Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. IV, No. 19, Dec 1851

THE LEGEND OF THE LOST WELL

In ancient times there existed in the desert that lies to the west of Egypt – somewhere between the sun at its setting and the city of Siout – a tribe of Arabs that called themselves Waled Allah, or The Children of God. They professed Mohammedanism, but were in every other respect different from their neighbors to the north and south, and from the inhabitants of the land of Egypt. It was their custom during the months of summer to draw near to the confines of the cultivated country and hold intercourse with its people, selling camels and wool, and other desert productions; but when winter came they drew off toward the interior of the wilderness, and it was not known where they abode. They were by no means great in numbers; but such was their skill in arms, and their reputation for courage, that no tribe ever ventured to trespass on their limits, and all caravans eagerly paid to them the tribute of safe-conduct.

Such was the case for many years; but at length it came to pass that the Waled Allah, after departing as usual for the winter, returned in great disorder and distress toward the neighborhood of the Nile. Those who saw them on that occasion reported that their sufferings must have been tremendous. More than two-thirds of their cattle, a great number of the women and children, and several of the less hardy men, were missing; but they would not at first confess what had happened to them. When, however, they asked permission to settle temporarily on some unoccupied lands, the curious and inquisitive went among them, and by degrees the truth came out.

It appeared that many centuries ago one of their tribe, following the track of some camels that had strayed, had ventured to a great distance in the desert, and had discovered a pass in the mountains leading into a spacious valley, in the midst of which was a well of the purest water, that overflowed and fertilized the land around. As the man at once understood the importance of his discovery, he devoted himself for his tribe, and returned slowly, piling up stones here and there that the way might not again be lost. When he arrived at the station he had only sufficient strength to relate what he had seen before he died of fatigue and thirst. So they called the well after him – Bir Hassan.

It was found that the valley was only habitable during the winter; for being surrounded with perpendicular rocks it became like a furnace in the hot season – the vegetation withered into dust, and the waters hid themselves within the bowels of the earth. They resolved, therefore, to spend one half of their time in that spot, where they built a city; and during the other half of their time they dwelt, as I have said, on the confines of the land of Egypt.

But it was found that only by a miracle had the well of Hassan been discovered. Those who tried without the aid of the road-marks to make their way to it invariably failed. So it became an institution of the tribe that two men should be left, with a sufficient supply of water and food, in a large cave overlooking the desert near the entrance of the valley; and that they should watch for the coming of the tribe, and when a great fire was lighted on a certain hill, should answer by another fire, and thus guide their people. This being settled, the piles of stones were dispersed, lest the greedy Egyptians, hearing by chance of this valley, should make their way to it.

How long matters continued in this state is not recorded, but at length, when the tribe set out to return to their winter quarters, and reached the accustomed station and lighted the fire, no answering fire appeared. They passed the first night in expectation, and the next day, and the next night, saying: "Probably the men are negligent;" but at length they began to despair. They had brought but just sufficient water with them for the journey, and death began to menace them. In vain they endeavored to find the road. A retreat became necessary; and, as I have said, they returned and settled on the borders of the land of Egypt. Many men, however, went back many times year after year to endeavor to find the lost well; but some were never heard of more, and some returned, saying that the search was in vain.

Nearly a hundred years passed away, and the well became forgotten, and the condition of the tribe had undergone a sad change. It never recovered its great disaster: wealth and courage disappeared; and the governors of Egypt, seeing the people dependent and humble-spirited, began, as is their wont, to oppress them, and lay on taxes and insults. Many times a bold man of their number would propose that they should go and join some of the other tribes of Arabs, and solicit to be incorporated with them; but the idea was laughed at as extravagant, and they continued to live on in misery and degradation.

It happened that the chief of the tribe at the time of which I now speak was a man of gentle character and meek disposition, named Abdallah the Good, and that he had a son, like one of the olden time, stout, and brave as a lion, named Ali. This youth could not brook the subjection in which his people were kept, nor the wrongs daily heaped upon them, and was constantly revolving in his mind the means of escape and revenge. When he gave utterance to these sentiments, however, his father, Abdallah, severely rebuked him; for he feared the power of the lords of Egypt, and dreaded lest mischief might befall his family or his tribe.

