The Ice Bird flew like an arrow over the glistening waters, and in a few hours land was in sight. Monte-Cristo went on deck with his son, and was delighted at the latter's enthusiasm.
"Spero," he said, solemnly placing his hand on the boy's head, "in less than two hours you will set foot in a new world. Great dangers await you. Will you have the courage to brave them?"
"Oh, papa, when you are near me, I have no fear."
"Do not speak thus; circumstances may happen which may separate us. The desert is still unexplored, and the horrors of nature are not always the greatest dangers which threaten mankind."
"But why do you speak of such things, papa?" said Spero, terrified.
"Because I am not immortal. I may be conquered. Spero, look me in the eye, and swear to me that, should anything occur, you will not despair. You must never forget that you owe everything to your mother. Love her like one of those sainted women, for she deserves it."
"What do you fear, father?"
"Nothing. Rest easy, my son; I live and watch over you."
The next minute Monte-Cristo was giving his orders as usual to the sailors. Yet he was inwardly uneasy; a heavy load seemed to bear him down, and the air he breathed threatened to choke him.
And yet he was surrounded by faithful servants, who would willingly have given up their lives for him—Jacopo, Bertuccio, and Coucou. They were all ready to brave any danger, and the breast of each of them was a wall of protection about him.
The town rose before the gaze of the travellers. Monte-Cristo leaned against the prow, and gazed enthusiastically at the harbor where the Carthaginian barks had hidden Hannibal's plunder.
Suddenly Jacopo hurried on deck, and excitedly exclaimed:
"Master—come quickly—your cabin door is open."
"What of that?"
"The safe is open, too."
"Impossible!"
"Master, I saw with my own eyes the contents of the safe lying on the ground. Gold and diamonds are scattered about the floor."
Monte-Cristo frowned. Was there a thief on board?
"Come, Spero," he said, and, followed by Jacopo, father and son hurried to the cabin.
As the Corsican had said, the cabin was indeed open, and the carpet was strewn with emeralds, rubies, and other precious stones. Monte-Cristo at first examined the lock, the secret spring of which he alone knew how to open.
"It was not a thief who opened the safe," he said to Jacopo.
"But the jewels—"
"Just so. A thief would have taken them with him."
Jacopo was silent; the truth of this assertion was evident to him.
"Has any one besides you known about it?" asked Monte-Cristo, after a pause.
"No one, master; I called you directly."
"Good, Jacopo. Speak to no one about this matter."
"But, master; if we have a thief on board—"
Monte-Cristo frowned; he did not brook the least opposition.
"Go now, Jacopo, and keep quiet."
When Jacopo had gone, Monte-Cristo called Spero, and bade him examine the lock to see if he could discover anything.
Spero obeyed, but found nothing.
Monte-Cristo laughed.
"You are still young," he said. "Your eyes must first be taught how to see. There is a scratch on the lock which must have been made by a dagger."
"But, father, who could have tried to open the lock with a dagger?"
"A man, whose name I will tell you later on. With great skill he put the dagger in the lock and opened it. The cleverest locksmith could not have done better. Look!"
Monte-Cristo shoved the point of his own sword in the lock, and opened it easily.
"Really it is so," said Spero.
"And now let us look at the safe, which, I presume, was opened in the same way."
Spero looked carefully at the lock, and then said:
"It has not been opened with a dagger, I am sure of it."
"How do you know this?"
"I see it, papa; the man must have had a spiral spring."
"A spiral spring?"
"Yes; such as is used in pocket watches."
"You are right."
"And he did his work carelessly, for he left this little piece sticking in the lock." And with these words Spero triumphantly held up a small piece of steel.
Monte-Cristo clasped the boy in his arms. Spero was the worthy pupil of the man whose powers of observation had been sharpened during his intercourse with the Abbe Faria.
"And now you shall know who the man was that broke in here," said the count, pushing aside the diamonds which more than half filled the middle drawer of the safe. "Look here! what is this?"
"A dagger, father," said Spero, in affright.
"And on this dagger a piece of parchment is fastened."
Monte-Cristo carefully unrolled the scrap of paper and read the following, written with blood, in Arabian characters:
"Maldar to Monte-Cristo. The poor man who trusts in Allah is richer than the nobleman who fights against him. Beware of the Khouans!"
"Who are the Khouans, papa?"
"I shall tell you later on—there is no time to lose now. Come!"
Hurriedly going on deck with Spero, the count accosted Jacopo.
"When did the Arab leave the ship?" he asked.
"He is still here, master, in the custody of Coucou."
"Are you sure, Jacopo? Tell him to come to me."
Jacopo disappeared, but soon returned.
"Master," he said, "the Zouave is fast asleep."
"And the Arab?"
"Has disappeared."
"Really?"
"Yes, but we will find him. Come, now! Search every corner of the ship."
Monte-Cristo stopped the sailors.
"It is useless," he said, pointing to the shore, "look there!"
Maldar stood on the beach, shaking his fist angrily at the yacht.
"Comrades, listen," said Monte-Cristo, "the Arab is our deadly enemy. In Algeria every bush conceals a danger, every foot of ground carries an assassin! Do your duty, but look out for yourselves!"
The next minute the yacht reached the harbor—they were in Africa!
