Hassan; or, The Child of the Pyramid: An Egyptian Tale

by Sir Charles Augustus Murray

A moonlight November evening at Thebes—who that has once enjoyed can ever forget it? The mild and temperate air; the noble river—the author and nourisher of all the fertility of Egypt—rolling its majestic tide beneath the time-honoured remains of the temple of Luxor; a mile or two to the northward the yet more ancient and magnificent ruins of Karnak; while at some distance inland, on the opposite banks of the Nile, are dimly discernible the Memnonium, celebrated in classic fable, and the hills, within whose chambered sides repose the ashes of the mighty of olden time—monarchs who had conquered kingdoms and raised imperishable monuments of architecture and art ere Greece or Rome had emerged from the insignificance of barbarism.

Such was the scene where the Thorpes were assembled on the evening which followed the events just related. Hassan was with them, and had already during the day drawn from Mr Thorpe a detailed account of the ladies’ visit to Amina; and as he heard recounted the deep emotion caused by the mention of his name, hope had once more arisen within his breast. Near, too, sat Dervish Bey, who had deferred his departure, and had courteously accepted Mr Thorpe’s invitation to take a cup of coffee with their party. None of them failed to observe with how scrutinising a glance his eye rested upon Hassan, and Mr Thorpe felt convinced that the ex-Governor either had learnt or suspected that the young Bedouin before him was no other than Hassan, the far-famed outlaw. Upon Mr Thorpe’s hinting as much to Hassan, he replied with a smile—

“If it be so, there is no harm. Dervish Bey is a brave soldier, not a spy or informer.”

On the following morning Abou-Hamedi, who had been absent the greater part of the night, reported to Hassan that he had obtained information of a band of thieves in the neighbourhood who seemed to have evil intentions towards Dervish Bey. He had accidentally fallen in with one of these fellows at a small coffee-house in the village of Luxor, and suspecting from casual expressions that he belonged to some band who meant mischief, he plied him so well with arrack and the intoxicating drug called hashish that he was able to learn from the man that he was associated with a body of thieves and moharrabin, the latter of whom had escaped from the conscription lately issued in Upper Egypt for the levy of troops to march into Sennaar. Several of these fellows had been flogged for insubordination by Dervish Bey, who was a severe disciplinarian, and having ascertained that he was travelling down to Keneh on horseback with only a few followers, the greater part of his suite being on board his boats, they had laid a plot to waylay and rob him in some unfrequented part of the road. Abou-Hamedi encouraged his tipsy friend to believe that he highly approved the scheme, and hoped to participate in its execution.

Hassan lost no time in returning to Luxor in order to put Dervish Bey on his guard, and was disappointed to find that the old soldier had started at daybreak, and was already some miles on his way.

Hassan resolved to follow him immediately. Before doing so he called on Mr Thorpe, and having informed him of the intelligence that he had received, recommended him to communicate it without delay to the Governor of Luxor, and to have the guards doubled for the protection of his own dahabiahs, lest the predatory band should be tempted to pay him a visit.

Mr Thorpe thanked him for his warning, and placed in his hands a letter, which he requested that he would find means to deliver to the Viceroy’s interpreter, a commission which Hassan promised to fulfil. He was not aware that it contained an account of the attack made upon his boats by Abou-Hashem’s band, and of the manner in which his party and his property had been rescued by Hassan at the imminent risk of his life. Our hero was so anxious to overtake Dervish Bey, and to warn him of the plot laid by the moharrabin, that, bidding the Thorpes a hasty but cordial farewell, he galloped off in the direction of Keneh.

Meanwhile Dervish Bey, unsuspicious of any danger, passed the ruins of Karnak and continued his course to the northward, intending to reach at nightfall a small village called Solemieh, which belonged to him, and the rents of which had fallen somewhat in arrear. He was accompanied only by his khaznadâr, his chibouqchi, two armed servants, and a couple of sàises, who looked after his baggage-mules, which were three in number.

He had journeyed about ten miles, and was crossing a desert plain on which no human habitation was visible, and where the neglected soil produced nothing but that rank mixture of tall weeds called in Egypt khalfah. His thoughts were dwelling on his unexpected meeting with the Frank party at Luxor, and, more than all, on the young Bedouin, whose remarkable appearance and qualities had strongly excited his interest. That the latter was, indeed, the formidable outlaw of whom he had heard so much he had no doubt; yet, instead of the fierce, rough bandit whom he had pictured to himself, he had found a gentle-mannered, noble-looking youth, speaking the language of the Franks, and evidently esteemed by them; one, moreover, the characteristic expression of whose countenance seemed to be a thoughtful melancholy, and whose taste for poetry and conversation appeared totally at variance with the deeds of lawless violence and daring attributed to him by report.

Whilst he was riding slowly on, musing on these things with an interest which he could scarcely explain to himself, his khaznadâr rode up and called his attention to a party of about twenty men who were approaching, and whose appearance was anything but reassuring. They were a strangely-assorted band, half on horseback, half on foot, some armed with guns, some with lances, and all with swords of different fashion. From the weather-stained and tattered remains of uniform still visible in the attire of some of the party, the experienced eye of Dervish Bey recognised them at once as moharrabin,—men who, as they rob and plunder with a halter round their necks, are generally the most cruel and bloodthirsty of lawless bands.