Now contemporary with Abdallah the Good there was a governor of Siout named Omar the Evil. He had gained a great reputation in the country by his cruelties and oppressions, and was feared by high and low. Several times had he treated the Waled Allah with violence and indignity, bestowing upon them the name of Waled Sheitan, or Children of the Devil, and otherwise vexing and annoying them, besides levying heavy tribute, and punishing with extreme severity the slightest offense. One day he happened to be riding along in the neighborhood of their encampment when he observed Ali trying the paces of a handsome horse which he had purchased. Covetousness entered his mind, and calling to the youth, he said, "What is the price of thy horse?"

"It is not for sale," was the reply.

No sooner were the words uttered than Omar made a signal to his men, who rushed forward, threw the young man to the ground in spite of his resistance, and leaving him there, returned leading the horse. Omar commanded them to bring it with them, and rode away, laughing heartily at his exploit.

But Ali was not the man to submit tamely to such injustice. He endeavored at first to rouse the passions of his tribe, but not succeeding, resolved to revenge himself or die in the attempt. One night, therefore, he took a sharp dagger, disguised himself, and lurking about the governor's palace, contrived to introduce himself without being seen, and to reach the garden, where he had heard it was the custom of Omar to repose awhile as he waited for his supper. A light guided him to the kiosque where the tyrant slept alone, not knowing that vengeance was nigh. Ali paused a moment, doubting whether it was just to strike an unprepared foe; but he remembered all his tribe had suffered as well as himself, and raising his dagger, advanced stealthily toward the couch where the huge form of the governor lay.

A slight figure suddenly interposed between him and the sleeping man. It was that of a young girl, who, with terror in her looks, waved him back. "What wouldst thou, youth?" she inquired.

"I come to slay that enemy," replied Ali, endeavoring to pass her and effect his purpose while there was yet time.

"It is my father," said she, still standing in the way and awing him by the power of her beauty.

"Thy father is a tyrant, and deserves to die."

"If he be a tyrant he is still my father; and thou, why shouldst thou condemn him?"

"He has injured me and my tribe."

"Let injuries be forgiven, as we are commanded. I will speak for thee and thy tribe. Is not thy life valuable to thee? Retire ere it be too late; and by my mother, who is dead, I swear to thee that I will cause justice to be done."

"Not from any hopes of justice, but as a homage to God for having created such marvelous beauty, do I retire and spare the life of that man which I hold in my hands."

So saying Ali sprang away, and effected his escape. No sooner was he out of sight than Omar, who had been awakened by the sound of voices, but who had feigned sleep when he heard what turn affairs were taking, arose and laughed, saying: "Well done, Amina! thou art worthy of thy father. How thou didst cajole that son of a dog by false promises?"

"Nay, father; what I have promised must be performed."

"Ay, ay. Thou didst promise justice, and, by the beards of my ancestors, justice shall assuredly be done!"

Next day Ali was seized and conducted to the prison adjoining the governor's palace. Amina, when she heard of this, in vain sought to obtain his release. Her father laughed at her scruples, and avowed his intention of putting the young man to death in the cruelest possible manner. He had him brought before him, bound and manacled, and amused himself by reviling and taunting him – calling him a fool for having yielded to the persuasions of a foolish girl! Ali, in spite of all, did not reply; for he now thought more of Amina than of the indignities to which he was subjected; and instead of replying with imprudent courage, as under other circumstances he might have done, he took care not to exasperate the tyrant, and meanwhile revolved in his mind the means of escape. If he expected that his mildness would disarm the fury of Omar, never was mistake greater; for almost in the same breath with the order for his being conducted back to prison was given that for public proclamation of his execution to take place on the next day.

