Mohammed Ali and His House [133]
are upon us!"
The Turks are rowing rapidly down upon them in their boats, while volleys of musketry are being discharged at them from the ship that is approaching nearer and nearer, following the Turkish troops that man the boats.
"Onward," cries Bardissi to his followers. "Onward! We may escape. We may, if we make every effort, succeed in reaching Alexandria."
With the speed of the wind the boats sweep onward, and now turn into the bay of Aboukir.
The Mamelukes all cry, "Treachery! treachery!" and every one sees the three Turkish ships bearing down upon them from the front, while the boats and the strange vessel are coming upon them from the rear. From that direction comes the order, "Fire! fire!"
Death-shrieks resound everywhere among the boats. But the proud Mamelukes are at least resolved to sell their lives dearly. They reply from their boats to the shots. Now the enemy's boats are among them, and a murderous but unequal conflict rages. The three men-of- war send whole volleys into the boats of the Mamelukes.
Of what use to fire their pistols, how can they reload them? Of what avail to draw their swords against the overwhelming foe?
They can only die, and die they must. The flower of the hero-beys was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under foot--is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery.
Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones:
"O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!"
Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water.
A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball. He has thrown away his pistol, and now grasps the hilt of his dagger, when he is suddenly stricken down by a blow upon the head, dealt from behind. The vessels have completely surrounded the Mamelukes; the Turks on the ships jump down into the boats to assist the others, and the work of slaughter is soon ended. All is now still. Those who are not dead lie severely wounded in the boats. The Turks return to their vessels, and the boulouk bashi orders the wounded to be brought on board.
The order is executed; the dead are left in the boats, and the wounded are carried on board.
They now lift up the wounded man who lies beside the dead bey, in the large boat in which they had first seen the capitan standing with the two beys.
"Bring him up the ladder," cries the boulouk bashi.
He is unconscious, and is bleeding from three wounds. But even in this condition he still grasps his dagger so firmly that it cannot be torn from his band, and as the soldiers attempt it he awakens and opens his eyes.
"You are treacherous scoundrels, all of you! Osman Bey Bardissi declares you to be such."
The boulouk bashi starts as he hears this name, steps forward and gazes long and earnestly at the bey, whom he had once seen as a boy.
Must he meet him now in this condition? His gaze is fixed on him, and he tries to recognize in his features the boy of former days.
"You are scoundrels!" cries, for the second time, the proud chieftain. "Ye slaves of bloody tyranny--ye murderous, treacherous villains--shame and disgrace upon you all! Before Allah's throne will I accuse you, ye treacherous, slavish Turks."
With cries of rage they throw themselves upon him to strangle him.
But an arm burls them back with a giant's strength.
"Do you wish to murder those who can no longer defend themselves? Back! The life of the wounded, of the vanquished enemy, is sacred."
Bardissi, who has again fallen back exhausted, looks up in astonishment at the stranger who protected him, and was even angry
The Turks are rowing rapidly down upon them in their boats, while volleys of musketry are being discharged at them from the ship that is approaching nearer and nearer, following the Turkish troops that man the boats.
"Onward," cries Bardissi to his followers. "Onward! We may escape. We may, if we make every effort, succeed in reaching Alexandria."
With the speed of the wind the boats sweep onward, and now turn into the bay of Aboukir.
The Mamelukes all cry, "Treachery! treachery!" and every one sees the three Turkish ships bearing down upon them from the front, while the boats and the strange vessel are coming upon them from the rear. From that direction comes the order, "Fire! fire!"
Death-shrieks resound everywhere among the boats. But the proud Mamelukes are at least resolved to sell their lives dearly. They reply from their boats to the shots. Now the enemy's boats are among them, and a murderous but unequal conflict rages. The three men-of- war send whole volleys into the boats of the Mamelukes.
Of what use to fire their pistols, how can they reload them? Of what avail to draw their swords against the overwhelming foe?
They can only die, and die they must. The flower of the hero-beys was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under foot--is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery.
Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones:
"O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!"
Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water.
A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball. He has thrown away his pistol, and now grasps the hilt of his dagger, when he is suddenly stricken down by a blow upon the head, dealt from behind. The vessels have completely surrounded the Mamelukes; the Turks on the ships jump down into the boats to assist the others, and the work of slaughter is soon ended. All is now still. Those who are not dead lie severely wounded in the boats. The Turks return to their vessels, and the boulouk bashi orders the wounded to be brought on board.
The order is executed; the dead are left in the boats, and the wounded are carried on board.
They now lift up the wounded man who lies beside the dead bey, in the large boat in which they had first seen the capitan standing with the two beys.
"Bring him up the ladder," cries the boulouk bashi.
He is unconscious, and is bleeding from three wounds. But even in this condition he still grasps his dagger so firmly that it cannot be torn from his band, and as the soldiers attempt it he awakens and opens his eyes.
"You are treacherous scoundrels, all of you! Osman Bey Bardissi declares you to be such."
The boulouk bashi starts as he hears this name, steps forward and gazes long and earnestly at the bey, whom he had once seen as a boy.
Must he meet him now in this condition? His gaze is fixed on him, and he tries to recognize in his features the boy of former days.
"You are scoundrels!" cries, for the second time, the proud chieftain. "Ye slaves of bloody tyranny--ye murderous, treacherous villains--shame and disgrace upon you all! Before Allah's throne will I accuse you, ye treacherous, slavish Turks."
With cries of rage they throw themselves upon him to strangle him.
But an arm burls them back with a giant's strength.
"Do you wish to murder those who can no longer defend themselves? Back! The life of the wounded, of the vanquished enemy, is sacred."
Bardissi, who has again fallen back exhausted, looks up in astonishment at the stranger who protected him, and was even angry