At the southern end of the province of Oran, at the entrance to the Great Sahara, is the Salt Mountain, called by the Arabs Khenegel Melch. A solitary horseman rode slowly along the road. A white hood covered his head and a long gun was slung over his shoulder. Suddenly he halted and gazed around. On the left of him was the dark-red monolith called the Rock of Blood. Many murders had been committed at this place. On still nights faint groans are heard; they are like the cries of the spirits of the murdered ones, and the traveller who hears the sounds commends his soul to Allah and hurries away from the horrible spot. The solitary horseman threw back his hood from his face and lifted up his long thin arms in prayer. He sprang from his horse and examined the Rock of Blood carefully. On the stone near the base of the monolith was a star similar to those on his horse. The traveller prostrated himself on the ground, murmured a prayer and got on horseback again. The horse sped along like the wind, and was soon at the desert of the Great Sahara. Here all is light, not a shadow intercepts the rays of the sun, not a sound is heard here, all issilent. The horseman rode on, his eye gazing at the sun's disk, which was gradually setting. He did not seem to mind the glare, and upon a closer examination of his person one would have found this natural. He was scarred all over and appeared to have undergone every bodily ill. His bernouse flew aside and from the open breast the handle of a yataghan peeped; no cord or belt held it. It was attached to the man's skin. The man was a martyr. Not a part of his body was whole. He was a mass of cuts and bruises. His brothers called him a saint. He spoke to Allah and Allah listened to his speech. The desert was his empire, and a smile broke over his lips when he found himself on his territory. How he kept in his way without a path to guide him was a mystery. The sun had disappeared from the horizon. The man now rose in the stirrups and, taking his gun, laid his finger on the trigger. He seemed to be expecting something. Was it an enemy from heaven? His gun was pointed in that direction. The moon now rose pale and clear. A loud report was heard. The saint greeted the moon, and said these words from the Koran in a loud, firm voice:
"The time will come for those who are to appear before Allah's throne."
"The time has come," answered another voice.
"Swear by the wise Koran that you are sent to show the right road," continued the saint.
"I swear it by the wise Koran," replied the same voice.
"Are you he whom I expect?"
"I am he whom Allah sent."
"Have you the sacred signal?"
"Look!" replied the stranger, throwing his bernouse aside and showing his lean, naked breast, and on his brown breast shone a star with six points.
The saint got off his horse, kissed the ground, and muttered half aloud:
"Allah is Allah, and Mahomet is his prophet."
"Rise," said the other; "the true believer only kneels to Allah."
"Are you not Allah's messenger? Have you not come to chastise the infidel oppressors of the holy island?"
"I am he, but yet I say rise. The brothers know that I am here. They knew I would appear in the fourth month, at the hour when the moon rose before the setting sun had disappeared from the horizon. The brothers, then, have sent you?"
"Yes."
"Are they ready to obey the messenger of Allah? Are they ready to sacrifice their own and their wives' lives?"
"Look at me! I have torn my limbs with pincers. The brothers have done likewise. We are ready to obey."
"Then I say to you, Maldar Mohammed ben Abdallah, the hour for revenge has come. Death to the Giaours!"
He paused for a moment; then continued:
"Where are the Khouans?"
"At Uargla."
"Where are the Christian prisoners? Have my commands been obeyed?"
"Yes, master, not a hair of their heads has beentouched; but the believers grumbled at showing them mercy and demanded their deaths, especially in the case of one, a French captain."
"What does a man's death signify—the drops of blood are lost in the sands, and their trails lost forever. Go tell the brothers that before the moon has reached its twentieth course, I shall be in their midst, and blood will flow in streams! Go!"
With an imperious wave of the hand Maldar pointed toward the horizon, and the Mekkadem prostrated himself anew.
"Yes," said Maldar to himself when the saint had gone, "they shall all die, and the stream of their blood will be the spring out of which Allah's warriors shall drink courage."
Lost in the immensity of the desert, Uargla, the queen of the oases, was, up to thirty years ago, little known. On the day Maldar had conversed with the saint a dense mass of people crowded about one of the chief gates of Uargla, and loud voices arose in the air. A horrible monster, all tattered and torn, had swung himself on a pile of stones, and begun to harangue the crowd.
"You think you are acting wisely," he cried, "and yet you are only fools. In the prisons of Kiobeh you keep the enemies of Islam, and while you are pondering over the mysteries of the Koran, the infidel dogs are murdering your wives and children. Arise, believers of Islam, and kill the Giaours!"
The crowd yelled like savages.
For more than six months prisoners had been kept in the fortress, and in spite of all the protestations of the inhabitants, their lives had been spared. It was time, many thought, to kill them and expose their heads to the birds of prey. The marabout was right, they said, and the crowd demanded the lives of the unfortunates. The marabout was delighted at the effect of his words,and uttering a cry he sprang from his perch and disappeared in the crowd. He knew the excited fanatics would follow him to the Kiobeh, and while he was walking on he pictured to himself the agonies the victims would have to endure. They must all die for the glory of Allah. In their blind hatred of the Christians, the Aratins, whose deep black color is not found in any other tribe, allied themselves with the Arabs, the Soudanese with the Mozambites, and yelling and shouting and armed with knives, guns and daggers, the savages marched toward the Kiobeh. Woe to the unfortunates who fell victims to such blind fanaticism—woe to the prisoners who were pining away in the Kiobeh!
Twenty feet under the Kiobeh were the cells hewn out of the rock. In one of the darkest of these dungeons lay a young man with a ball and chain around his ankles. Rags covered the emaciated form of the man, and only from small strips of the rotten and withered clothing could it be seen that he wore the uniform of a French soldier. From the left shoulder part of an epaulet hung, and a scabbard without any sword in it was tied around his waist.
A dark form appeared in the doorway, shoved some food toward the prisoner, and disappeared without saying a word.