There came, however, a saviour during the night: it was the young Amina, who, partly moved by generous indignation that her word should have been given in vain, partly by another feeling, bribed the jailers, and leading forth the young man, placed him by the side of his trusty steed which had been stolen from him, and bade him fly for his life. He lingered to thank her and enjoy her society. They talked long and more and more confidentially. At length the first streaks of dawn began to show themselves; and Amina, as she urged him to begone, clung to the skirts of his garments. He hesitated a moment, a few hurried words passed, and presently she was behind him on the horse, clasping his waist, and away they went toward the mountains, into the midst of which they soon penetrated by a rugged defile.

Amina had been prudent enough to prepare a small supply of provisions, and Ali knew where at that season water was to be found in small quantities. His intention was to penetrate to a certain distance in the desert, and then turning south, to seek the encampment of a tribe with some of whose members he was acquainted. Their prospects were not very discouraging; for even if pursuit were attempted, Ali justly confided in his superior knowledge of the desert: he expected in five days to reach the tents toward which he directed his course, and he calculated that the small bag of flour which Amina had provided would prevent them at least from dying of hunger during that time.

The first stage was a long one. For seven hours he proceeded in a direct line from the rising sun, the uncomplaining Amina clinging still to him; but at length the horse began to exhibit symptoms of fatigue, and its male rider of anxiety. They had traversed an almost uninterrupted succession of rocky valleys, but now reached an elevated undulating plain covered with huge black boulders that seemed to stretch like a petrified sea to the distant horizon. Now and then they had seen during their morning's ride, in certain little sheltered nooks, small patches of a stunted vegetation; but now all was bleak and barren, and grim like the crater of a volcano. And yet it was here that Ali expected evidently to find water – most necessary to them; for all three were feeling the symptoms of burning thirst. He paused every now and then, checking his steed, and rising in his stirrups to gaze ahead or on one side; but each time his search was in vain. At length he said: "Possibly I have, in the hurry of my thoughts, taken the wrong defile, in which case nothing but death awaits us. We shall not have strength to retrace our footsteps, and must die here in this horrible place. Stand upon the saddlebow, Amina, while I support thee: if thou seest any thing like a white shining cloud upon the ground, we are saved."

Amina did as she was told, and gazed for a few moments around. Suddenly she cried: "I see, as it were a mist of silver far, far away to the left."

"It is the first well," replied Ali; and he urged his stumbling steed in that direction.

It soon appeared that they were approaching a mound of dazzling whiteness. Close by was a little hollow, apparently dry. But Ali soon scraped away a quantity of the clayey earth, and presently the water began to collect, trickling in from the sides. In a couple of hours they procured enough for themselves and for the horse, and ate some flour diluted in a wooden bowl; after which they lay down to rest beneath a ledge of rock that threw a little shade. Toward evening, after Ali had carefully choked up the well, lest it might be dried by the sun, they resumed their journey, and arrived about midnight at a lofty rock in the midst of the plain, visible at a distance of many hours in the moonlight. In a crevice near the summit of this they found a fair supply of water, and having refreshed themselves, reposed until dawn. Then Amina prepared their simple meal, and soon afterward off they went again over the burning plain.

This time, as Ali knew beforehand, there was no prospect of well or water for twenty-four hours; and unfortunately they had not been able to procure a skin. However, they carried some flour well moistened in their wooden bowl, which they covered with a large piece of wet linen, and studied to keep from the sun. They traveled almost without intermission the whole of that day and a great part of the night. Ali now saw that it was necessary to rest, and they remained where they were until near morning.

"Dearest Amina," said he, returning to the young girl after having climbed to the top of a lofty rock and gazed anxiously ahead, "I think I see the mountain where the next water is to be found. If thou art strong enough, we will push on at once."

