Chapter Twenty Eight.
On the Pinnacle of Al Arâf.
It was a mad dash for liberty. Ignorant of where my footsteps would lead me, I sped swiftly onward across a great open space, which I afterwards learnt was called the Katshíu, past the Mesállaje, or Great Mosque, with its high square minaret, and running beside the walls of several spacious whitewashed buildings, evidently the residences of wealthier merchants, I turned the first corner I came to, and, passing a stagnant pool, found myself in a maze of squalid, narrow, ill-built streets, which, though bearing marks of former grandeur, were unpaved and filthy. The houses, mostly of one storey, were mean, flat-roofed, and half in decay, and as I wound my way through the unlighted, crooked thoroughfares, I could still hear the hurrying footsteps and shrill cries of the palace guards, who, eager for revenge, were determined that I should not escape them.
Panting, well knowing that a halt meant death by torture, I ran forward until I found myself in the Erárar-n-Zákan, or Camel Market, a small square with the usual arched arcade running along one side. Then, the angry shouts of the janissaries sounding on my ears, I resolved upon a desperate expedient, namely, to dash along a street which led back in the direction I had come, and so return towards the Mosque. Even in my desperation I was determined to seek the holy man and deliver Zoraida’s letter which for so many months had reposed in the little leathern charm-case suspended round my neck; but as I rushed headlong across a deserted market-place and emerged into an open space, I noticed a youthful Arab horseman mounted and leading a horse saddled but riderless.
My footsteps attracted him, and, having gazed at me for a moment intently, and apparently taking in the situation, he spurred across to cut off my retreat. As he rode down upon me, his flowing white robe looking ghostly in the darkness, my heart sank, for I was thoroughly exhausted and no longer hoped for freedom.
Judge my amazement, however, when, pulling up suddenly close to me, he exclaimed—
“Peace! Mount yonder steed quickly, and let us away! Dáchchân!”
The word gave me courage. It had been uttered by the mysterious man who at the cost of his own life had accomplished my deliverance! The fierce, brutal guards, accompanied by a number of Arabs who considered it sport to hunt a slave, were still in full cry after me. Already they had gained the Katánga, therefore, without losing a moment, I rushed towards the horse, swung myself into the saddle, and sped away like the wind, my rescuer leading.