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John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1595 96"

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Books: Mohammed Ali and His House

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With a respectful inclination of the head Mohammed withdrew, and,
returning to his boat, was rapidly conveyed on board the admiral's
ship, where the capitan pacha awaited him.

The latter listened attentively to the report of the boulouk bashi,
and inclined his head graciously when told that he had taken the
sole responsibility upon himself, and had attributed the much-to-be-
regretted-occurrence to a misunderstanding.

"You did well," said the capitan pacha. "Why should we not appear to
regret this deed of bloodshed, now that it is accomplished? Why not
deplore that which is irrevocable? Death holds fast to its victims.
The living, we must, however, deliver over to the stormy Englishman,
as I have no desire to take upon myself the responsibility of a war
with England. Moreover, I shall be well pleased to leave this place.
My work is done. Let the newly appointed viceroy see what he can do
with these Mamelukes. Egypt is dripping with blood, and the
atmosphere of this land is freighted with the scent of corpses. I
can no longer endure it, and am about to return to beautiful, sunny
Stamboul. Let my last deed be to comply with the demand of this
haughty Englishman. Have the wounded put into the boats, Bim Bashi
Mohammed Ali; you understand me--I call you bim bashi. You may
inform your friend, Bim Bashi Osman, that his request is granted;
you will take his place, and it rests with you to make it the
stepping-stone to future greatness. I believe such will be the case,
for I can read your soul in your eyes; and this one thing, it seems
to me, you still have to learn: to keep your eyes from betraying
your thoughts, Remember that this is essential to success. And now,
you may have the prisoners conveyed to the shore. Lord Hutchinson
shall count the living, and the dead, too; not one of his favorites
shall be withheld! When this is done, bim bashi, return to the ship
on which you came. Are the soldiers disembarked?"

"Yes, excellency, and already, I believe, on the march to Cairo."

"It is well," said the pacha; "let them figure at the grand entrance
of the viceroy into Cairo. I will intrust you with a message to his
highness, and will recommend you to him as a useful man. Cousrouf
Pacha has need of such men."

Mohammed started at the mention of this name, but quickly recovered
his composure, and bowed his head in gratitude.

"You make me happy, indeed! You will send me to Cousrouf Pacha. I
thank you, for it has long been my most ardent wish to be in his
service."

"It has long been your wish!" said the capitan pacha, in surprise.
"I thought you had only been here a short time?"

"True, excellency, yet I have heard much of the great Cousrouf Pacha
in my distant home, and to serve him was my most ardent wish. I
swear, capitan pacha, that I will serve him as my heart prompts."

"But then it depends on what your heart prompts," said the pacha,
casting a long, searching glance at the pale countenance of the
young bim bashi. "The tone in which you say this has a strange ring,
and sounds almost like a threat! Yet, deal with his highness,
Cousrouf Pacha, as you think proper, and serve him as your heart
prompts. I will recommend you to him. We are good friends, the
viceroy and I, very good friends, and I have no doubt it will sadden
him to see me escape out of this confusion, which will require bold
and fearless management at his hands. I go to Stamboul, you go to
Cousrouf Pacha to serve him--to serve him as your heart prompts, you
say?"

"Yes, excellency, as my heart prompts, in humility and devotion."

"Now you may go; I will furnish you with a written testimonial, and
warmly recommend you to the viceroy, as I have promised."

He dismissed the young bim bashi with a gracious inclination of the
head, and the latter returned to his ship to see that the prisoners
were conveyed to the shore. He walked beside Osman Bey Bardissi as
he was being carried down on a stretcher to a boat, by four
soldiers, speaking kind, consoling words to the wounded man, and
expressing the hope that Allah, in his mercy, would soon restore him
to health, as his injuries were light.

Bardissi gazed at him fixedly with his dark, glittering eyes. "And
is it then really true, Mohammed Ali--are we to be conveyed to the
shore, and set at liberty? Are we not to die?"

"It is true. Lord Hutchinson demands that you be set at liberty. The
capitan has consented, and you are now to be conveyed to the shore."

"Is it not a new trap set for us? Will the bottom of our boats not
open, and let us sink down into the sea?"

"You are to be delivered up to the Englishman," replied Mohammed
Ali, quietly.

"I do not trust the word of the capitan pacha," said Bardissi,
shaking his head. "Give me your word, Mohammed Ali, that we shall be
safely conveyed to the shore--I will believe you. Tell me, truly,
shall we not be cast into the sea, or assassinated before we reach
the land?"