Ten years before the prisoner was the bearer of a proud name. Young, rich and courted, Albert de Morcerf was the lion of the Parisian salons and the joy of his parents. One day a crash came like lightning from a clear sky, and destroyed his whole existence. His father was denounced in the Chamber of Peers as a traitor and an assassin. Count de Morcerf could not defend himself, for what he was charged with was the truth. The Countess of Morcerf buried herself at Marseilles under the name of Madame Joliette, while her son entered thearmy of Algeria or Chasseurs d'Afrique. In three years Albert Joliette had become a captain. As he lay now in his cell the past rose before him. He recollected his insult and challenge to the Count of Monte-Cristo, and his subsequent apology when he had heard Mercedes' story. That day on coming home he discovered his father dead with a bullet in his brain, inflicted by his own hand.
But now the past had been atoned for. The bravery of the son expiated the old father's crimes. When Albert returned home, Mercedes enjoyed new life at his side. But alas! The proud hopes soon vanished. All news from Albert ceased, and at the end of three months Mercedes, in despair, had written to the Count of Monte-Cristo.
Three months before Albert had been captured by the rebels, and incarcerated in the dungeon in which he still was. Not a human voice was ever heard. The black slave who served him with coffee could not be induced to say a word to him. Mercedes had told him the story of the Count of Monte-Cristo; he knew that Edmond Dantes had spent fourteen years in the Chateau d'If, and trembled when he thought of it. Yet if he were only able to escape! But Albert soon became convinced that this was impossible. There was no way out of these gloomy walls. He then made up his mind to starve himself, and for several days he had eaten nothing, so that he was astonished at finding himself still alive. When the slave withdrew on this particular day, Albert felt his head turn and he muttered half aloud:
"Mother, mother, forgive me, but I cannot do otherwise."
At this moment a loud noise was heard, and the assassins led by the marabout entered Joliette's dungeon.
He resolved to die bravely as became a French soldier.
Heavy blows were rained against his cell, and at the same moment Joliette heard a voice call to him:
"Captain, captain! Do not despair—help is at hand!"
Just then his cell door was burst open and the murderers rushed in.
We must go back with our story four days. Sixty leagues from Uargla an immense caravan was encamped. Not a tree or a green leaf could be seen for miles around, and yet it was here that Monte-Cristo cast his tent. Hardly had he arrived at Bona than he regained the vigor of his youthful days, and two hours after his landing Monte-Cristo was already on his way to the desert with a well-organized caravan. One hundred energetic men accompanied him, and his train consisted of two hundred horses and eight hundred camels. He and Spero were at the head of the party; Bertuccio, Jacopo and Coucou followed behind. Before he had left the ship, the count had called his son aside, and putting a map before him, he pointed with his finger to Uargla and said:
"This is the place we must go to—in Uargla we shall find what we are looking for."
Monte-Cristo knew that in the centre of the desert the queen of the oases, Uargla, lay, and that it was the principal refuge of sedition. He had known that Abd-el-Kader's imprisonment was but the commencement of a long and bloody war. The name given him by theZouave, Mohammed ben Abdallah, he knew to be that of a treacherous villain. How did it happen, then, that Monte-Cristo had not recognized in the Arab who enjoyed his hospitality Mohammed ben Abdallah? The count had been rewarded for his generosity by having his cabin broken open, the contents of his safe scattered about, and being told to beware of the Khouans.
What the Fenians are to Ireland, the Thugs to India, the Khouans are to Arabia. They formed a brotherhood whose object was the murder and annihilation of all Europeans and Christians. Monte-Cristo knew the savage nature of these enemies. He was now within four days' journey of Uargla, and began to hope that perhaps he would find what he was seeking. When night came, Monte-Cristo withdrew with Spero to his tent. The count wrote to Haydee. A courier went north every day, but Monte-Cristo had not yet been able to send Mercedes any consolation. Spero, tired out by the fatigues of the day, had fallen asleep, and the father often gazed with pleasure at the finely chiselled face. How many dreams and hopes rested on this son! Yes, when he gazed at Spero, he had to confess that he had dealt too harshly with Morcerf. If he had been a father at that time, he would have hesitated before he had carried out his plan of vengeance. Ah! he must hurry and bring back to Mercedes her son, so that the punishment should not fall on Spero's head.
Suddenly Spero uttered a cry in his sleep, and looked wildly about him.
"No, no; let me go! Papa, help—they are carrying me away—help me!"
Monte-Cristo, frightened, bent over the sleeping boy.
"What is the matter, Spero?" he asked, tenderly; "have you been dreaming?"
"Oh, how glad I am it was only a dream! I will tell it to you."
"Speak, Spero, I am listening. You know," he consolingly added, "dreams are untrue."
"Yes, you have often told me that, and yet—"
The child paused and looked timidly in the corner of the tent.
"Why do you look so timidly over there?" asked the count, anxiously.
"Papa, do not laugh at me," whispered Spero, "but I do not think I was asleep. A little while ago, I saw the curtains of the tent part and a dark form appeared at the aperture."
"When was it, Spero?"
"At the moment when you laid the pen down and came to me."
"You saw me then? You were not sleeping?"
"I do not know, papa; I have read of the eye of the serpent, which frightens the little birds and prevents them from making a single movement. I could not move, and the two men drew near me. They pressed their long hands upon my forehead and wished to drag me off. Then finally I screamed and they disappeared."
Monte-Cristo embraced the excited child and reassuringly murmured:
"Keep quiet, Spero, I am with you."
Monte-Cristo looked thoughtful. Suppose his boy should be taken from him? No, it was nonsense. Spero must have been dreaming.
"Spero," he said, turning to the child, "I shall watchover your slumbers! Lie down again and have no fear. Come, I will kiss you; think of your mother and go to sleep."