Though faint and weary, Amina said: "Let us be going;" and now it was necessary for Ali to walk, the horse refusing to carry any longer a double burden. They advanced, however, rapidly; and at length reached the foot of a lofty range of mountains, all white, and shining in the sun like silver. In one of the gorges near the summit Ali knew there was usually a small reservoir of water; but he had only been there once in his boyhood, when on his way to visit the tribe with which he now expected to find a shelter. However, he thought he recognized various landmarks, and began to ascend with confidence. The sun beat furiously down on the barren and glistering ground; and the horse exhausted, more than once refused to proceed. He had not eaten once since their departure, and Ali knew that he must perish ere the journey was concluded.

As they neared the summit of the ridge, the young man recognized with joy a rock in the shape of a crouching camel that had formerly been pointed out to him as indicating the neighborhood of the reservoir, and pressed on with renewed confidence. What was his horror, however, on reaching the place he sought, at beholding it quite dry! dry, and hot as an oven! The water had all escaped by a crevice recently formed. Ali now believed that death was inevitable; and folding the fainting Amina in his arms, sat down and bewailed his lot in a loud voice.

Suddenly a strange sight presented itself. A small caravan appeared coming down the ravine – not of camels, nor of horses, nor asses, but of goats and a species of wild antelope. They moved slowly, and behind them walked with tottering steps a man of great age with a vast white beard, supporting himself with a long stick. Ali rushed forward to a goat which bore a water-skin, seized it, and without asking permission carried it to Amina. Both drank with eagerness; and it was not until they were well satisfied that they noticed the strange old man looking at them with interest and curiosity. Then they told their story; and the owner of the caravan in his turn told his, which was equally wonderful.

"And what was the old man's story?" inquired the listeners in one breath.

"It shall be related to-morrow. The time for sleep has come."

I was not fortunate enough to hear the conclusion of this legend, told in the simple matter-of-fact words of Wahsa; but one of our attendants gave me the substance. The old man of the caravan was stated to be the younger of the two watchers left behind more than a hundred years before at Bir Hassan. His companion had been killed, and he himself wounded by some wild beast, which had prevented the necessary signals from being made. He understood that some terrible disaster had occurred, and dared not brave the vengeance which he thought menaced him from the survivors. So he resolved to stay in the valley, and had accordingly remained for a hundred years, at the expiration of which period he had resolved to set out on a pilgrimage to the Nile, in order to ascertain if any members of the tribes still remained, that he might communicate the secret of the valley before he perished. Like the first discoverer, he had marked the way by heaps of stones, and died when his narrative was concluded. Ali and Amina made their way to the valley, where, according to the narrative, they found a large city, scarcely if at all ruined, and took up their abode in one of the palaces. Shortly afterward Ali returned to Egypt, and led off his father, Abdallah the Good, and the remnants of his tribe in secret. Omar was furious, and following them, endeavored to discover the valley, of which the tradition was well known. Not succeeding, he resolved to wait for the summer; but the tribe never reappeared in Egypt, and is said to have passed the hot months in the oasis of Farafreh, to which they subsequently removed on the destruction of their favorite valley by an earthquake.

This tradition, though containing some improbable incidents, may nevertheless be founded on fact, and may contain, under a legendary form, the history of the peopling of the oases of the desert. It is, however, chiefly interesting from the manner in which it illustrates the important influence which the discovery or destruction of a copious well of pure water may exercise on the fortunes of a people. It may sometimes, in fact, as represented in this instance, be a matter of life and death; and no doubt the Waled Allah are not the only tribe who have been raised to an enviable prosperity, or sunk into the depths of misery, by the fluctuating supply of water in the desert.

THE BOW-WINDOW

AN ENGLISH TALE

There is something so English, so redolent of home, of flowers in large antique stands, about a bow-window, that we are always pleased when we catch a glimpse of one, even if it be when but forming the front of an inn. It gives a picturesque look too, to a home, that is quite refreshing to gaze on, and when journeying in foreign lands, fond recollections of dear England come flooding o'er us, if we happen, in some out-of-the-way village, on such a memory of the land from whence we came. I have not, from absence from my country, seen such a thing for some few years; but there is one fresh in my memory, with its green short Venetian blinds, its large chintz curtains, its comfortable view up and down the terrace where we lived, to say nothing of its associations in connection with my childhood. But it is not of this bow-window that I would speak, it is of one connected with the fortunes of my friend Maria Walker, and which had a considerable influence on her happiness.

