Emily then related what had passed with the utmost accuracy. She noticed that at the pauses of her narrative the interpreter made sundry marks on a letter which he held in his hand, and also that alternate smiles and frowns followed each other on the expressive countenance of Mohammed Ali. When she had ceased speaking he thanked her, and after conversing a moment with his interpreter, proceeded to ask her a few questions connected with the letter which he held in his hand.
“Do you know whether it was by accident or design that the two boats ran against each other, and if accident, whose fault was it?”
“I think it was certainly accident, as there had been no quarrel or cause of quarrel before; whose fault it was I am not able to judge.”
“Are you sure that your crew did not attack the crew of the other boat first, with sticks or other weapons?”
“I am sure that nothing but words had passed on either side until the kawàss threw the stone or brick.”
“Did you see him throw it?” said the Pasha, knitting his brows.
“I saw him certainly, and he very nearly hurt me seriously, as your Highness may see.” While thus speaking, Emily turned her cheek aside, and lifting up one of the brown curls, she showed the hurt.
“Kàhpe-oghlou pezevènk!” said the Pasha, in an angry tone, looking towards his interpreter. (The words are untranslatable to ears polite, although they may fall from a Turk fifty times in a day. They may be rendered in this case, “The infernal scoundrel!”) “One more question,” he added, “I would beg to ask the young lady. You say that the youth you call Hassan jumped alone on the deck of the other boat; how many men might there be on the deck at the time?”
“I did not count them; there might be eight or ten; some were pulling at a rope on shore.”
“And how is it they did not drive him back, and prevent him from striking the kawàss?”