The boy smiled now and his pale cheeks grew rosy. His father's voice gave him courage, and, laying his head upon Monte-Cristo's shoulder, he fell asleep, murmuring: "Dear, dear mother."
When he was fast asleep, Monte-Cristo gently withdrew his arm and softly walked to the corner of the tent. The cloth of which the tent was made was very strong and thick, and withstood the rays of the sun and the rain. When the count let his hand glide over it, he almost uttered a cry of astonishment. Spero had not been dreaming! The tent had been cut from top to bottom as if with a sharp sword.
Who had any interest in breaking into his tent? Did they wish to kill him or Spero?
The count turned deadly pale. He had tried to reassure Spero by telling him that dreams were untruths, but he himself felt disturbed. Throwing the curtains of the tent aside, Monte-Cristo went out into the night. The pale moonlight shone full upon the dark rocks. With the sharp glance of an eagle Monte-Cristo gazed about. It seemed hardly possible to him that two men had gone through the camp unhindered and undisturbed, and yet it was so. The cut in the canvas was the best proof of this. Shaking his head, the count returned to the tent and mended the tear in the cloth with fine wire thread. Thereupon he shoved the table near the wall and began to write. Spero could sleep peacefully; his father was watching. Haydee had intrusted the child to him, and he had to bring it back to her in safety.Suddenly he was aroused by the roar of a lion. The count seized a gun, flung his arm about Spero, whom he would not have left alone for the world, and hurried out. The Arabs, stricken with terror, had fled in all directions.
"Let no one stir!" shouted the count above the din. "I will answer for your life, but you must obey my orders."
"Here I am," said Coucou, coming forward. "Master, let me follow you. I know the lion and understand how to fight him."
"Master, take my life, but spare your own," implored Jacopo.
"Jacopo, Coucou," said the count, "I intrust Spero to you, and let no one fire until I do. The first shot belongs to me. If I should miss the lion, then you can take your turn."
A new uproar was heard, followed by the report of a gun.
"A man seems to have attacked the beast," said the count, running in the direction whence the sound proceeded.
To his horror he saw a man lying on the ground, and the lion standing over him with one paw on his breast. It was Bertuccio, Benedetto's foster-father. Carefully, fearlessly, looking into the yellow eye of the king of beasts, Monte-Cristo advanced. The lion growled. The slightest movement would have caused Bertuccio's death. With a bound it sprang at the count. Quick as thought the latter fired. With a roar of pain the majestic beast turned in the air and fell to the ground, dead. The next minute the count knelt at Bertuccio's side. The latter was unconscious. The count raised his pale face, and,dashing some water over it, gradually restored the old man to his senses.
"Bertuccio," he softly said, "do you know me?"
"Yes, master. Ah, the lion has finished me! Its claws were buried like daggers in my breast."
"Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no wish to be carried out? Speak, you know I am your friend."
"Quick, quick!" he whispered, breathlessly; "one more—drop—Spero—you—"
"Drink!" said the count, placing a bottle to his lips.
"Master, beware of your enemies. I saw them, I followed them, and then I met the lion."
"Enemies, you say? How many were there?"
"Two. They were Arabs. Ajassuas, as I believe. Oh, beware of them!"
"Bertuccio, since twenty years you have been a faithful friend to me. Speak, and I swear on my honor I will do what you say."
"My dear master—it is—about—that wretch."
"You speak of Benedetto?"
"Yes. I would have killed him then if you had not held me back, but yet I am glad I did not do it. I ask you as a favor to—"
"To what?"
"To let Benedetto live, if he should ever cross your path. He must not die by your hand."
"I swear not to kill him, Bertuccio; by the head of my child."
Bertuccio muttered his thanks, and passed silently away.
"The lion has conquered the lion," whispered a voice close to the count.
Monte-Cristo turned around and saw a delicate young girl in a white bernouse.
"Who are you?" he gently asked.
At the count's question, the girl passed her small white hand slowly across her forehead, and in a low voice said:
"I am she who no longer has any family, for her family has been tortured; she has no native country, for it has exiled her; no friend, for her only one is in the power of his enemies."
"Then your name is Medje?" exclaimed the count in a sudden fit of joyful inspiration.
"Yes, I am Medje," she proudly answered, throwing back her veil and revealing a countenance of superb beauty.
Coucou now hastened up, and as he beheld the young Arabian, he excitedly exclaimed:
"Medje, commander, it is Medje. Ask her where her 'little papa' is."
Medje turned deathly pale as she heard these words.
She stretched her arms toward the south and mournfully said:
"Little papa is down there, in the sultana's dungeon."
"Do you mean Captain Joliette, whom you call little papa?" asked Monte-Cristo.
"Yes."
"And the sultana is Uargla, the mysterious city?"
The young girl shivered as she replied:
"Yes, Uargla. There he suffers and there, too, he will be killed."
Monte-Cristo waved back those around, and then asked her in a whisper:
"Why did you come here?"
"To look for you."
"For me? Do you know me?"
"No."
"Somebody has told you my name?"
"No."
"Explain yourself more plainly."
"I will tell you everything, but let these men go away."
"Follow me," said the count.
The count ordered Coucou to take charge of the dead lion, and of Bertuccio's body, which would be buried in the morning. He then gazed intently at the girl, and recognized two pale six-cornered stars in dead gold color on her cheeks. This filled him with new hope.
"Poor Bertuccio," sighed the Jackal, "he was a good comrade."
"And a faithful soul," added Monte-Cristo.
