound of life; the whole place was silent as the grave.

Leaving one man as a sentry in the corridor, and despatching four to make a thorough search of the premises, St. Just told the two who were carrying the woman, to lay her down on a marble seat under the colonnade. This done, he set himself to restore her, if so be that she still lived. There were signs that she had struggled with her abductor, for, half way across the courtyard, they found a richly embroidered shawl and a jeweled dagger. A short examination showed St. Just that the woman breathed, and he could find no marks of injury about her. He sprinkled water on her face and fanned her and rubbed her hands; but, despite all his efforts to revive her, she remained insensible.

St. Just was still thus occupied, when the four men he had sent on a tour of inspection through the house, returned, each carrying a lighted lantern, to report that they had found not a soul about the place, though, from the appearance of the rooms, it was plain that the inmates had but recently vacated them.

While receiving his men's report, St. Just had temporarily stayed his efforts to revive the fainting woman, and had faced the troopers. Now he looked to her again. The men had turned their lanterns on her; her headgear had fallen to the ground, disclosing to the young officer's astonished gaze a face of such rare beauty as he had not even dreamed of. She was quite young and, for an Eastern woman, singularly fair; she had hair of a golden brown and dark blue eyes, and a mouth about which now lurked as sweet a smile as ever brightened woman's face.

For the light shining in her eyes had completed her awakening, and, at the moment when St. Just became conscious of her surpassing loveliness, she was gazing in bewilderment upon the group around her. In a few seconds, she recognized them as the invaders of her country, and, at the same time, remembered what had led to her unconsciousness.

Then, to the astonishment of her hearers, she thus addressed them, speaking in excellent French and a clear, musical voice.

"Messieurs, the fortune of war has thrown into your hands a woman who has some claim to call herself a French woman. My mother was captured by a slaver when traveling from France at the time of the death of Louis Quinze, whose soul may God preserve. All my life have I spoken your tongue, and, because of the French blood in me, I have cursed the slavery in which, in this country, we women are held.

"I thank you for your timely help. You have saved me from a fate worse than death.

"And now I will order the slaves to bring you some refreshment."

And, rising with difficulty, though not without grace and dignity, despite her stiffness and the novelty of her position, she made as though to walk to the colonnade.

"Mademoiselle!"

She stopped and faced the speaker, fixing her eyes intently upon his face. St. Just bowed low before her. She might have been an Empress; but his respect was a tribute only to her beauty.

"Mademoiselle," he repeated, "I regret to inform you that I have just learned that, save yourself and us, there is no one in the house."

"Is that indeed so?" she answered, bowing on her part. "Then I pray you order your men to forage for themselves. If you care to accompany me, I will show you where the stores are."

He turned to the men and said, "Hunt about, lads, and eat what you can; for, if that black rascal returns with any more of his friends, we shall have to stand a siege and fight for our skins, and" (after a pause) "the lady's."

With this the men dispersed, some in search of food and others to perform allotted duties.

An hour later, St. Just, who had busied himself in the interval in putting the house into a fair condition of defence, ascended, with beating heart, a staircase, at the top of which was a doorway screened by heavy blue curtains, that formed a glaring contrast to the bright red stair carpets. Bold soldier as he was, it was with a timid air that he pushed aside the curtains and found himself where, till now, no man, save the master of the house, had been permitted to set foot; in the women's apartments. It was a long, narrow room, but so gracefully and skillfully decorated that its narrowness was not at first apparent. The air was heavy with some Eastern perfume, that caused the feeling of oppression, for the lattices overlooking the courtyard that had been closed over night had not yet been opened, despite the fact that the sun was beginning to show its power.

St. Just looked round the room for signs of the girl he had rescued not two hours before; his eyes did not roam far before they lighted on her; she was reclining upon a pile of cushions, on a divan, one arm under her head, the other, bare to the shoulder and exquisitely molded, lying on her side, but bent slightly forward, so that her fingers just touched the floor. She was sleeping, her whole pose betokening the abandon of fatigue. Noiselessly St. Just moved to her side, and gazed enraptured on the vision of loveliness beneath him. Through the gauzy drapery, he could see her swelling bosom rise and fall in gentle undulations; he noted the faint flush, induced by sleep, upon her cheek, the ruddy lips slightly parted in a smile and showing just a hint of the gleaming teeth within, the delicately chiselled nose, the broad smooth brow, the exquisite oval of her face; and, at the sight of all her charms, he felt his manhood stir within him.

Then, as sleepers generally do when one is near to them, she became conscious that she was not alone, and the dark blue orbs unclosed. She started, and a look of fear came over her at finding herself in the presence of a man; but, the next instant, she recognized him and, remembering what had passed, she smiled.

St. Just, too, smiled, and at the same time registered a mental vow to save her from the usual fate of young and handsome women in a captured city.

Then she sat up and laughingly addressed him in French, as heretofore. "Fancy your finding me asleep like this. I feel quite ashamed. And with my face uncovered. And do you know, Sir, that no man but my father ever sets foot in the apartments. They are sacred to the women."

"I fear, Madame," replied St. Just, "that, in a state of warfare, nothing is sacred to a Frenchman. But I came here to help you; and this must be my excuse. Soon my countrymen will be in possession of the city, and you will need protection. But I will see to it that no harm shall come to you."

"I am sure of that," she answered, beaming on him with admiration. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen. "But come and breakfast with me," she went on, and she motioned to him to seat himself beside her on the divan.

St. Just needed no second invitation, but quickly did as he was bidden. Then he noticed that, on a small table close at hand, there was laid out a dainty refreshment in the shape of coffee and Arab cakes and fruit.

