Osman stands on the deck beside his friend; the soldiers stand around, silent and respectful in the presence of their bim bashi, and now the farewell gun is fired.

The governor, Ada, and the merchant, who stand in a group on the shore, wave their handkerchiefs: "Farewell, farewell!"

Mohammed turns to Osman. "Be joyous, my friend! We have done with the past, and a brilliant future awaits us! Look, there rests my Masa, and, I tell you, a monument prouder and grander than was ever erected to woman, shall rise over her grave! The whole sea shall be her monument, and on the coast of Egypt will I erect one to my Masa, to my love, and my revenge!"

CHAPTER V

THE CAMP AT ABOUKIR.

THE life of the Mameluke beys had for months been a continuous festival. Nothing but pleasure and festivity; nothing but assurances of love and friendship on the part of their former enemies, the Turks.

Since the hated Franks, after so many struggles, so many defeats and fruitless shedding of blood, had embarked in their proud ships and returned to Europe, the prospects for peace in the land that was bleeding from a thousand wounds seemed to be bright. Friends and enemies had made these wounds; friends and enemies had torn the once fair form of the beautiful land of the Pharaohs, and converted it into a hideous corpse.

The battle-fields of Aboukir, the Pyramids of Gheezeh, the blood- soaked fields of Syria, the overthrown walls of St. Jean d'Acre, and of the magnifient city of the caliphs, Cairo, tell of the French general, Bonaparte, who, at the head of his army, had entered upon a crusade in order to bless Egypt with civilization. This was his pretext. He intended, with his sans culottes, to carry civilization to the Orient, and, not being able to convert them to Christianity by persuasion or, trickery, he determined to baptize them with blood.

At first the Mameluke beys, who until then had ruled in Egypt, and had, in protracted struggles, endeavored to cast off their allegiance to the grand-sultan, had supposed it would be an easy matter to drive back the French barbarians from the yellow shores of Africa.

Mourad Bey, the chief of all the Mameluke beys, was sitting at a joyous banquet in Alexandria, when several of his officers rushed into the hall to announce that a number of ships were entering the harbor, and that a body of Franks had already landed. The Mameluke chieftain laughed, and, without rising from his seat, said to the messengers, "Give these French beggars a bakshish, and tell them to clear out, or Mourad Bey will compel them to do so."

"But," observed the English consul, who had just entered the hall, "excellency, these Franks have come to possess themselves of Egypt.

Hasten to make preparations for your defence."

Mourad Bey laughed again. "You take a gloomy view of things, my friend.--Go and give these wretches something to eat, and, as I have already ordered, a little money also, and then advise them to depart with all speed, or I will have them driven off by my servants."

But the Franks were not to be driven off so easily. They were bringing civilization, the glory of the French Republic, to Egypt, and were determined to make them happy by force. The republic at home had become too small for the great general. "Europe is a mere mole-hill," he had said; "there never were great kingdoms and great enterprises elsewhere than in the Orient, where six hundred million people live!"

And it was indeed a great enterprise that Bonaparte wished to attempt in Egypt, and great things be really did accomplish there.

So great were they, that General Kleber, in secret his enemy and rival, could nevertheless not refrain from saying, after one of the victories:

"You are as great, Bonaparte, as the world, but the world is too small for your glory!"

And yet a day had come when the man who was too great for the world had to make himself small before the victorious Mameluke beys, when he secretly, accompanied by a few faithful followers only, departed from Egypt to return to the mole-hill Europe, to seek a crown for himself there. Bonaparte had left behind, in want and misery, the army that had suffered so much, not only from battle and disease, but also from the cruelty of its leaders. Was it not at Jaffa that Bonaparte caused the sick and wounded to be poisoned, in order to shorten their sufferings? And one other deed of cruelty of the general of civilization, who had gone to Egypt to confer happiness upon the unbelievers, stands recorded in the books of history. Was it not in Egypt that the French general caused the prisoners of war who had surrendered to General Desaix to be led down to the seashore and shot, contrary to the usages of warfare? Four thousand Arabian soldiers were assassinated in this manner. This was one of the monuments of civilization erected by the French general in the Orient! And the revolt in Cairo, the massacre of so many French soldiers, and the hatred of the whole people, was the harvest reaped by Bonaparte for this bloody deed.

"Death to the Franks!" was the cry of every Egyptian--the cry that was common to the Mameluke chieftain and the lowest fellah.