Spero came running up, and winding his arm around his father's neck, whisperingly asked:
"Papa, why could I not accompany you?"
"My child, it was a fight with a lion."
"You were not afraid? Why should I have been?"
The handsome boy now, for the first time, perceived Medje, who smiled at him.
"Who is that, papa?" he asked in a whisper.
"A friend, Spero; offer her your hand."
The boy obeyed and Medje raised his hand to her lips, murmuring:
"Son of him who kills lions, may God measure your years by the kisses which your father gives you."
Monte-Cristo clasped his arms around Spero's shoulders and, accompanied by him and Medje, approached the tent. But before he reached it an Arab excitedly ran toward him with outstretched arms.
"Oh, master, hear me. Do not let this woman cross the threshold of the camp."
"Why not?"
"Did you not see the sign on her cheek? She is accursed."
Involuntarily Medje covered her face with her hands.
Monte-Cristo angrily retorted:
"Silence. The weaker have a right to the hospitality of the stronger."
"Oh, my lord. Heed my warning. She is a witch, an accursed fortune-teller. You will be sorry if she enters the camp. She will cast a spell over camels and men."
"All the same, leave me. Medje has placed herself under my protection and I will not deceive her confidence."
The Arabian girl clung weeping to the count.
"Do not grieve," he said, "you have mentioned a name which renders you holy in my eyes."
He then turned to the Arab, and sternly continued:
"You may have your liberty if you desire. But if you have not only spoken in your own name but also in that of your comrades, tell them that Monte-Cristo, the lion-tamer, is afraid of nobody. They may all leave. The desert with its terrors cannot alter my will."
The other Arabs, who had drawn near, heard these words, and enthusiastically exclaimed:
"We will not leave you, lion-killer."
The count nodded and, addressing the Corsican, said:
"Give him double what he claims. In my home no attention is paid to magic; we honor God and laugh at demons."
He slowly entered his tent, and gazing at Spero and Medje, in a friendly tone of voice said:
"Do not be afraid, I am protecting you. Draw nearer, Medje, and answer my questions."
The young girl bowed low in token of obedience, and the count began:
"So you know Captain Joliette?"
"Yes, he saved my life, and thereby became my lord and master."
"You know who has captured him?"
"Yes, they are the enemies of my race as they are of yours. They are called the Ajassuas and fear nothing and nobody—oh, they are the emissaries from the regions below!"
"Are they masters of Uargla?"
"Yes."
"And you assert that Captain Joliette is still alive?"
"Yes, he still lives, I swear it; but he is suffering untold tortures in a damp, dark, subterranean dungeon. Oh, would I could suffer his anguish and terrors for him; he has saved me, and now that he should miserably die!"
Hot tears ran over Medje's brown cheeks, and her small hands were clasped convulsively. Monte-Cristo watched her narrowly, and Coucou's tale that theArabian girl had disappeared almost at the same time as the captain again came into his mind.
"You love Captain Joliette?" he asked.
"Does not the weak child love its father who guides its tottering footsteps? Yes, I love him whose name you have mentioned. He is the strong trunk which gives support to the clinging vine."
"And why do the Arabs refuse to permit you to remain in camp? Your cheeks bear the sign of an accursed caste, the brand of the murderous Khouans."
Medje's face became fiery red.
"Hear me," she said, "before you condemn me. You will be just to me not only on account of your brother but also for the sake of this child."
She pointed to Spero, who had again fallen asleep, and Monte-Cristo, frightened in spite of himself, said:
"Speak. I will not interrupt you again."
"My father," began Medje hastily, "was a mighty Kabyle chief. He was a wise man and his tribe was industrious and prosperous.
"Then came the day when your countrymen, the French, set foot on our sacred shores. My father summoned his tribe to arms, and took part in the battle against the invaders. During a bitter fight between the Europeans and the Arabs a traitor showed the enemy a secret path through the defile, and, taken by surprise, my father saw himself surrounded by the enemy. Our troops had been so decimated by the murderous fire that scarcely more than a hundred remained. A marabout who was in the camp induced them to seek refuge in a cave, and hardly had my father entered it with his troops when the treacherous marabout betrayed hishiding-place to the enemy. They stationed themselves before the opening and fired in on the helpless Arabs, who were caught like rats in a hole.
"In less than half an hour only half of the number were still surviving, and the French called upon them to surrender. My father, all bleeding from his wounds, had an interview with the French general, in which he offered his own life and pledged that none of the tribe of Ben-Ali-Smah would ever again take up arms against the French. This he did on condition that his men were to be let go free. The general accepted the offer and my father took the solemn pledge; then he bared his bosom to be shot.
"But the Frenchman was a noble man, and, taking my father's hand, said that France sought friends and allies in Africa, not slaves. He did not want his life, but his friendship. We lived very happy and peaceful after that, only we were called renegades by the other tribes, and especially the Khouans, that murderous class which believes that it pleases Allah if they shed their fellow beings' blood.
"Five years had elapsed, and I was then twelve years old, when my father gave a great feast in honor of a celebrated French commander who visited our settlement. Suddenly, at midnight, when the festivities were over, and we were all lying in a deep sleep, the Khouans made an attack on our village. My father was assassinated and my mother and I taken prisoners. We were carried into the desert with other prisoners of my tribe. Reaching an oasis, the captives were tied to the trunks of trees, and their limbs hacked off by the murderous Khouans with their yataghans. My mother was one of those torturedto death in this way. Her last words were: 'Medje, avenge us, and remember your father's oath.' I swooned as she died. I was recalled to life by sharp pain on my cheeks. With a shriek I opened my eyes, and saw standing before me a man holding a white-hot iron in his hand, with which he had just branded me.