"No, Osman Bey Bardissi, no! You will land safely, and if it be
Allah's will, a day will come when Mohammed Ali will extend his hand
to you and call you his friend. Who knows? Allah's sun shines
everywhere. Men call themselves friends to-day, who but yesterday
were enemies; and the friends of to-day may to-morrow be enemies.
Allah's will alone decides our destiny!"

"To-day you call yourself my enemy," said Bardissi, "but I already
call you my friend! You have preserved my life, and, by Allah,
Bardissi swears that you are henceforth his friend! If you should
ever need a friend, call Bardissi, the Mameluke bey, and he will
hear your call wherever he may be, if not above with Allah. And now,
farewell!"

"Farewell, and may Allah restore you to health!" said Mohammed, in a
low voice. "I am thinking of the hour when we two foolish boys first
met, and tried to outdo each other in vain and frivolous words. Men
speak little, but think much, and prepare for the future. Allah's
blessing attend you!"

Mohammed returned to the deck of the ship, and looked down at the
boats that were now steering with their bleeding, groaning burden
toward the shore. Lord Hutchinson, who had ordered everything to be
held in readiness for immediate conflict should his demand not be
complied with, stood on the shore with his staff, awaiting the
arrival of the boats. His eyes filled with tears as he saw them
approach. "Forgive me, poor, bleeding victims of treachery, for
having allowed myself to be deceived by flatteries and promises!"

The wounded bowed their heads, and looked at him almost
compassionately.

"It is well that there are men who can still be deceived, who still
have faith in the word and honor of men. We will trust them no more,
and will have vengeance for this deed of treachery, bloody vengeance
on him who is about to enter our holy city as king. Our curse
accompany him to the holy mosque, and, wherever he may go, may it
rest beside him on his couch in the citadel! Cairo, the holy, the
beloved, is ours. We will fight him who calls himself viceroy, and
contend with him for every inch of land. And you, brave Englishmen,
will help us in our struggle, will you not?"

Lord Hutchinson shook his head.

"No, Osman Bey Bardissi! God be praised, we are about to leave here!
my king and my duty call me away, and I am pleased that it is so.
Continue your conflict with the Turks, and I confess I wish you
success in your struggle. I am glad that I shall no longer be
compelled to breathe this air, polluted with treachery! Your rescue
is my last act here. Now, let us go and see whether any of you are
missing. They shall bring you all here; I swear it by my king; I
will have you all, and not one shall be withheld!"

Three of the number who had gone out in the boats in the morning
were missing.

"These three must be brought here!"

This was the import of Lord Hutchinson's message to the capitan
pacha; and the latter, all complacency and obedience, now that the
bloody work was done, sent out divers to look for the dead in the
sea. They were recovered, and humbly deposited at the feet of the
Englishman.

While Lord Hutchinson and Sitta Nefysseh returned with the wounded
to Alexandria, where the wives of the disabled and dead Mamelukes
were weeping and lamenting, Mohammed Ali returned to the ship. The
soldiers were nearly all disembarked; silence reigned in the ship,
and its blood-stained deck alone bore evidence of the murderous deed
that had been done.

Mohammed caused these stains to be hastily removed; he well knew
that these traces of bloody treachery would be viewed by the
delicate and sensitive Osman with horror.

He then went down into the cabin to his friend. Osman received him
with outstretched arms, gazing at him sadly but tenderly.

"I have done as you requested, Mohammed, and have not left my cabin,
though alarmed by the cries and tumult above me. I knew my Mohammed
had bloody work to do. I was sorry for you, and yet I knew that you
could not prevent it."

"No, I could not prevent it," said Mohammed, gloomily; "and yet,
Osman, my soul shudders when I think of it. I have received to-day
the baptism of my new existence, and it is no longer the Mohammed
you loved who stands before you. I have to-day been compelled to
lend a helping hand to treachery, but it was Allah's will, and the
soldier must obey his superior's commands. I obeyed, Osman, nothing
more. The curse of this evil deed does not fall on me. Though my
hand is blood-stained, it is yet innocent."

"You have undergone a fearful baptism," murmured Osman, shuddering.
"I read it in your pale countenance, my Mohammed--a fearful baptism.
You must, however, march on boldly in your career. Do you now
understand why Osman was so anxious to accept the position of
captain of the troops? Do you now understand why I took this step,
and do you now comprehend my love and friendship, Mohammed?"

