“You will write to Aleppo, will you? Foolish Frank! they will not believe you! By Mahomet, it would be well done to hear the complaint of a wandering Frank against Hassan Artaz—Hassan the faithful and the just, who for ten years and more has been the messenger of an Emperor, and the friend and confidant of Cadis, Bashaws, and Viceroys, and never yet was called so much as liar! Who, think you, poor misguided one! who, think you, would believe that I broke my promise?”
“Why do you not then,” said I, interrupting him, “why do you not perform it by changing horses, when you are convinced in your conscience (if you have any) that it was part of your agreement?”—“Once for all I tell you,” interrupted he, “I will not give up this horse. There is not,” said he gasconadingly, “there is not a Mussulman that ever wore a beard, not to talk of a wretched Frank, that should get this horse from under me; I would not yield him to the Commander of the Faithful this minute, were he in your place: I would not, I tell you, Frank—and I have my own reasons for it.”
“I dare say you have,” returned I; “love of your ease, and fear of your bones.”
At hearing this, he grew quite outrageous—called Mahomet and Alla to witness that he did not know what it was to fear any thing—declared that he was convinced some infernal spirit had that day got possession of me—and indeed seemed well disposed to go to logger-heads. At length observing that I looked at him with sneering contemptuous defiance, he rode up along side of me—I thought it was to strike, and prepared to defend myself. I was however mistaken; he snatched the reins out of my hand, and caught hold of them collected close at the horse’s jaw; then fell flogging my horse and spurring his own, till he got them both into full speed; nor did he stop there, but continued to belabour mine with his whip, and to spur his own, driving headlong over every impediment that came in our way, till I really thought he had run mad, or designed to kill me. Several times I was on the point of striking him with my whip, in order to knock him off his horse—but as often patience providentially came in to my assistance, and whispered to me to forbear and see it out. Mean time I considered myself as being in some danger; and yet such was the power he had over the cattle, that I found it impossible to stop him: so resigning the event to the direction of Providence, I suffered him without a further effort to proceed; I calling him every opprobrious name I could think of in lingua Franca, and he grinning, and calling me Dumus, Jihash, Burhl (i. e. hog, ass, mule), in rapid and impetuous vehemence of tone and utterance.
He continued this for a length of I dare say some miles, over an uncultivated tract, here and there intersected with channels formed by rills of water in the periodical rains; thickly set with low furze, ferns, and other dwarf bushes, and broken up and down into little hills. His horse carried him clean over all: and though mine was every minute stumbling and nearly down, yet with a dexterity inexpressible, and a vigour altogether amazing, he kept him up by the bridle, and I may say carried him gallantly over every thing. I was astonished very much at all this, and towards the end as much pleased as astonished; which he perceiving, cried out frequently and triumphantly, “O, la Frangi! Heli! Heli! Frangi!” and at[at] last drawing in the horses, stopping short, and looking me full in the face, exclaimed in lingua Franca, “Que dice, Frangi—Que dice?”
For some time I was incapable of making him any answer, but continued surveying him from head to foot as the most extraordinary savage I had ever beheld; while he stroked his whiskers with great self-complacency and composure, and nodded his head every now and then, as much as to say, Ay, ay, it is so! look at me! am not I a very capital fellow?—“A capital fellow indeed you are,” said I, “but I wish I was well out of your confounded clutches.”
We alighted of the brow of a small hill, whence was to be seen a full and uninterrupted prospect of the country all round. The interpreter coming up, he called to him and desired him to explain to me carefully the meaning of what he was about to say; which I will give you as nearly as I can in his own words, as they were translated by the Linguist:
“You see those mountains yonder,” said he, pointing to the East; “those are in the province of Kurdestan, inhabited by a vile race of robbers called Jesides, who pay homage to a God of their own called Jesid (Jesus), and worship the Devil from fear. They live by plunder, and often descend from those mountains, cross the Tigris which runs between them and us, and plunder and ravage this country in bands of great number and formidable strength, carrying away into slavery all they can catch, and killing all who resist them. This country therefore, for some distance round us, is very dangerous to travellers, whose only safety lies in flight. Now it was our misfortune this morning to get a very bad horse, for which, please Alla (stroking his whiskers), some one shall receive the bastinado. Should we meet with a band of those Curds, what could we do but fly? And if you, Frangi, rode this horse, and I that, we could never escape: for I doubt you could not keep him up from falling under me, as I did under you: I should therefore come down and be taken—you would lose your guide, and miss your way, and all of us be undone. Besides,” continued he, “there are many villages here where people live, who, if they only suspected you were a Frank, would follow and sacrifice you if they could to Mahomet, and where of course you must run for it.”
As soon as the interpreter had explained this to me, “Well,” continued the Tartar, “what does he say now to it?” Then turning to me, and tossing up his head—“Que dice, Frangi?”
“Why, I say,” returned I, “that you have spoken good sense and sound reason; and I am obliged to you.”