"Then, by Allah, it would have been better had you not come!" cried Bardissi, angrily. "Shall the Turks say of us that we, the brave and haughty Mamelukes, have fled at their approach?"

"Let them say what they please, Osman Bey Bardissi," responded L'Elfi Bey, throwing his head back proudly. "What care we? We do not flee, we only retreat. And our friends advise us to do this."

"Who are these friends?" asked Bardissi, angrily.

"The English, none of whom, as you know, have ever deceived us. They have informed me that the Turks are advancing in three columns, and have advised me not to attack them. They say it would be a great risk, and such a risk would not be advisable without a better prospect of success. But we could not hope for success, for, as you know yourselves, we are in want of arms and ammunition. If vanquished, we should also be massacred, and they would finish here at Damanhour the work they began at Aboukir. Can you desire that, ye beys?"

"We desire to conquer, and not to flee like cowards!" replied Bardissi, haughtily.

"The unwise general attacks incautiously, and when defeated is laughed at for his pains," replied L'Elfi. "The wise general yields to necessity, and awaits his opportunity."

"Then you can wait, L'Elfi!" cried Bardissi.

"I will wait, and have resolved to do so," said L'Elfi, gravely. "I came to warn you, and not to take part in this ridiculous expedition. But observe, Bardissi, I do not flee--I retreat. Woe to you if you do not follow my example; woe to you all if you let rashness instead of prudence prevail, and attack the Turks now! I repeat it, strong columns are advancing! First, Youssouf Bey; then the shrewd sarechsme--you know, Bardissi, who told us to beware of him--the shrewd sarechsme, Mohammed Ali; and, finally, Taher Pacha, and woe to you if you venture to attack them!"

"Woe to him who sees and understands his enemy, and yet dare not attack him!" cried Bardissi.

L'Elfi seemed not to hear him. He beckoned to the Mamelukes who had come with him, greeted his friends with a proud inclination of the head, and galloped away.

At a short distance from the camp a small body of English horsemen awaited L'Elfi and his Mamelukes. With them the Mameluke chieftain rode off, riding day and night until they reached Tantah; there fresh horses awaited them, and thence they continued their journey until they reached Alexandria. Here L'Elfi Bey embarked with the Englishmen. For the second time he left Egypt. He wished to forget in a foreign land that Mourad's widow, the beautiful Sitta Nefysseh, had rejected him and his love. It was no consolation to him that Bardissi had suffered the same fate. Unrequited love causes bitter anguish. L'Elfi thought only of his heart's misery, and cared nothing for war and military renown. He will return home when his heart's anguish is stilled. Then L'Elfi Bey will draw his sword again to fight for victory and renown. Bardissi felt differently. If the former felt that it was necessary to go into solitude to heal his heart's wounds, the latter preferred to seek distraction in inflicting wounds on his enemies. "For every sigh that passes his lips he will make a Turk exhale his life's breath," so thinks Bardissi the brave.

Immediately after L'Elfi's departure, Bardissi called the kachefs of his Mamelukes, and those of Ibrahim Bey and Hassan Aga together, to hold a grand council of war on the plain of Damanhour.

"Do you wish to be cautious like L'Elfi? shall we retreat from the approaching enemy?" cries Osman Bey, the crown of bravery. "Speak, ye kachefs! We ask your advice, for not we alone, but you also, rush into danger. Our blood and yours is to be shed alike. Therefore, let us take counsel together. The enemy is very strong, as you know. He is approaching in three columns. I pray you to consider and determine quickly, as the danger increases with each minute. If the three columns unite, the danger is multiplied; therefore, every thing depends on quick and resolute action. Youssouf Bey, Sheik Arnhyn informs us, is only two days' march distant--Mohammed Ali, three. It seems to me, our plan should be to march against Youssouf, and vanquish him before Mohammed Ali can join him; we will then attack Mohammed Ali. Having vanquished both of them, I hardly think Taber Pacha will have any desire to sustain the third defeat. We will then turn our attention to Cairo, now stripped of soldiers."