"Are you a conjurer?" he asked in surprise, when she had filled a cup and passed it to him. He did not understand how the repast had been prepared, all the servants having fled.

She laughed a merry laugh. "I made the coffee myself a short time ago," she said, "and then I must have dropped asleep. The fruit and biscuits were already in the room."

"But you had no stove," St. Just objected.

"There is a brazier in the corner. See? And the saucepan was put ready for this morning by the slave last night, who was not able to forget the habits of a lifetime even when overcome by terror. Though, till my father returned from Gizeh late last night and told us how the battle had gone, we had no cause for fear."

"But how comes it that I find you here alone?"

"My father returned only for more slaves, and left immediately, when he had collected them. He promised to come back for me, or send Yusuf. Yusuf came indeed—he was the man you saw carrying me—but I would that he had stayed away, for he frightened and insulted me. He said that all law and order were at an end; that the French would soon be here, and that he loved me and was determined that I should be his; by force, if needs be. With that he advanced and would have embraced me. I screamed and fled from him; but he soon caught me and was carrying me away, when I fainted. I know no more; you know what followed."

"I do indeed," said St. Just gravely. "God be thanked that I came up when I did. I shudder to think what otherwise might have been your fate."

"It would have been death," she said; "for I never could have survived the ignominy of having been embraced by Yusuf. I should have slain myself at the first opportunity. Thus you have saved my life, my brave deliverer."

She turned her lovely eyes on him—eyes which beamed forth not only gratitude, but the dawn of love.

"You overwhelm me, when you talk like that," replied St. Just. "Any of my countrymen would have acted as I did. But tell me. You said but now, that your mother was a French woman; may I know her name?"

"Certainly; it was de Moncourt."

"What, of Moncourt in Brittany?"

"Yes."

"Indeed! then I have little doubt I have the honor to greet a cousin. I am a St. Just, also of Brittany."

"Truly? How delightful!"

"By what name did your mother call you?"

"Alas! it is an Arab one; I am called Halima."

Hardly had the words escaped her lips, when the sound of two shots following rapidly upon each other reached their ears. Both started to their feet.

"Yusuf!" she cried in terror.

And he, "Oh for arms and ammunition. We have but our pistols and a few rounds."

"Do you want guns?" asked Halima. "It so, there are matchlocks in the house; and gunpowder, too. Come with me and I will show you where they are."

St. Just shouted to one of his men; and Halima led them up a passage, halting at the end of it, before what seemed merely a wall panel. But she touched a knob that formed a portion of the Arabesque that decorated it; and, at the same time, pushed the panel. It opened on hinges, like an ordinary door, disclosing a room in which were arms of all sorts, the whole more or less old fashioned, and useless against disciplined troops, but that might be efficacious against a Cairo mob. At any rate, the matchlocks would make a noise, and firing blank cartridges often answers with a crowd. So St. Just and his trooper picked up a dozen of the firearms and as much ammunition as they could carry, the young girl helping them; then they rejoined the other men, who were gathered in the courtyard at the foot of the staircase that led to the women's apartments.

Quickly the matchlocks were distributed and loaded. But, before St. Just had decided how to post his men, a loud hammering at the entrance and the trampling of many feet and the sound of voices were heard. One louder than the rest shouted out in Arabic, "Open, open, ye dogs of Christians."

Then Halima trembled and panted in faltering tones, "It is Yusuf. Oh! save me from him. Kill me rather than let me fall into his hands."

And St. Just answered. "Trust me, Yusuf shall not have you, while I live. Keep close behind me." Then he called out to his men, "All follow me up the staircase!" and he led the way with Halima. Then he posted four men at the top of the staircase, two in front who were to lie down, and two behind, to stand up or kneel as occasion served. The staircase was not broad enough to allow more than two persons to ascend abreast; there was a fair prospect, therefore, that the four men could defend it.

These men placed, St. Just, with Halima and his three remaining troopers, betook themselves to a room with windows or embrasures that commanded the courtyard approach to the foot of the staircase. At these embrasures they took their stand, and awaited, stern and indomitable, the imminent attack.

Meanwhile the din without increased; the shouts and yells and menaces against the hated foreigners grew louder; the blows thundered upon the iron-studded door faster and harder. No door could long withstand such violence, and every moment St. Just felt that it must give way. At last, with a loud crash, it fell, and the crowd of Arabs came pouring into the courtyard.

"Aim low and fire," came the order from St. Just. He fired himself, and the three troopers did the same. Two men in the crowd dropped, and, with a howl of rage, the rest dashed across the yard and made for the staircase. When the first of them came in sight, the four men at the top fired, and several of the attacking party fell.

"Load and fire as fast as you can," said St. Just to the men in the room; "and show as little as possible of your bodies."

Before the beginning of the fight the French troopers had thrown aside their Arab draperies, finding they impeded their movements; so that, if ever their assailants had had any doubt about their nationality, it was now removed.

Both the men on the stairs and those in the room were now using their guns with fatal effect upon the densely packed crowd below, and many a bullet found its billet. But the besieged were not having it wholly their own way, for, though the attacking party recoiled time after time before the deadly fire at close quarters, they continually again pressed forward. They, also, were not without firearms, which they were using to some purpose, for every now and then a bullet crashed into the room and buried itself either in the wall, or in some article of furniture. Presently one of St. Just's men gave a cry and dropped, badly wounded. But there was no time to attend to him. All that happened was that Halima stepped forward and took his weapon and his place, loading and firing like the others.