"I understand it all, and I bless you, my Osman, creator of my new
existence! I thank you, Osman; and when after long years the fame of
your Mohammed's deeds shall reach your ear, when my mother's dream
is fulfilled, and I am crowned and seated on a throne that stands on
the summit of a palace, then remember, my Osman, that you are the
creator of my fortune, and that Mohammed Ali blesses his friend with
every breath. I swear eternal love and friendship for you, my Osman,
and I swear, too, that the thought of you shall make me mild and
humane toward my enemies."

"Even when you stand before your enemy, Cousrouf Pacha, Mohammed?"
asked Osman.

"Why do you name him at such a time? " murmured Mohammed, with a
slight shudder. "Do you know that I am to be sent to him? The
capitan pacha perhaps observed, by my manner and voice, that I also
do not love Cousrouf Pacha, whom he hates; he warmly recommends me
to him, and I am to go to him to serve him."

"And will you enter his service?" asked Osman.

"I will do so," replied Mohammed; "and I have sworn that I will
serve the Viceroy of Egypt as my heart prompts."

Both were still for a while, and seemed disinclined to break the
silence.

"You will serve him as your heart prompts," said Osman, in a low
voice. "In this case, do you think Cousrouf Pacha will long remain
great and mighty in Cairo?"

Mohammed smiled faintly.

"Osman, I am almost disposed to be afraid of you. Your question
tells me that you read my most secret thoughts. Let your question
remain unanswered for the present. I will communicate with you from
time to time, Osman, and send you loving messages, you may rest
assured. I have one request to make still: when you return home to
Cavalla, greet the wife that you gave me, and also greet and kiss my
children. And then, Osman, if you are able, go down to the cliffs,
take up a stone from the shore and throw it into the sea, and when
the circles form around the place where it went down, and the waves
curl upon the shore, say this: 'Mohammed greets you, Masa, and he
begins the work of holy vengeance! Rest quietly in your grave, Masa;
Mohammed Ali is keeping watch for you and for himself; the work of
vengeance is begun!'"




CHAPTER VIII

THE VICEROY OF EGYPT.


To-day all Cairo is in a state of joyous excitement. The days of
want and care have passed--who now remembers the terrors of
yesterday? Who still remembers the days when the Frank ruled here,
when the terrible general made the people bow their heads beneath
the yoke? Yes, on this same square of the Esbekieh, have they lain
in the dust before the mighty general who stood before them a giant,
though small in stature. Who still thinks of the misery and disgrace
of those days? Forgotten! all forgotten! Two years are a long period
for the remembrance of a people; and two years have passed since
Bonaparte departed, and more than a year has elapsed since the last
of the Franks withdrew from Egypt.

"All hail the new viceroy sent us by our master in Stamboul! he will
make us happy, and relieve us of the unending struggles of the
Mameluke beys! Long live Cousrouf Pacha, our new viceroy!"

These cries rend the air as the surging crowds make their way toward
Boulak, from which place Cousrouf Pacha is to make his grand
entrance into the holy city. All the authorities have assembled
there to participate in the celebration; there are the ulemas in
their long caftans, and the sheiks in their green robes, the
crescent embroidered on their turbans in token of their dignity;
there are also the generals of the Turkish and English regiments,
the latter only remaining in Cairo to take part in the festivities
of the viceroy's entrance. And now the new ruler approaches in his
splendor. The Nile, broad as it is at Boulak, is nevertheless
covered with boats, in which the viceroy is approaching with his
numerous and glittering suite. He stands on the deck of a large
boat, surrounded by a group of distinguished Turks and Englishmen;
all the consuls of the friendly powers are with him, and this seems
to the shouting populace a guarantee of returning peace.

The boat is brought alongside the bridge of boats that connects
Boulak with the opposite shore. As Cousrouf Pacha now steps out upon
the bridge covered with costly carpets and strewed with flowers,
thousands of voices from both shores hail the viceroy as their
deliverer with shouts of joy. The pacha bows a kindly greeting in
every direction, and then casts a glance toward the horizon, where,
in the purple distance, the pyramids stand out, sharply defined
against the sky. He bows his head still more profoundly, and
remembers that he is now the successor of the great Pharaohs who
erected these monuments to themselves.

"I, too, will erect such a monument. After thousands of years the
world shall still speak of me--of the Viceroy, perhaps of the King,
of Egypt."

Such are his thoughts as be walks across the bridge to the carriage
of state in which he is to make his entrance. The ulemas receive
him. "Long live the ambassador of the prophet! Long live the blessed
of Allah!" resound from the lips of the thousands assembled upon the
shore and in the streets of the city.