The kachefs, who had listened to Bardissi's words with sparkling eyes, spoke as one man:

"We will not retreat from the enemy like L'Elfi! Lead us against him! We will vanquish him! We are strong and courageous! Our steeds will bear us upon them with the wings of the wind, and our swords, aided by those of the invisible hosts, will prove invincible. The time has at last come to let these Turks feel that we are heroes, and not cowards. Lead us against the enemy!"

"Then retire to rest early," cried Bardissi, his countenance radiant with joy. "Unsaddle your horses and let them rest, too. To-morrow at the break of day we mount, and fly with the wings of the wind to meet the enemy. Allah and his holy hosts are with us."

"Allah and his holy hosts are with us!" is the joyous cry repeated by the kachefs. Soon all is still in the camp of Damanhour. Men and horses are at rest.

Bey Bardissi alone has not yet retired. He calls the Bedouin sheik, Arnhyn, to his side. "You are brave and daring. I have work for you, for which you shall be richly rewarded. If we are victorious, you shall collect all the spoils you may desire from the field of battle, and no one shall hinder you. The steeds and saddles, and the arms and equipments of all the captured Turks, shall be yours. As you know, three other sheiks have already applied to me, and offered to assist with their camels and horses. You shall, however, have the spoils of the battle-field if you will perform the service I require of you."

"Give me your commands, master," said the Bedouin sheik, his eyes sparkling with delight. "If you do not require me to pluck the sun from heaven, or to lay the moon and stars at your feet, Sheik Arnhyn will execute your commands for so rich a reward. Ah! how delighted my daughter Butheita will be when I bring her the beautiful horses, and glittering swords and daggers! The child loves such things. She is not like other women, she is more like a man. How Butheita will rejoice over the arms!"

"Then make her rejoice, Arnhyn. And now hear how you can do so. You informed me that Youssouf and his forces were in advance of the others, and that Mohammed Ali followed him?"

"Thus it is; a day's march in advance. But Mohammed Ali, so everybody says, is a daring and untiring soldier. Who knows but he may march at night, too, and unite with Youssouf?"

"You are right, Arnhyn," replied Bardissi, "and it is this that I wish to prevent. I wish, if possible, to avoid encountering Mohammed Ali. It is of this that I desire to speak with you. Come, let us withdraw a little farther from the tents and discuss this matter."

All is silent. The Mamelukes and kachefs lie sleeping beside their horses. No one hears what passes between the Mameluke bey, Osman Bardissi, and the Bedouin sheik, Arnhyn.

They speak in whispers; no one sees Arnhyn display his white teeth in his delight, nor sees the glad smile that suddenly lights up his countenance.

"A splendid scheme, master. By Allah! I would do it though you had not promised so rich a reward. I give you my word it shall be done as you direct. We will make Sarechsme Mohammed Ali harmless."

"You will start out at once?" said Bardissi.

"Immediately, master, for I must soon return," replied Arnhyn. "By sunrise you will come up with Youssouf, and I must be there with my ravens to gather the spoils. I will now fly to my tent; there near the Pyramids I shall meet my daughter Butheita, and she will arrange the rest.

You will find me at your tent by morning. If I am not there, Osman Bey Bardissi, you will know that the Bedouin sheik, Arnhyn, is no longer among the living, and that the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, has been too shrewd for him."

BOOK. IV

THE VICEROY.

CHAPTER I

BUTHEITA.

On the green fields of Gheezeh, near the verge of the yellow desert, lies Mohammed Ali encamped with his forces. Five thousand brave soldiers, among them the Albanian corps, the best troops of the Turkish army, are under the command of the young sarechsme. In advance of him, Youssouf Bey is marching upon the Mamelukes with a corps of almost equal strength. According to the viceroy's instructions, Mohammed Ali is to wait and see if Youssouf Bey does not prove strong enough to vanquish the Mamelukes unaided; if this should prove to be the case, it would not be advisable to lead a splendid army corps into battle unnecessarily.

