Mohammed Ali and His House [52]
of my life, the light of my eyes! Remember that I have no one but you in all the world, and that your Masa is as solitary as in a wilderness when you are not beside her. Remember that, O my father!"
"Enough!" interrupted Mohammed, in a harsh voice. "Enough words.-- You there, you men of Praousta, will you pay the tax, the double tax, as the tschorbadji has ordered?"
The men, who had pressed close against the high porch outside the mosque, remained silent for a moment and looked hesitatingly before them.
"Will you pay it?" repeated Mohammed. "You will, I am sure."
"No!" cried the sheik, aloud. "You will not, you shall not, pay this tax!"
"No," repeated the three ulemas. "No, you will not, you shall not, pay this tax!"
Then suddenly, as if inspired by the bold words of the four prisoners, the men held themselves more erect, and, looking threateningly at Mohammed and at the soldiers, repeated what the ulemas had said. "No, we will not, we will not pay the tschorbadji the double tax! We will pay neither the double nor the simple tax!"
"Good! you have spoken," said Mohammed. "Your fate is decided, and that of these men also!--Collectors, lock the door."
Masa uttered a cry, and, rushing to Mohammed, clung wildly to his knees.
"Mercy, lord, have mercy! Think of your own father, think of your mother! If you have a mother that you love, oh, think of her!"
He pushed her roughly and hastily from him. That word pierced his heart like a knife, and still he dared not listen to it.
There was a threatening murmur among the men, and several sought to press forward, but the collectors threatened them with instant death if they came forward a single step.
Two of the soldiers approached the young girl to carry her out.
"Let no one dare touch me, or I will throw myself on your swords!" she cried. "If I must go, I will do so. But on you be the blood of my father if it is shed! I tell you, if you murder him, I will die also; and if you have a father or a mother in heaven, I will accuse you, young man!"
She uttered these words in a ringing voice, then flew toward the door. The soldiers pushed her out, and the collectors threw the iron-bound doors together.
"Now I turn to you," said Mohammed, breathing more freely, and looking toward the sheik and the ulemas.
"Will you murder us?" asked the sheik Alepp, as he looked with calm dignity at the young man.
"No, if your blood must flow, so be it upon your own head," answered Mohammed, earnestly. "You alone shall decide your own life or death, and that of your three companions.--Come, soldiers, open this door; we go out this way."
The soldiers obeyed, and opened the door on that side of the mosque which lay nearest the mountain stairway.
The sheik and the ulemas, soldiers accompanying them, passed out, Mohammed in front of them, his drawn sword in his hand. Behind them came the collectors, with pikes in their hands.
Silently they went on their way toward the mountain-path.
The men who had waited, uncertain what to do, before the door of the mosque, now went round to the side, and with out-cries of rage pointed out to one another the road to the mountain-path.
When Mohammed heard this outcry, he stood still, and motioned to the soldiers to go forward with the prisoners. "Remain at my side, collectors, we will cover the rear. Forward, now! go up the mountain."
And while those went upward, Mohammed remained at the foot of the mountain. On either side the collectors, and in front of him all the fishermen of Praousta, more than fifty men, with threatening looks and burning eyes. But still, although they muttered and quarrelled, and even raised their fists, they dared not approach this young man, whose countenance was so determined, so full of energy, whose cheeks were so pale, and on whose mouth rested so threatening an expression. He must have appeared to them like the angel of death, and each one feared that if he approached he would sink down and die.
Mohammed paid no attention to the threatening group of men. His eye looked beyond them--there,
"Enough!" interrupted Mohammed, in a harsh voice. "Enough words.-- You there, you men of Praousta, will you pay the tax, the double tax, as the tschorbadji has ordered?"
The men, who had pressed close against the high porch outside the mosque, remained silent for a moment and looked hesitatingly before them.
"Will you pay it?" repeated Mohammed. "You will, I am sure."
"No!" cried the sheik, aloud. "You will not, you shall not, pay this tax!"
"No," repeated the three ulemas. "No, you will not, you shall not, pay this tax!"
Then suddenly, as if inspired by the bold words of the four prisoners, the men held themselves more erect, and, looking threateningly at Mohammed and at the soldiers, repeated what the ulemas had said. "No, we will not, we will not pay the tschorbadji the double tax! We will pay neither the double nor the simple tax!"
"Good! you have spoken," said Mohammed. "Your fate is decided, and that of these men also!--Collectors, lock the door."
Masa uttered a cry, and, rushing to Mohammed, clung wildly to his knees.
"Mercy, lord, have mercy! Think of your own father, think of your mother! If you have a mother that you love, oh, think of her!"
He pushed her roughly and hastily from him. That word pierced his heart like a knife, and still he dared not listen to it.
There was a threatening murmur among the men, and several sought to press forward, but the collectors threatened them with instant death if they came forward a single step.
Two of the soldiers approached the young girl to carry her out.
"Let no one dare touch me, or I will throw myself on your swords!" she cried. "If I must go, I will do so. But on you be the blood of my father if it is shed! I tell you, if you murder him, I will die also; and if you have a father or a mother in heaven, I will accuse you, young man!"
She uttered these words in a ringing voice, then flew toward the door. The soldiers pushed her out, and the collectors threw the iron-bound doors together.
"Now I turn to you," said Mohammed, breathing more freely, and looking toward the sheik and the ulemas.
"Will you murder us?" asked the sheik Alepp, as he looked with calm dignity at the young man.
"No, if your blood must flow, so be it upon your own head," answered Mohammed, earnestly. "You alone shall decide your own life or death, and that of your three companions.--Come, soldiers, open this door; we go out this way."
The soldiers obeyed, and opened the door on that side of the mosque which lay nearest the mountain stairway.
The sheik and the ulemas, soldiers accompanying them, passed out, Mohammed in front of them, his drawn sword in his hand. Behind them came the collectors, with pikes in their hands.
Silently they went on their way toward the mountain-path.
The men who had waited, uncertain what to do, before the door of the mosque, now went round to the side, and with out-cries of rage pointed out to one another the road to the mountain-path.
When Mohammed heard this outcry, he stood still, and motioned to the soldiers to go forward with the prisoners. "Remain at my side, collectors, we will cover the rear. Forward, now! go up the mountain."
And while those went upward, Mohammed remained at the foot of the mountain. On either side the collectors, and in front of him all the fishermen of Praousta, more than fifty men, with threatening looks and burning eyes. But still, although they muttered and quarrelled, and even raised their fists, they dared not approach this young man, whose countenance was so determined, so full of energy, whose cheeks were so pale, and on whose mouth rested so threatening an expression. He must have appeared to them like the angel of death, and each one feared that if he approached he would sink down and die.
Mohammed paid no attention to the threatening group of men. His eye looked beyond them--there,