How radiant is Cousrouf Pacha's countenance! How little the viceroy
of to-day resembles the exiled pacha of the past, during his weary
sojourn in Cavalla, with nothing to enliven him but his little
struggle with the boy Mohammed and his harem! A land is now at his
feet. Onward the procession moves through the crowds that throng the
streets; they have now turned into the Muskj Street--the beautiful
street, the pride of the inhabitants, with its old-fashioned, lofty
houses. Onward the procession moves toward the citadel. There, in
the beautiful palace, will the viceroy be enthroned. "Long live our
new ruler! Long live our viceroy!" These are the cries that greet
him throughout his entire march to the citadel; and these cries
still rend the air long after Cousrouf Pacha has entered the palace,
at whose gates he had been received by the grand dignitaries of the
land. He greeted them all in brief but kindly terms, and then
retired to the private apartments of his palace.

He now reclines on his cushions, thinking of his past and of his
future. A glad smile lights up his countenance. The way was long and
weary, but its obstacles have now been overcome. Once he was a
slave, but he had sworn to struggle for a great aim. He has kept his
oath. Here he is the first, the ruler. Who knows but he may yet
completely cast off the burden of dependence, and become absolutely
free? Every thing rests on the acquisition of good and faithful
friends and servants, and he will acquire such. It is so easy for
the great to acquire friends! Is not the capitan pacha his friend?
Does he not owe all that he is to him? He has elevated him from the
dust, and made him commander of the army with which he has come over
from Turkey. Yes, he is a true and devoted friend, and he will
easily find others. His power will become great--great as all Egypt.
He rises, calls one of the Nubian slaves, and bids him show him the
way to the walls of the citadel.

The slave opens a secret door that leads into a narrow passage and
upon the outer wall of the citadel. Motioning to the slave to remain
in the passage, Cousrouf steps out, and then stands still,
astonished at the splendid spectacle that lies before him. Spread
out at his feet lies the holy Mazr, with all its minarets and
towers. Farther on lies a whole city of cupolas--these are the
graves of the caliphs; they rear their heads proudly aloft in the
sunlight, congratulating the new ruler on his magnificence; but also
reminding him of the perishable nature of all earthly glory--the
saying of a certain wise man "Thou first and mightiest of mortals,
be thankful that thou art alive!"

"I thank thee, Allah, that I am alive, and I bow down in humility
before thee!" murmurs Cousrouf, reverently. He then again looks out
with delight upon the landscape that lies before him. There, in a
wide curve, winds the river Nile like a silver ribbon, innumerable
decorated boats and barks dancing upon its surface. Here all is life
and animation, beyond the Nile reigns a solemn stillness; for a
certain distance from the river bank stand stately palm-trees, and
then suddenly, sharply defined beside the green fields, begins the
yellow sand. That is the desert--that is the mysterious theatre of
so many adventures throughout the ages, the receptacle of so much
hidden wealth, the great burying-ground of the unknown dead. There,
on the horizon, where the yellow sand and the blue sky meet, stand
the pyramids of Gheezeh, and farther on, in the purple distance, the
pyramids of Sakkara.

"A world lies at my feet, and I am the ruler of this world. I have
attained my aim," says he to himself. "All is fulfilled; but one
thing is left to wish for. O Allah, grant me still many years in
which to enjoy this magnificence!"

Once more he glances around at the beautiful landscape before him,
and then, conducted by the slave, returns to his private apartments.
He lies on his cushions, listening to the shouts of the delighted
multitude without.

Suddenly the curtain that covers the doorway is noiselessly
withdrawn, and a slave announces that a messenger from the capitan
pacha, accompanied by a bim bashi, stands in the antechamber,
awaiting his pleasure.

"What is the messenger's name?" asks Cousrouf, wearily.

"Hassan Aga, master, bim bashi of the capitan pacha."

"And his favorite," murmurs Cousrouf to himself. "Let Hassan Aga
enter."

At the slave's call the messenger enters, bows his head to the
ground, and hands his master's letter to the viceroy.

"Do you know its contents?" asks Cousrouf, slowly opening the
letter.

"Yes, highness. It is a farewell letter from my master, who leaves
to-morrow for Stamboul."

For an instant a smile glides over Cousrouf's countenance; but then
it assumes a sad expression. "The capitan pacha is about to depart--
to leave me."

"He wishes to leave to you alone the honor of having laid subjugated
Egypt at the feet of his master the grand-sultan, in Stamboul. He
has done what lay in his power. The most dangerous Mamelukes have
fallen beneath his blows. Shall I narrate to your highness how it
was done?"