Mohammed Ali, however, well understood the secret meaning of the viceroy's instructions. Youssouf Bey is his lieutenant, his favorite, and his master is desirous that he alone shall reap the golden fruit of victory. If he is defeated, Mohammed is to march to Youssouf's assistance with all possible speed. The latter is a day's march in advance, and when his messengers reach Mohammed it will already be too late; the battle will have been lost and a new one will have to be fought with the elated victors. All this passes through Mohammed's mind as he sits there in the silence and solitude of the night. All are sleeping. The warriors lie scattered over the wide plain beside their horses, their hands on their swords. No tents have been pitched: what need of them, the night is warm; and on the morrow they are to be on the march again toward Damanhour?

For the sarechsme alone a tent had been pitched, which could be seen from far out on the desert on whose verge it stood. Any one bringing him a message would have found the white tent, surmounted by a dark- red flag, without any difficulty. As was customary, two sentinels stood in front of the general's tent. When all had gone to rest, Mohammed stepped out of his tent, and told the sentinels to lie down and go to sleep. What need of guards here in the midst of his faithful warriors? Let them all rest, for the morrow may be a day of great toil and fatigue. The sentinels thanked the sarechsme, and then lay down to sleep, their muskets at their side.

Mohammed returned to his tent, lay down on his mat, and, supporting his head on his hand was soon absorbed in thought. He lay there gazing out into the night, considering the viceroy's plans, and also considering whether it would be advisable to obey his instructions.

Youssouf Bey is to have all the glory of victory, but Mohammed is to share defeat with him. If Youssouf Bey is victorious, Mohammed must return to Cairo with his troops, and the former will have reaped all the honors of the campaign. But if Youssouf Bey is defeated, Mohammed will have to march to his assistance with all possible speed, and will, nevertheless, arrive too late, when the battle is already lost. Then a new battle will have to be fought, and the Mamelukes, elated with their success, will hurl themselves upon his forces, and probably rout them. Victory would then be merely possible at best, and shall he rely on this possibility? It is to be his first great battle, and dare he allow it to be a defeat?

But what can he do?

He considers this, and his present relations with the viceroy. Has the time come when he can lay hands to his task with ruder touch; will it do to substitute stern words for soft flattery? He will not be able to decide until after this battle--that is, if he is to take part in it at all.

While he lies there absorbed in thought, all has become still without. The men are asleep; no one moves, no eye is open. No one sees a dark shadow flitting across the desert toward the tents. Now it halts near that of the sarechsme. A smaller shadow separates from the larger one; it stoops low, and glides along slowly and cautiously.

All are wrapped in slumber. The shadow stops before the tent; and now something glitters, like two sparkling stars fallen from heaven.

Perhaps they are the eyes of some savage beast prowling near the camp in search of prey.

No one sees these eyes. They are not the eyes of an animal, but of a human being who now stands upright in front of Mohammed's tent.

Sleep has waved its black pinions over Mohammed, as he lies there lost in thought; his senses have become gradually confused, and he, too, now sleeps, dreaming of the viceroy, of the morrow, and of the Mameluke bey Bardissi, whom he would so gladly call his friend.

For a moment he opens his eyes; it seems to him that he hears a noise, a slight rustling against the canvas of the tent. Yet he sees nothing, and all is still. It is only a dream. He closes his eyes, the angel of sleep fans his brow, and his head sinks back upon the mat again.

It would have been well had the sentinels stood guard. They would not have allowed this black figure to spring into the tent with the bound of a tiger, and then glide like the noiseless serpent to the mat where Mohammed slept. They could have prevented this spectre from so quickly and noiselessly binding his feet and hands with thin ropes that he did not awake, and then suddenly and rapidly enveloping his head with a thick cloth, and adroitly tying it in a knot.

The sarechsme, now aroused, raises his head to hear the words: "Fear not, your life will be spared!" murmured in his ear.