"Death to the Franks!" murmured the sheiks and ulemas with each prayer. And when Bonaparte had secretly fled, this ominous cry resounded through all Egypt--"Death to the Franks!"

General Kleber, Bonaparte's successor, was the first victim sacrificed. At Cairo, on the grand square of the Esbekieh, under the large sycamore at a corner of the harem of one of the Mameluke beys, he was stricken down by the dagger of a fanatical Turk. And now terror and dismay possessed itself of the whole army, and not only were the Egyptians glad when the command came from Europe that the French soldiers should embark, but the latter also esteemed themselves happy when, from the decks of their ships, they saw the yellow coast of Africa gradually disappear. Since then, bright, happy days seemed to have come again for the proud Mameluke beys, and happiness appeared to dawn again over the stricken land. The English, who, off the coast of Egypt, had destroyed the French ships, their armada, were now masters of the situation. They united themselves with the Mameluke beys, and undertook to mediate between them and the Turkish ruler.

"Egypt is to be blessed with peace, and they who have so long contended with each other in bitter hostility are to extend their hands to each other. Let recognition be accorded to the Mameluke beys, and favorable conditions of peace offered them, and they will submit." This Lord Balan had announced to the grand-sultan, and his first servant, the grand-vizier, at Stamboul. And he had gone to and fro, from Cairo to Stamboul, from Stamboul to Cairo, until peace was at last, as it seemed, secured.

"The Mameluke beys," so read the last decision of the grand-sultan, Selim II., "are to leave Cairo and to go to Upper Egypt, where large tracts of land are to be assigned them, with their wives, their treasures, and their servants, to rule there in freedom and magnificence."

The Mamelukes took these propositions into favorable consideration; they were weary of bloodshed and longed for the peaceful desert plains and for the sunny tents, where they could rest from their long struggles in quiet comfort, listen to the songs of the female slaves, and gaze at the voluptuous dances of the almehs. Yes, they will return home to the beloved south, to the cataracts of the Nile, to the sunny shores where the temple ruins of by-gone magnificence stand out against the deep blue sky.

Yes, they longed for peace, and for the sublime stillness of the desert; they consented to Lord Balan's proposition, and declared themselves ready to meet the servants of the sultan, and arrange with them the boundaries of the tracts of land that were to be assigned to them, and to conclude peace. They had, therefore, in response to the invitation of the Turks, come out to the peninsula of Aboukir. There, on the wide plain that had three years before been drenched with the blood of the French and the Egyptians, now stood the stately tents of the Turks and the Mamelukes.

It was a splendid spectacle, the wide plain with its array of gayly- decorated tents, with its great squares, on which the Mamelukes mounted on their proud steeds, displayed their skill with the spear and the gun, exciting the admiration of the Turks by their skill and agility.

All was festivity, and life was enjoyed as though it were an uninterrupted chain of pleasures. Yet there were some who felt less contented than these Mameluke beys, some who had learned from the French that promises and assurances of friendship were not always to be relied on.

Many of the beys had brought their wives with them, for the wives of the beys enjoyed greater liberty than those of the Turks, and they could move about among the tents, with as little constraint as in the streets of Cairo. The Mameluke honors his bey's wife, and bows down in the dust before her, when she passes by with head erect and veiled countenance, followed by her slaves.

On this, the fourteenth day of their sojourn at Aboukir, the Mamelukes also bow profoundly before a woman who, followed by two servants, is passing down between the double row of tents, and whisper to each other: "This is the wife of our greatest chieftain, the deceased Mourad Bey! How does it happen that she has left her beautiful palace in Cairo? For what purpose has Sitta Nefysseh come to Aboukir?"

And when she had passed, the Mamelukes raised their heads and followed with their eyes the white form as it swept on between the tents, and observed with astonishment that Mourad Bey's widow had stopped at the tent of the bey who was now their first chief, at the tent of Osman Bey Bardissi. Mourad's widow, and those who accompanied her, entered this tent.

He lay on the divan, smoking his chibouque. But upon her appearance at the entrance to the tent, he sprang to his feet.

"You here, Sitta-you in the camp at Aboukir?"

"I have come to speak with you," she replied, earnestly.--"Let the rest leave the tent. Mourad's widow can be alone with the man whom her deceased husband called his dear friend."

He waved his hand imperiously, and all the servants with drew from the tent, closing the gold-embroidered curtains behind them.

"Speak!" said the bey, in deferential tones. "Your servant hears, and is ready to obey your commands."

"I have not come to command," replied she; "I have come to warn you, Osman."