"'By Allah,' he exclaimed, 'I forbid you to touch this maiden; she carries the sacred sign.'
"All stepped reverently back, and while the terrible pain forced the hot tears out of my eyes they fell on their knees before me and murmured unintelligible words. The man who had saved me was a powerful sheik of the Khouans. I did not then understand the motive of his action. Some old women took me in charge, and I was conveyed still further into the desert. From time to time I fell into a semi-comatose condition, and while my limbs became convulsed I uttered incoherent words, which the old women proclaimed to be prophecies. Much later I discovered that they had put me in this terrible condition by means of opiates. That is how they wanted to make me a Khouan priestess.
"Finally, when I was sixteen years of age, the sheik who had saved my life wanted to make me his wife. He was my father's and mother's assassin, and I hated him. To escape his odious addresses, I plunged a dagger in my breast. I would rather die than belong to him. For weeks I lay between life and death, and when I recovered I determined to flee. A midnight attack on the Ajassuas tribe, as the Khouan caste was termed, gave me the opportunity. I made good my escape, and wandered on and on until I sank senseless from exhaustion on the ground.
"When I recovered my senses I found myself in an oasis near a rippling brook, the clear, cool water of which slaked my thirst, and the fruit of a date-tree stilled my hunger. Guiding myself by the stars I took a northern direction, hoping to find some Frenchman who had been my father's friend. Suddenly, however, I saw a panther's eye gleaming at me from the bushes. I wanted to cry for help, but I could not. The next minute I felt the sharp claws of the wild beast on my back and with a groan sank to the ground.
"I awoke under the kind care of a man who was binding the wound on my shoulder. That man who had saved me from the panther's clutches was Captain Joliette. Days of ineffable bliss followed. The captain took me into his French camp and surrounded me with every care and attention. I called him my 'little papa.' Oh, how I love him! I could place my hands under his feet. He became my teacher, and I soon learned to speak his language. The other soldiers were also kind to me and especially Coucou, who has now recognized me again. The days I spent in the French camp were as if spent in paradise. But alas, misfortune soon threw its black shadow over me.
"One night I awoke in my tent on account of a strange noise. For an instant I saw the black face and gleaming eyes of an Ajassua, then they disappeared and I discovered that the canvas of my tent had been slit from top to bottom with a keen dagger."
As Medje related this incident Monte-Cristo could not repress a slight shudder. Had not Spero had the same experience, and was not the canvas of his tent slit in the same manner? What if the same danger threatened him?
"I could not sleep any more," continued Medje, "and as soon as day came I hastened to the captain's tent. He was on the point of starting out on an expedition with twenty men. I begged him on my knees not to leave me alone behind, but he only laughed at my fears, kissed me on the forehead, and rode off at the head of his small detachment.
"The day seemed to me interminable. When night came and the captain did not return I became terribly anxious. I rushed to the outer posts and gazed fixedly down the roadway. Suddenly I felt myself thrown to the ground, a gag forced in my mouth, my hands and feet were bound with silken cords, and then powerful hands lifted me up on the back of a horse which dashed off at headlong speed.
"How long the mad ride lasted I cannot tell. Finally the gag was taken from my mouth, and through the folds of my veil I recognized the sheik of the Ajassuas, who was bending over me.
"'This time you shall not escape from me,' he declared, and the ride was continued for three days and three nights before we came to a final halt.
"I found myself in Uargla, that terrible city in whose streets blood flows in streams. I was brought into a solid tower of Kiobeh, and the fearful attendants, who saw in me a priestess of Allah, again surrounded me.
"At first I refused all food, wishing to starve to death, but I laid aside this idea, as I had a presentiment that I would still be of some service to my friend. Two days later I heard a terrible noise in the street, and hastening to the grated window of my cell, gazed out.
"I saw a sight which froze my blood with horror.Dark forms clad in long brown cloaks carried a bier made of twigs of trees, and on it, pale, bleeding, and with closed eyes, lay my protector, Captain Joliette.
"I shook my prison bars; I wanted to get out and die with my friend. In vain; the grating did not shake or give way. At this instant I felt myself pulled back, and the man who had dared to make love to me stood before me.
"'Medje,' he said, 'the Frenchman who stole you is in our hands.'
"'And you will kill him, coward,' I cried.
"'No, not yet,' he replied with a smile; 'look!'
"I did so, and saw the captain carried on the bier through the low iron gate.
"'They will put this Christian, as you call him, in a dark cell and keep him there month after month until he longs for death.'
"'And what will you do with me?' I asked.
"'Keep you for myself.'
"I then made an infamous bargain; God forgive me for doing so. I told him I would be his if he would set the captain at liberty. He hesitated at first, but finally accepted. I made him take a solemn oath, and he, in turn, obliged me to do the same.
"'Leave me,' I then said, 'and when you have fulfilled your word, return.'
"He went, and I stood at the window hour after hour. The fatal door did not open. On the fourth day I learned the reason. An order had been issued prohibiting the setting at liberty of any prisoner, and the man to whom I had sworn the oath had quarrelled with the others on account of the order, and had been killed. My hopeto serve my friend was blasted. A strange rumor next reached me that a marabout was preaching immediate massacre, and I knew not whether Captain Joliette was alive or dead. I could now walk about Uargla where I pleased, and I determined one evening to wrap myself in my veil and take advantage of the strange superstition in which I was still held. The sentinel trembled when he saw me. I approached him and said some strange words which came into my head. He threw down his weapons and fled. I passed out of Uargla and strayed into the desert. Allah has guided my footsteps to you. You will save him, I feel it, I know it."
