“I understand that if you do not stand away from between Rome and Egypt, the Caucasus will suffer,” and the madman began to draw his sword.
“Listen,” said Aleph with composure and emphasis. “You had better not. You have a superior officer, and we are going to Alexandria. I call all these people to witness (by this time many had gathered about) that this quarrel is not of our seeking.”
“Dare you threaten a Roman commander, you beardless cub! By the immortals, you shall see what I dare,” shouted the man, as he plucked his sword from the scabbard.
“You shall not,” said Aleph; and, snatching a large bundle from a by-stander, he thrust it into the face of the Roman. It burst and enveloped the man in a cloud of pelican feathers, which a Jew had been collecting for the rag-market of Alexandria. Before his assailant could recover himself and sight, Aleph had thrown his arms about him, secured his sword, and, despite his struggles, laid him supine on the floor. Then, without much difficulty, he managed to swathe and bind his arms to his body with his long sword-sash. Looking about, his eye caught a small coil of rope near him; this he drew to himself, and with it fastened the man in a sitting posture to one of the posts that supported the awning. All this was not done without much struggling and cursing on the part of the Roman; but Aleph was perfectly silent till his prisoner was well secured. Then, turning to the spectators, he said:
“In behalf of the general safety, let this man remain as you see him till we reach Alexandria. Wine has made him dangerous; and you notice that what has been done, I only have done, and that reluctantly, to prevent something worse.”
A cheer flashed out from the faces huddled about, and almost shaped itself on their parted lips, but was suddenly suppressed before anything more than an indistinct murmur had escaped; for their eyes fell on the watchful and infuriated face of the officer. They were prudent people, those passengers. They admired courage; they were glad to see a Roman put down; but they were not ready to sacrifice safety to sentiment. So, instead of cheering, they compromised and fell to laughing at the Jew, who, exclaiming, “O, my feathers, my poor feathers! Ah, father Abraham, I am a ruined man this day; what will become of me!” crept about on his hands and knees, trying to collect as much of his volatile property as possible.
“Do not worry yourself, my friend,” said Seti to him in a low voice; “gather what you can, and add this coin to make the weight good. What has been lost for my sake shall not be loss to you.”
The Jew glanced at the coin that had been slipped into his hand, and, catching the gleam of gold, hurried it dexterously to his pouch, at the same time exclaiming, “May all the patriarchs ... oh, my beautiful feathers for which I paid ... may Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob ... ah, what will become of me!”
And so he went on groping and exclaiming and stuffing handful after handful of his recovered property into his bag amid the merriment of the crowd.
Making a sign to the two friends to follow, the Egyptian led the way to another part of the vessel free from people, where was a single seat. On this he seated himself.