"To warn me, Sitta?"

"Yes, Osman. You have allowed yourselves to be deceived by the flattering words of those who call themselves your friends, but can never be other than your enemies. Do you suppose that the sultan will ever give you, his hated enemies--you, the haughty Mameluke beys-your rights and your freedom? I, who gazed in my dying Mourad's eyes and read his last thoughts, I say to you, that the sultan will not rest until death has closed your lips forever, or until you have closed his! I tell you they are planning your destruction. Do not ask from what source my information comes. The wise man will listen and take the advice of the woman who was his friend's wife. Demand this very day, that, after these long-continued festivities, the grave matters that call you here be immediately proceeded with; demand that the conditions on which the sultan is to make you free and independent in Upper Egypt be plainly stated. And if they will not name them, then embark in your boats before the sun sets, and return to Cairo; for, believe me, there alone will you be safe! I come to you in the name of Destiny, by whom I have been warned! My lord and master appeared to me last night in a dream, showed me his bleeding wounds, and said to me: 'Go and save my friends. Say to them that the last battle has not yet been fought at Aboukir, and tell them that, if they do not hasten to depart, the waves that encircle Aboukir will soon be reddened with their blood, as was the said of Aboukir a few years ago!' And therefore have I come, O Osman, to warn you! Put away from you your confidence in these treacherous Turks. Do not hearken to the whisperings of the English men, do not rely on the promises of your enemies. Require a decision this very day, and if it is not given, depart at once, before the setting of the sun. Danger threatens you all, great, fearful danger."

"Impossible, Sitta!" replied Osman Bey, composedly. "Impossible! We cannot depart to-day, and the decision cannot be made now. But I have already demanded it, and they have promised that these matters shall be arranged in the course of a few days."

"In the course of a few days!" repeated Sitta. "You have warned your enemies yourself, Osman! They have observed that distrust has begun to bud in your hitherto trusting heart, and with their swords and daggers they will destroy the tender plant in its first growth. By Allah, I conjure you, and by your love for my husband, be on your guard; leave the peninsula, and return to Cairo!"

"If it were possible, Sitta, I would do it out of reverence for you.

But on the morrow, I promise you, I will return to the continent.

To-morrow, a festival takes place in Alexandria; Lord Balan, the English general, is to receive his troops there, and the capitan pacha, who is encamped here with his warriors, has invited us to participate in the festivities at Alexandria."

"Beware, oh beware, Osman!" cried Sitta Nefysseh, extending her arms toward heaven. "By Allah and the prophets, I conjure you, go not to sea with the Turks to-morrow! Listen to my words, Osman! I have devoted servants with those whom you call your friends, but who can only be your enemies. One of them has informed me of their purpose.

Before the harbor of Alexandria lies a Turkish fleet; it lies in wait for you, and your boats will not be allowed to land unless freighted with your dead bodies!"

"This is not possible," cried the bey, recoiling a step in dismay.

"They cannot have planned so fearful a deception! They cannot be so faithless! Are they not of our religion; were the prophet's words not spoken for them as for us? Do they not know that it is written in the Koran: 'Let a man hold his word sacred! Curses and shame upon him who bears a lie on his lips, and yet seals it with the name of Allah and the prophet!' No, Sitta, I tell you the capitan pacha sealed his vow of friendship with the name of Allah and the prophet, and the settlement of the details only was wanting to establish this bond of friendship forever. No, Sitta, it is impossible that they should contemplate such fearful treachery, and rather will I die a victim of such treachery than cowardly flee, than consider men cowards, and warriors scoundrels!"

"Then you and yours are going to your death, Osman Bey Bardissi!"

cried Nefysseh in tones of anguish. "I conjure you once more, be warned, and, if you will not depart today, at least do not follow the capitan pacha to the festival, but employ the time while he is absent in preparing to defend yourselves. And, when they return, refuse to allow them to land until they consent to come to you unarmed."

Osman Bey shook his head proudly; and his countenance, before troubled, was now radiant with courage and joy. "Sitta Nefysseh, your noble heart is concerned for your friends, and I thank you in the name of all of us. But what your womanly sensitiveness fears, Osman Bey may not fear, and he must not show the Turks that he distrusts them! Allah watches over us all, and his will must be fulfilled! Why should we fear?"

"Yet Allah often warns us in our dreams, and woe to us if we do not interpret them aright!" said Sitta Nefysseh, in tones of entreaty.

"You insist, then, on going to Alexandria to-morrow?"