Cousrouf signifies his assent. Hassan hastily relates the bloody
story of the assassination of the Mamelukes in the roadstead of
Aboukir, Cousrouf listening with the greatest attention. "The
capitan pacha has erected a bloody but a great monument to himself,"
says be, when Hassan has finished his narrative. "Yet it is
questionable whether I shall be benefited by it. It would, perhaps,
have been wiser to reconcile ourselves with the Mamelukes, than to
excite them to new anger."

"Highness, reconciliation with the Mamelukes is impossible," replies
Hassan. "The capitan pacha, who has ever been faithful in your
service, wishes to give you a final proof of his friendship."

"And in what does this proof consist?" asks Cousrouf.

"He sends your highness a hero who has the determination to do all
things, and the capacity to do all he determines. He gave evidence
of his courage and address at Aboukir. The capitan pacha can leave
you no better token of his friendship than this young hero, who is
entirely devoted to you. May I present this last best gift of the
capitan pacha; may I present to your highness the young bim bashi?"

The pacha nods his assent, and Hassan noiselessly withdraws,
returning in a few moments, accompanied by the young bim bashi, so
warmly recommended to the viceroy. Cousrouf Pacha wearily raises his
head and casts a glance of indifference at the tall figure of the
bim bashi; but as his glance falls on the young man's countenance,
he starts. It seems, to him that he has seen those eagle eyes
before. He hastily casts his eyes down, and then looks up again at
the bim bashi, who holds his head proudly erect, awaiting the
viceroy's address.

"What is your name, bim bashi? Where do you come from?" asks
Cousrouf, after along pause.

The bim bashi advances a step, and, looking steadily in the
viceroy's countenance, bows profoundly. "My name is Mohammed Ali,
and I come from Cavalla."

"Cavalla!" repeats Cousrouf, with a start. Now he remembers that he
has sometimes seen these eyes before him in sleepless nights. They
have impressed themselves deeply into his heart with their fearful
glances. The haughty pacha had never reproached himself for killing
the slave Masa--that was his right; he acted according to law when
he punished the runaway slave by death--but it was cruel to compel
the man who loved her to witness her death. Cousrouf had felt this
at the time, and that was why these eyes had penetrated his heart
like daggers' points. But that was long ago, and these eyes are now
very different. They no longer glitter with curses; they now sparkle
with animation, energy, and courage, only.

"You come from Cavalla," says he, after a pause, "and your name is
Mohammed Ali? It seems to me that once, when I sojourned for a time
at Cavalla, I also knew a Mohammed Ali, a daring young lad, the
friend of Osman, with whose father I resided; I had appointed Osman
bim bashi of the soldiers he was to bring over to me, and I also
permitted him to select young Mohammed Ali as his boulouk bashi. Yet
Osman has not come, nor do you appear to be the Mohammed Ali I then
knew."

"Pardon me, highness," said Mohammed Ali, with a slight smile, for
he well understood the secret meaning of this question, "pardon me,
highness, I am this Mohammed, and yet another. The first was a bold,
insolent lad, who dared to defy your authority and refused to bow
his head in humility before your highness. He who now stands before
you, however, is your devoted servant, who brings you greetings from
his friend Osman. He is deeply touched by your graciousness, and,
hoping for a continuance of your favor, he undertook to do your
bidding. But alas! the will of man is often frustrated by bodily
weakness. It was thus with my friend Osman. The first day of the
conflict at Aboukir prostrated him so completely that he was
compelled to return home to Cavalla, and the capitan graciously
granted his request and placed me in his position. Yet I lay my new
dignity at your feet; all that I am I wish to receive at your
hands."

Cousrouf had regarded him fixedly while he spoke, and had listened
attentively to his words and voice. He was satisfied with him. "Yes,
Mohammed, you are right," said Cousrouf; "there is nothing of the
fierce boy of those days in you now. Your voice is flattering, and
your words well chosen and devoted, and Cousrouf will attach you to
himself through gratitude. He will cherish you, and make of you a
devoted servant. You say, you lay your dignity of bim bashi at my
feet?"

"Yes, highness, I lay all at your feet; and all that I am I wish to
receive at your hands."

"Well, then, if your destiny rests with me, I must promote the bim
bashi to a higher dignity. From this moment the bim bashi is the
sarechsme, the general of the Albanian troops. You are their
countryman, and you shall be their leader."

"O highness, how great is your generosity!" exclaims Mohammed, his
countenance beaming with joy.