"May Heaven grant your wishes!" said Monte-Cristo, as, leaving the tent, he summoned Jacopo and ordered him to get ready to depart at once.
"Hurrah! we're off at last!" cried Coucou, throwing his cap in the air.
At this instant a discharge of musketry was heard. Monte-Cristo hastened in the direction of the sound, followed by Coucou and about fifty men. The camp appeared to be surrounded, yet, at a shrill cry, which seemed to be a signal, the horsemen suddenly wheeled about and dashed away.
What did it mean? A sudden thought darted through Monte-Cristo's brain. He rushed back to his tent. The couch was empty—Spero was not there! The terrible truth burst on his mind. The attack had been only feigned. The bandits had stolen his boy!
The strong man wept; but, as a hot tear fell on his hand, he shook his head like a lion aroused from his sleep, and shouted:
"To horse! To horse! To Uargla!"
We left Captain Joliette at the moment when the savages commanded by the marabout entered his cell, and a voice had called to him:
"Do not die, captain!"
"Kill him! kill him!" shouted the crowd.
The marabout now advanced toward the captain, and, placing his lean hand on the prisoner's shoulder, said:
"There is but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet!"
The effect of these words on the populace was most magical. They all fell back and opened a space for the approach of a motley group of horsemen.
"The Khouans! the Khouans!" was whispered from one to the other.
They all crowded around and kissed the mantle of the chief.
"You are all cowardly murderers!" cried Albert. "Make an end of it."
"You want to die?" said the chief. "All right; but I warn you that your agonies will be terrible!"
Upon a wink from the chief the captain was tied to a post.
"Bring out the other prisoners!" commanded the Arab chieftain.
They were thirty in number, all French soldiers, and upon the direction of the chief they were led past the post to which Albert was tied.
"Long live our captain!" they cried, as they caught a glimpse of his uniform.
Tears started in Albert's eyes, and he loudly joined in the cry.
The rear of the procession was brought up by a strange-looking person. His walk betrayed the Parisian boulevardier, and the remnants of his clothing confirmed the opinion. When he passed the marabout he cried aloud in French:
"You old fool, you, what are you staring at? You don't want me to admire your ugly face, do you?"
The marabout, who did not understand French, looked at him in astonishment, while the soldiers burst out laughing.
The stranger looked sharply at Albert, and said:
"Captain, by all the saints, you must not die."
"What?" exclaimed Albert, surprised, "it was you who—"
"Yes, I, Gratillet, journalist, Beauchamp's friend and your friend," continued Gratillet. "Captain, we must escape out of this to-night; to-morrow it might be too late."
Albert was encouraged by the journalist's words, and began to hope. But just then a wild tumult arose; the Arabs, yataghans in hand, rushed upon the three nearest prisoners, and literally chopped them in pieces. Having tasted blood, they butchered right and left. Only a few prisoners still remained, and among them was the reporter.
Albert, in a daze, gazed at the massacre and the pools of blood which already threatened to reach his feet.
Gratillet now fell. No shot had struck him. Horror had no doubt put an end to the poor fellow's life.
Before Albert had time to realize the imminent danger of his situation, the scene changed as if by magic. The sheik and his subjects, followed by the marabout, took to their horses and suddenly disappeared. None of them thought of their principal victim, and the captain tried in vain to guess the riddle.
Darkness set in, and by the dying rays of the sun Albert saw a cavalcade coming up the road to Uargla. At the head of the procession rode a tall man, whose green turban denoted that the wearer had made a pilgrimage to Mecca, for only those who visit the Kaaba have the right to decorate themselves with the sacred emblem.
Who could this man be? Albert had never seen him, and yet the green turban appeared to him to be a sign of approaching rescue.
The man who wore this green turban was Maldar. He had been gone a year, and his return had been the signal for the revolt to break out. All the prisoners that were taken he had ordered to be confined until his return from Mecca. He was very angry when he heard that the prisoners had been massacred.
"Unfaithful, traitorous people!" he exclaimed at the mosque at Uargla. "Who told you to disobey my orders?"
The Khouans begged pitifully for mercy.
"Allah demands obedience," continued Maldar; "and now bring the young prisoner, who is waiting in front of the mosque, for the sentence."
The sheik departed, and soon returned with Spero, who was tightly bound. The lad was pale, but courage shone from his dark eyes.
"Come nearer," said Maldar, "and tell me your name."
"Why do you wish to know, and by what right?" asked Spero, folding his arms.
Maldar gnashed his teeth.
"By right of the strong, and with the right to punish you for the sins of your country. What is your name?"
"Spero."
"Spero means hope. Tell me now the name of your father?"
"My father is the Count of Monte-Cristo!"
"I know. Your father is one of those brainless fools who imagine every one must bend the knee to them. What rank does he occupy in your country?"
"He is a prince who governs the souls of men."
"Your father is rich—very rich?"
"What does that concern you?"
"You are brave, and your father must love you."
Spero did not answer, but his eyes sparkled when Maldar spoke his father's name.
"I will know how to strike your proud father; he shall grovel in the dust at my feet. I—"
He stopped short. A new idea seemed to have taken possession of him.
"All the prisoners are dead, are they not?" he asked, turning to a sheik.
"No, master, one still lives, a French officer."
"His name?"
"Captain Joliette."
In spite of his self-control, Spero gave a cry of astonishment, for he knew that it was to rescue the captain that Monte-Cristo had set out for Africa.
"Go," said Maldar, "bring the prisoner here."
The sheik left, and Maldar walked up and down with his big strides.