Maria Walker was usually allowed to be the beauty of one of the small towns round London in the direction of Greenwich, of which ancient place she was a native. Her father had originally practiced as a physician in that place, but circumstances had caused his removal to another locality, which promised more profitable returns. The house they occupied was an ancient red brick mansion in the centre of the town, with a large bow-window, always celebrated for its geraniums, myrtles, and roses that, with a couple of small orange-trees, were the admiration of the neighborhood. Not that Thomas Walker, Esq. had any horticultural tastes – on the contrary, he was very severe on our sex for devoting their minds to such trifles as music, flowers, and fancy work; but then blue-eyed Maria Walker differed with him in opinion, and plainly told him so – saucy, pert girl, as even I thought her, though several years my senior. Not that she neglected any more serious duties for those lighter amusements; the poorer patients of her father ever found in her a friend. Mr. Walker strongly objected to giving any thing away, it was a bad example, he said, and people never valued what they got for nothing; but many was the box of pills and vial of medicine which Maria smuggled under her father's very nose, to poor people who could not afford to pay; of course he knew nothing about it, good, easy man, though it would have puzzled a philosopher to have told how the girl could have prepared them. She was an active member, too, of a charitable coal club, made flannel for the poor, and even distributed tracts upon occasion. When this was done, then she would turn to her pleasures, which were her little world. She was twenty, and I was not sixteen at the time of which I speak, but yet we were the best friends in the world. I used to go and sit in the bow-window; while she would play the piano for hours together, I had some fancy-work on my lap; but my chief amusement was to watch the passers-by. I don't think that I am changed by half-a-dozen more years of experience, for I still like a lively street, and dislike nothing more than a look out upon a square French court in this great city of Paris, where houses are more like prisons than pleasant residences. But to return to my bow-window.

In front of the house of the Walkers, had been, a few years before, an open space, but which now, thanks to the rapid march of improvement, was being changed into a row of very good houses. There were a dozen of them, and they were dignified with the name of Beauchamp Terrace. They were, about the time I speak of, all to let; the last finishing touch had been put to them, the railings had been painted, the rubbish all removed, and they wanted nothing, save furniture and human beings to make them assume a civilized and respectable appearance. I called one morning on Maria Walker, her father was out, she had been playing the piano till she was tired, so we sat down in the bow-window and talked.

"So the houses are letting?" said I, who took an interest in the terrace which I had seen grow under my eyes.

"Two are let," replied she, "and both to private families; papa is pleased, he looks upon these twelve houses as twelve new patients."

"But," said I, laughing, "have you not read the advertisement: 'Healthy and airy situation, rising neighborhood, and yet only one medical man.'"

"Oh! yes," smiled Maria; "but sickness, I am sorry to say, is very apt to run about at some time or other, even in airy situations."

"But, Maria, you are mistaken, there are three houses let," said I, suddenly, "the bill is taken down opposite, it has been let since yesterday."

"Oh, yes, I recollect a very nice young man driving up there yesterday, and looking over the house for an hour; I suppose he has taken it."

"A nice young man," said I, "that is very interesting – I suppose a young couple just married."

"Very likely," replied Maria Walker, laughing; but whether at the fact of my making up my mind to its being an interesting case of matrimony, or what else, I know not.

It was a week before I saw Maria again, and when I did, she caught me by the hand, drew me rapidly to the window, and with a semi-tragic expression, pointed to the house over the way. I looked. What was my astonishment when, on the door in large letters, I read these words, "Mr. Edward Radstock, M. D."

"A rival," cried I, clapping my hands, thoughtless girl that I was; "another feud of Montague and Capulet. Maria, could not a Romeo and Juliet be found to terminate it?"