MOHAMMED ALI AND BARDISSI.

Sitta Nefysseh was right: peace had not entered Cairo with the victorious troops. War and turmoil prevailed everywhere, and the confusion became worse each day.

The Mamelukes now ruled once more in Cairo, and, with them, Mohammed Ali, Bardissi's beloved friend.

Ismail Bey sat enthroned in the citadel, and was the outward representative of the magnificence and grandeur of the Mamelukes, but the real rulers were Bardissi and Mohammed Ali. And these two found no pleasure in lying on soft cushions, and speaking of the deeds of the past. They longed for renewed activity, for new glory!

And, even if this had not been the case, they would, nevertheless, have been compelled to draw the sword again. For the Turks were marching out from Alexandria, and many places in the south were still in their hands.

Mohammed and Bardissi's united forces march out to a succession of conflicts, ever returning to Cairo crowned with victory.

Bardissi and Mohammed are united in love and friendship, and, though the former seems to be the ruler, the latter reigns in reality. The whole city is aware of this, and those who have complaints to make, and seek redress, come not to Bardissi, but to Mohammed Ali. To him, also, come the consuls of other countries, of England and France, and have long and protracted interviews with him.

The object of their meetings is known to no one. Their conferences are always private, and Bardissi learns of them only what Mohammed chooses to tell him. "Does he tell him the truth?"

Bardissi is convinced that he does, and also convinced that he and Mohammed are in perfect accord with each other.

Ismail, the Mameluke chief, is of a different opinion, and often warns the magnanimous Osman Bey Bardissi.

"Be on your guard against Mohammed Ali; he has evil designs. Be on your guard!"

Bardissi shakes his head. "Do not attempt to rob me of my friend, my second self. I love him, and I know that he loves me!"

"He will lead us all to destruction, if he can!" said Ismail, solemnly. "Mohammed Ali is not the faithful friend you suppose him to be ! Unfortunately, the future will prove to you that my warning was well founded."

Bardissi disregards the warning, and angrily affirms Mohammed's fidelity. He can confide in his friend, and in the wisdom of his counsel. And, as before, Bardissi continues to follow Mohammed's advice in all things.

CHAPTER XII

AGAINST THE MAMELUKES.

While the Mameluke beys, Ismail and Bardissi, were victorious at Cairo, L'Elfi Bey still lay with his followers at Nisibis. There he ruled, and there his Mamelukes robbed, plundered, and tyrannized over the inhabitants.

The governor, Courschid Pacha, was again firmly established in Alexandria, where he was assembling new forces, and preparing to march against Cairo and the Mamelukes, and also against Mohammed Ali and his Albanians and Armenians; he only awaited the sultan's decision. He had sent to Stamboul intelligence of all that had occurred--of Cousrouf's flight, and of his defeat and capture at Damietta.

"Who is now to be appointed viceroy?" This was the question to be decided at Stamboul.

"Do you command, O master, that our troops march against Cairo to drive out the Mamelukes, and reinstate Cousrouf as viceroy! Command, O master, and your servants will obey!"

While the Turks were awaiting an answer from Stamboul, affairs in Cairo were becoming more and more complicated, and law and order no longer reigned there. The Mamelukes were daily becoming more violent and overbearing. They roamed through the city in bands, plundering and burning, and the beys could no longer control them. Daily the sufferings of the people became greater, and their hatred of the lawless Mamelukes more intense.

Robbed and outraged as they were, they were, in addition, continually being called on to pay new taxes to their detested rulers.

The Mameluke beys, Bardissi and Ismail, need money, need it more than ever. But where are they to get it? The question is a perplexing, a tormenting one, and with dismay Bardissi submits it to his faithful friend and untiring adviser, the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali.

And it was Mohammed who continually advised the imposition of new taxes, and who was constantly engaged with Bardissi in devising new means of raising money; and the imposition of each new burden was the signal for a new cry of rage from the oppressed people. The soldiers, too, began to murmur again, and to loudly demand their long-withheld pay.

The Albanians and Armenians, subject to Mohammed Ali, were held by him in severe discipline. He did not allow his soldiers to make thieves and robbers of themselves. He threatened with instant death all who should be caught in the act. They, however, clamored all the more loudly for pay.

Mohammed listened to them quietly, and seemed to be touched by their complaints. "But," said he, sadly, "it does not rest with me to pay you, neither can I do so. I am poor myself; I have nothing to live on but my pay, and that is withheld from me also. I therefore have, unfortunately, nothing to give my soldiers. Only the chiefs, Ismail or Bardissi, can give you your pay."

His soldiers have understood him. They salute their sarechsme, go away, and say nothing.

Mohammed well knows where the swarm of soldiers that had stood before his house have now gone, led by their bim bashis.

They rush, their numbers increasing on the way, to the house where Bardissi resides. With loud cries they demand to speak with Bardissi himself.

He appears, and asks why they have come. The vestibule of the palace is already crowded with soldiers, and new masses are continually pouring into the court-yard. In reply to Bardissi's question, they all cry loudly: "We have come for our pay! We want money! We are hungry! We want our pay, our money!"

"Go back to your quarters, and remain there, quietly!" cries Bardissi. "In two days you shall have your pay. Go!"

"We will wait no longer!" cries a bim bashi, and they all cry after him: "We want our money! We will not leave here until we are paid!"

They press farther and farther into the house, more and more fiercely demanding their pay. Suddenly, a loud, firm voice resounds from the court-yard: "What does this mean, soldiers? What are you doing here? How dare you force your way into the palace of the chief?"

A smile lights up Bardissi's countenance. This is his friend Mohammed Ali. He will extricate him from his embarrassing position.

Yes, it is he, the sarechsme, at whose approach the men respectfully fall back and make room. He enters the palace and hastens to Bardissi.

"Oh, forgive me! I knew not that my soldiers had dared to come here.

They also came to me and demanded their pay; I had none to give them, yet I had no idea they would go so far as to annoy you personally."

Bardissi makes no reply. He only looks at his friend, and grasps his hand warmly.

"I thank you, Mohammed, for having come."

"It is my duty, Bardissi," replies he, loud enough to be understood by all his soldiers. "Yes, it is the duty of the sarechsme to be identified with his soldiers; and if, impelled by their want, they went too far, I beg for their forgiveness; but I also beg that justice be done them; and their demands are just. They are in great want, for I have forbidden them to rob and plunder. They have long waited patiently for their pay. But I beg you to give it them now, Bardissi."

The soldiers who had heard all, cried loudly: "Long live our sarechsme! Long live Bardissi, our chief!"

"Believe me, soldiers, he will give you your pay!--Will you not, Bardissi?"

"Yes, sarechsme, your soldiers shall receive their pay. I give you my word, they shall be paid to-morrow. Come to the citadel, to my defterdar to-morrow morning, and he will pay you."

"You have heard it, soldiers: you are to be paid to-morrow. And now go!"

But no one moved; they stood still, grumbling in low tones.

"What," cried the sarechsme, with sparkling eyes, "you dare to remain when I have told you to go! Do you distrust the promise of Osman Bey Bardissi, and of your general? Go, I tell you! You are to be paid to-morrow. Therefore, go and wait!"

They no longer dare to defy, and quietly withdraw.

Bardissi grasps his friend's hand again. "I thank you. You have freed me from much embarrassment; you have done me a great service.

But I beg you to lend me your kindly assistance still further. Tell me where am I to get the money with which to pay the soldiers to- morrow?"