"Master!" cried the sheik, running in breathlessly.
"Well?"
"Captain Joliette is gone."
"Gone!" screamed Maldar in a rage. "Within one hour he must be brought back to the Kiobeh. If not you must answer with your head; and now bring the lad to the iron chamber, and see that he does not escape!"
By what miracle had Albert escaped?
The reader will recollect that Gratillet had fallen into the sea of blood which had streamed from the wounds of the victims. As soon as the Khouans had gone a flock of vultures immediately encircled the scene of the massacre and began to hover about the dead bodies.
Albert was leaning with closed eyes against the post, when a well-known voice angrily cried:
"Captain, let us think now of our rescue."
It was Gratillet.
"Let me die," murmured Albert, wearily. "I do not care to live any more."
"You are talking nonsense. Die, forsooth! Shake off your torpor and be a man."
"Through what miracle did you recover your life?"
"None, I tell you. I never was dead; only shamming. Oh, if I only had a knife."
While Gratillet was talking he worked at Albert's cords with his teeth and nails, and finally succeeded in freeing him.
"And now," he said, "let's decamp, and that as soon as possible."
The two men were soon on the road, the journalist peering about and keeping up a lively conversation.
"Here is a narrow pathway!" exclaimed the reporter suddenly. "Captain, lie down on the ground near me, and we can continue our little walk on all-fours."
Albert followed the journalist's orders, and the next minute was lying on the ground near his companion.
"Well done," said Gratillet. "Now we must be very careful, for it is pitch dark and banisters are unknown in Uargla. Ah, now I know where the pathway comes from. It is a ditch which gets the rain from the rocks."
"Do you need a cord?" asked Albert. "If so, I have a scarf which answers the same purpose."
"Is it strong?"
"Best of wool and perfectly new."
"How long is it?"
"Four yards."
"Then give it to me."
Albert handed it to him and he bound it about his arms. This done, Gratillet swung himself over a precipice and began his dangerous journey.
"Flying is not so bad after all," said the reporter. "It is doing splendidly and I—"
The scarf broke and Gratillet fell to the bottom, carrying Albert along, who had held one end of it.
At the same moment the discharge of musketry was heard. Had they escaped from Scylla to fall into Charybdis?
"Forward—to Uargla!" Monte-Cristo had exclaimed when he became aware of the loss of his son. Medje urged her horse close to that of the count; he noticed her, and a dark suspicion took possession of him.
"Go back, you traitress!" he angrily exclaimed. "You have delivered my son over to the Khouans."
A deadly pallor overspread Medje's fine features, and sobbing bitterly she let her head fall on the horse's neck.
"Oh, master!" she said, "why do you accuse me?"
"Pardon me, child," said Monte-Cristo gently; "sorrow for the loss of my dear son has made me crazy. Oh, if I could only find him again."
"Courage, dear master, courage! Our horses are as swift as the wind. You will conquer the Khouans. The lion-killer is invincible!"
After an exhausting ride of three long hours they beheld the minarets of Uargla. Monte-Cristo divided his men in two companies; one he commanded with Jacopo and Medje, the other he placed in charge of Coucou. Their muskets were loaded, and hardly had the count arranged his plan of attack, than the gates of Uargla were opened and a band of horsemen rode forward tomeet him. The Frenchmen allowed the Arabs to approach close to them and then fired their first salvo. A second one followed, and through the narrow streets the Count of Monte-Cristo and his men entered Uargla. A scene of indescribable confusion ensued. The Arabs fled in all directions.
In the meantime Coucou at the head of his little company had entered through the eastern door, and, having to avenge the murder of his friends, he struck blows to the right and left.
"This for Jacques! This for Pierre! This for Jean! Back, you brown devils!"
When Monte-Cristo had reached the foot of the Kiobeh, Medje said:
"It is here."
"Light the torches!" commanded Monte-Cristo.
It was done.
"In the name of Allah, the merciful and charitable God," exclaimed the count.
Three times he repeated the words. For a time all was silent. After a while the door of the fortress opened and Maldar appeared on the threshold.
"Who are you, who comes here as an enemy?"
"Let us not fight with words," replied Monte-Cristo. "It was your people who first attacked us."
"Blood has flowed," replied Maldar, coldly; "and it falls back upon your head."
"Your people have made prisoners; sneakingly surprised people at night and carried them away. What have you done with these prisoners?"
"They are dead."
"All?"
"All!"
"All dead?" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, trembling. "Woe to you, if you have spoken the truth."
"You are false servants of the prophet," cried Medje, "and Allah's eternal curse will rest upon you. Have you heard?" she added, turning to Monte-Cristo's companions; "the wretch says he has murdered all the prisoners."
"In the devil's name!" exclaimed Coucou. "He shall pay for that."
"You acknowledge that you were cowardly enough to murder defenceless men," said Monte-Cristo, after a pause, to Maldar; "have you been so base as to kill an innocent child?"
"Are you speaking of your own son?"
"Yes. Is my son dead?"
"Your son still lives," replied Maldar.
Monte-Cristo uttered a cry. His son lived and was behind these walls.
"You are Maldar. You have enjoyed my hospitality. What crime have I committed that you should punish me through my child?"
"The crime of your race! You are a son of France."
"You say I am a son of France. Have you not served that country too?"
"Only dissimulation. I waited for a favorable opportunity."
"What will you do with my son?"
"The decision depends on you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Come with confidence to us," replied Maldar,earnestly. "In the citadel I will discuss your son's ransom with you."
"Do not go, master," cried Coucou; "they are laying a trap for you."
Monte-Cristo strode, nevertheless, toward the door.