"Then do so!" cried a loud voice behind him. "If you wish to, my lad, come with us. One leads a splendid life on such a ship. You are tall and strong, and will be gladly accepted."His countenance beaming with joy, Mohammed turned and saw at his side a boy of slender figure, in simple Turkish garments, but his hair was closely cut, and not covered with the fez and kuffei.
Mohammed glanced fiercely at the boy.
"You are a slave!" said he.
The boy nodded and laughed.
"I am a slave. But I don't expect to remain one long; I have already heard that the capitano intends to sell me over there, and there one can make his fortune, that I know!""Over there?" said Mohammed, eagerly. "What do you call over there?""Well, the place we are going to!" exclaimed the boy, laughing. "To Egypt we go, carrying rich goods, and I myself, so to speak, am a piece of goods for the capitano.""You go to Egypt?" asked Mohammed; "to the land of wonders, where slaves become heroes, and heroes princes?""Ah! you have heard it spoken of, too!" said the boy, laughing.
"Yes, the sha-ers everywhere have something to relate about Egypt.
In Stamboul I have often heard them tell of the Mamelukes, too!""Of the Mamelukes? Of them, too, you have heard?""I have not only heard of them, but I intend to make a Mameluke of myself. As you know, these Mamelukes are the slaves of the beys in Egypt. I hope to have the good fortune to be purchased by a bey. Iknow all that is necessary to become the servant of a Mameluke.""And what is necessary?" asked Mohammed, eagerly. "What is it that you know?""I can ride as well as the best of the horsemen of the grand-vizier.
On a bare horse I can fly over the plains with the speed of a bird.
I know how to handle the sword and the spear, and in the fastest gallop I can sever the head of a horse from his body. These are arts that are useful over there, and in them I am a master. You may look at me in astonishment if you will! I am not as tall and stout as you are, but I can tell you I have the strength of a giant, and, in spite of my fourteen years, I am a man. I expect to make my fortune in Egypt.""And where have you been until now? From what place do you come?""I have been a slave from my youth; I was well brought up and had an education; I know how to wait on fine gentlemen. I served a nobleman as first valet for three years, but couldn't stand the dull, effeminate life. I longed to be out in the world, and committed all sorts of freaks in order that my master might drive me off. To be sure, I received the bastinado daily, but I stood it like a man. Idetermined to continue to annoy my gracious master until he should sell me. Look at my feet!"He took off his shoes and showed Mohammed the scarred soles of his feet.
"These are the scars with which I have purchased my future. Yes; but why do you look at me in such astonishment? By Allah! I should not like to live on this rock here, like you! I must out into the world;must go to Egypt, and make something great of myself.""But how will you begin it?" asked Mohammed. "I should like to do so, too.""I don't know yet," replied the boy, carelessly; "it will depend upon how I succeed in recommending myself to a bey with my horsemanship and sword. One thing I can tell you, if I once become a Mameluke, I shall rise. In case you should hear of me some day, in case my celebrity should reach even this desolate rock, I will tell you my name. My name is Osman, and in mockery, because I served a nobleman, they added bey to it. But I tell you, I will make of the name given me in derision a real title! If you hear of me some day, I shall be called Osman Bey in earnest.""I will tell you my name, too," said Mohammed, proudly, "and if you ever hear of me, you shall know that you once met me here upon the beach. My name is Mohammed Ali, and I am Ibrahim Aga's son. I am a freeman, you must know, and have never bowed my head beneath the yoke of another! Remember my name, little Osman, and, if Allah wills it, you shall hear of me someday. My name is Mohammed Ali."He nodded to the boy contemptuously, and walked off.
Osman laughed, and cried after him:
"You will probably hear of me first, you bold boy, you beggar-prince! I shall probably never hear of the beggar-prince, Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga, but of me you shall hear, you silly lad!
Don't forget my name: I am called Osman Bey."If they both could now have known the future! If a prophet had permitted the two boys who met here for the first time, in order that they might angrily impress their names on each other's memory, to look into the future, what would they have seen in its mirror?
Two heroes opposed to each other in ardent love, and in wild enmity.
Both equally great, equally ambitious, and equally greedy of glory.
They would have seen blood flowing in streams for their sake. They would have seen how Osman Bey, called by the name of Bardissi, dashed onward, flourishing his cimeter at the head of thousands of devoted followers. They would have seen Mohammed Ali in a glittering uniform, mounted on his proud steed, at the head of thousands charging with uplifted sword against Bardissi.
Here on a rock in the bay of San Marmora, the boys met for the first time, and instinct permitted them to feel the enmity that existed between them throughout their entire lives, and which caused thousands to fall, and blood to flow in streams.
They know nothing of this now. Osman whistles a merry air and jumps into the boat that bears him back to the ship. Mohammed Ali ascends the rock to a quiet and solitary spot. There he will rest and meditate on what he has seen and heard to-day.
The ship sails out to sea. Like a giant swan, proudly, majestically, it glides over the blue waves, until at last it rises up in the distance with its masts and spars against the horizon, faintly, like a mere vision of the air.
Above, on the Ear of Bucephalus, stands Mohammed Ali, leaning on his gun, his eyes fixed on the ship. He sighs profoundly as it now disappears without leaving the slightest trace behind, as though engulfed by the waters.
