“Oh, sleep! fall like dew on that rosebud’s eyelids;
Let her know in her dreams that Hassan’s heart is burnt with her love.”
On the following day Hassan had gone into the city on business intrusted to him by the Pasha, and on his return had just entered that part of the Frank quarter now called the Esbekiah when his attention was attracted to a tumultuous noise, occasioned apparently by some drunken Bashi-Bazouks.[[56]] He was about to pass on, when he heard his own name called aloud by a voice which he easily recognised as that of Mansour the eunuch, “Help, Hassan! help!—they will murder me!”
Snatching a heavy club from the hands of one of the fellahs standing by, Hassan rushed into the fray, and arrived just as one of the Bashi-Bazouks was dragging poor old Mansour off his mule by his snowy beard. A blow from Hassan’s staff on the fellow’s shoulder made him let go his hold, and his arm dropped powerless by his side. His two companions (for the Bashi-Bazouks were three in number) now turned upon Hassan, and one of them, drawing a pistol from his belt, fired it as he advanced; fortunately for our hero, the ruffian’s aim was unsteady, and the ball, passing through his sleeve, lodged in the shoulder of a boy who was an accidental spectator of the fray. The two then drew their swords and rushed upon him together, but the clumsy drunkards were no match for the steady eye and powerful arm of Hassan. Parrying their ill-directed thrusts, he struck first one and then the other over the head with the full weight of his club, and the contest was over; they both lay helpless on the ground.
Hassan then assisted the terrified eunuch to remount his mule, and the crowd was beginning to disperse when the wali (or police magistrate), who happened to be passing by, rode up and inquired into the cause of the disturbance.
It was soon explained by Mansour that the Bashi-Bazouks had been the aggressors, and therefore the wali ordered them to be conveyed to their quarters and delivered to their own officers. He then pursued his way, as did Mansour, after cordially thanking Hassan for his timely assistance.
Hassan was just returning to the spot where he had left his horse under the care of the sàis, when his eye fell upon the unfortunate boy whose shoulder had received the pistol-ball aimed at himself. On approaching to see whether he were seriously hurt, Hassan saw that he looked faint from exhaustion, and that his vest was stained with blood. Drawing near to examine the wound, he inquired whether he felt much pain; the poor boy, whose countenance was prepossessing and intelligent, answered only with a faint murmur, pointing at the same time to his mouth.
“The ball cannot have wounded you both in the shoulder and the mouth,” said Hassan. The sufferer shook his head, and again pointed to his mouth. Then Hassan understood that he was dumb.
“Poor child!” said Hassan compassionately; “I have been the cause of thy wound. I cannot leave thee here to suffer—perhaps to die. Where is thy home?”
A melancholy shake of the head was the only answer.