“Quick, men! declare your choice—obedience or death. There is no path between the two.” None spoke, nor dared to meet the eye of his chief. “It is enough, my men; I see that you are ashamed, and I may yet forgive this morning’s work. Abd-hoo, unbind the Franghi bey. Abou-Hamedi, shoot the first man dead who moves an arm to interrupt him.”
Whilst this order was being obeyed, and Abd-hoo was cutting the cords by which Mr Thorpe had been bound, Hassan stood silently but keenly scanning the countenances of the mutineers.
“What, my men,” he called aloud, “still hesitating to repair a fault into which you were led by this headstrong fool!” pointing to the motionless form of Abou-Hashem. “Since I have been your chief have I been last in the attack or first in the flight? Have I been miserly in spending with you my blood or my money?” A murmur of “Never” broke from the group. “Why, then, when I have so often led you to plunder and to victory, did you desire to cover my head with ashes, my name with infamy? You did not know, what Abou-Hashem knew, that these dahabiahs belonged to my friends—that I had eaten from their table and shared their salt! When all the provinces of Egypt are open to our swift horses and our sharpened steel, could you, brave warriors of the desert, find no more honourable foray than to attack defenceless strangers, and those, too, the friends of your leader? If such be your mind, I know you no more. Go and choose another leader from among thieves and moharrabin,[[109]] for Hassan will no longer be your chief.”
“We never knew that these Franghis were your friends, or that you had eaten their salt,” said one, who undertook to be spokesman for the rest.
“I thought so,” replied Hassan; “but he, Abou-Hashem, knew it well. He deceived you, and he has paid the penalty. Come hither, men, and remove him to yonder sant-tree[[110]] on the bank: perhaps he yet lives, and may be wiser hereafter. Remember that not a man is to remove the value of one para from these boats. I have sworn it, and, Wallah! if I live I will keep my oath.”
Like hounds chidden by a huntsman, the subdued freebooters mechanically obeyed.
Whilst they were employed in removing their stunned and still senseless lieutenant, Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo busied themselves, by Hassan’s order, in cutting the bonds of the captives, all of whom, Mr Thorpe included, came to shake hands with Hassan and to thank him for his generous interposition on their behalf, and would not listen to his expression of deep regret that they should have been exposed to so much alarm and inconvenience by his followers. But the victory had been won, for they slowly left the dahabiahs without attempting to remove one of the parcels of plunder which they had collected on the deck.
Mr Thorpe, after listening with grave attention to a few words whispered in his ear by Emily, said to Hassan—
“My brave young friend, we owe all we have on board, perhaps even our lives, to you, and we cannot bear that you should again incur the risk of living among those lawless and bloodthirsty men: they will owe you a spite for depriving them of their spoil, and perhaps when you are off your guard will assassinate you.”
“Alas! sir, you are in error,” said Hassan, in a voice whose melancholy and soft cadence contrasted strangely with the stern, deep tones in which he had lately addressed his followers. “You owe me nothing but forgiveness; for were it not for me, this lawless band might not have existed, and you might have pursued your journey without this vexatious incident. My lot is cast among them for the present; least of all could I leave them now, when my doing so would be attributed to fear. We all of us owe a life to destiny, and if a sword or bullet put an end to mine, where is the father or mother, sister or child, to shed a tear on the tomb of Hassan. No; these men must know and feel that I am their master and fear them not! The day will come, Inshallah! before long when I can part with them without regret or shame. May your journey be prosperous and your days prolonged.”