“Let this discussion cease, my brothers,” he said in a voice whose deep authoritative tone commanded general attention. “I seek not to be your leader, and would not accept the charge otherwise than by your unanimous choice. So long as I remain among you I will be faithful to your cause; and if I see amongst you treachery or cruelty, or aught else that I do not approve, I shall leave you and follow my solitary path. In a band like this, where there is no hereditary title to command, the boldest heart, the strongest hand, and the wisest head must be your chief. In the first fair day of fight that we may have, show me the man who is first in the fray, stoutest in the mêlée, and last to leave it,—let him be our leader; I will cheerfully follow and obey him.”
This speech was received with general acclamation. The party having set their guards, retired to rest, and thus Hassan found himself transformed from a Turkish khaznadâr into a comrade of predatory outlaws.
Not a week had passed ere Abou-Hamedi went disguised into Siout to perform various commissions and to gather information. On his return he told his companions that after two days the great annual caravan of gellabs (slave-dealers) was about to set out for the Soudan; that their sacks would be full of money and trinkets for the purchase of slaves; and that they were to be escorted by fifty Bashi-Bazouks, or irregular Turkish cavalry.
He also informed them that he had seen Osman Bey in his divan with a large black plaster covering his broken nose and lacerated cheek, at which intelligence a smile of satisfaction played over Hassan’s features, which had worn an unusually grave expression. It was unanimously resolved to plunder the caravan, and a council was held as to the place and plan of attack, in which Abou-Hamedi and Abou-Hashem, as being best acquainted with the localities, were the principal speakers. After the council had broken up, Abou-Hamedi retired with Hassan, and produced from his saddle-bags a complete Bedouin dress, which our hero gladly donned in place of the Turkish costume which he had of late been accustomed to wear.
On the day fixed for the departure of the gellabs, our band, guided by Abou-Hamedi and Abou-Hashem, was posted behind a desert sandhill on the caravan-road to the south, at a distance of about fifteen miles from Siout. Swords were loosened in their scabbards, the priming of pistols and the points of lances duly examined, when towards four in the afternoon the caravan was seen slowly approaching, half of the armed escort in front, half in the rear, with the wealthy gellabs and their baggage containing money, jewels, trinkets, and numerous sets of manacles, in the centre.
Our Bedouins were awaiting them in profound silence, when suddenly their ambush was betrayed by one of their horses, a fiery and impatient animal, that began to neigh, snort, and execute various curvetings which exposed his rider to the view of the leading soldiers of the escort, who, seeing that the Bedouin endeavoured again to find concealment behind the sandhill, suspected the true state of the case and began to look to their arms and prepare for action.
“Upon them at once,” shouted Hassan, “and overthrow them before the rear-guard has time to come up to their support! Strike only the soldiers; the merchants and travellers must be ours.”
As he spoke these words he struck the stirrups in Shèitan, and charged at headlong speed the leading column. It was in vain that Abou-Hashem, jealous of his honour, strove to be first in the fray: he urged his horse with voice and stirrup, but before he came up Hassan had already emptied two troopers’ saddles, and was dealing death among their fellows, uttering terrific shouts that rose high above the din of arms and the cries of the dismayed merchants.
At first the freebooters seemed about to gain an easy victory, but the rear-guard of the escort came up, and for some time the fight was continued upon nearly equal terms. Abou-Hashem, who fought that day with a fierce emulation, was wounded in the sword-arm by a pistol-shot, and having been thrown from his horse, was about to be despatched by a trooper, when Hassan’s sword flashed above his head and the trooper fell senseless beside the body of his intended victim.
To dismount from his horse and remount his fallen comrade was to Hassan the work of a moment: springing again on the back of Shèitan, he plunged into the thickest of the mêlée, and ere long the discomfited troopers were in rapid flight towards Siout.