Beadle's Dime Library No. 157 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

——— Mourad, the Mameluke. —_——- = = ' Se ere a aapn een —— > <_ ———., Suers, and you cannot fig till an hour ago, and I have been over the whole camp. can draw a plan if you like. Aha! here is our black friend coming back. Not dead yet. Come, let us kill the dog, He was the first man to call out as I fled.” In fact, at that moment they saw the negro on the white borse, trying tu skirt away round them to the Turkish camp. The stranger bad put his horse to a slow . canter to intercept the crippled man, when St. ma! suddenly seized his bridle. ‘‘ No,” said the creole firmly, ‘‘ he is helpless and we do not need him. Let him go.” The young stranger flushed angrily ‘‘Let go my bridle,” he cried. think you can stop Mourad the Mameluke? I am going to kill him!” | For all answer St. George, releasing the bridle, seized the other round the arms and held bim with a gripe of iron, while he shouted to the wounded negro: “Run! Run!” The black seemed to understand him, for he increased his pace, while the stranger writhed in the arms of St. George, but all in vain, so great was the creole’s strength, till a side leap of his horse separated the two and St. George let him drop on the ground. The stranger was up in a moment, oreo. in a tone of fury to hisown charger, which ha galloped away, and the obedient creature was returning when St. George caught the bridle. ‘* No, no,” cried the creole,‘* you cannot have bim till that poor devil is safe. We French do not murder cripples.” Mourad the Mameluke, as he had ealled him- self, stamped his foot with fury and drew a. pistol, ‘Insolent!” he cried. ‘ You shall repent thi.. Let go my horse or I fire.” ‘If you fire, you are a coward,” was the Steady reply. ‘‘ We saved am from your pur- t us without dis- grace,” ‘But you insult me,” cried Mourad, though he lowered his pistol. ‘'I demand satisfaction.” ‘You shall have it,” answered St. George Sen, ‘*T see that poor fellow is out of dan- ger. Here is your horse.” He let the animal go, and it instantly trotted np to its master, who sprung on its back, drew = saber — —_ just about to rush on St. yeorge, when angere ag Se by ridin up beside Mourad and seizing h sword: arm by ‘surprise, ers the saber. ‘* No,” said the Gascon firmly. ‘‘I cannot let this goon, You are a deserter and my pris- oner. [aman officer. Sergeant St. George, I forbid you to fight under penalty of arrest. The Mameluke deserter seemed to be tho- roughly taken aback. . e looked helplessly from one to the other and at last burst out laughing. ‘Manners have changed in France,” he said at last, ‘‘or two gentlemen would not interfere with another. at is the way with the canaille. Have I made a mistake? Are you not gentlemen?” . ! Lafangere frowned; for he was an ardent Red Republican. . ‘‘We have no gentlemen now. We are all citizens. Are you an aristocrat?” The s did not seem to understand him, for he a moment and then asked: ‘‘ Who is king of France, now?” St. George gave a short laugh. ‘We have no king. We are all equal. We cut off the head of Louis Capet, who used to be ao years ago.” young Mameluke seemed to be utterly astounded by the news. ‘*Dead!” he muttered. ‘“‘No king! What then is France?” ‘The republic, one and indivisible,” was the ‘simultaneous reply, at which Mourad the Mame- lake uttered a sort of sigh, and then said quiet- y: | ‘‘] surrender, gentlemen—no, citizens I mean —I have not seen France since I wasa boy. I will go with you where you wish. He rode quietly on with them, his head hang- ing as if he were much de , and when La- fangere offered him his saber, he shook his head, saying: : Never mind. I shall not need it. When I left France the sword was the wea of a gen- tleman; and you say there are no longer gentle- me You mistake,” said 8b. George gently. “ W ‘You ,” sai e y: ) are all gentlemen now, if we do Sot sully our honor, Itis honor and truth that mark the gentleman.” ‘*Monsieur—I mean the ci will, I trust, excuse me,” answered the uther th cold polite- ness. noble, though I have bee Iam astonished by your news. Give to become used to new order of things. A land without gentlemen! The king dead) Then how do you carry on the govern- ment without a nobility?’ a slave for twelve ‘‘ We govern ourselves,” returned Lafangere proudly, ‘‘and any man in France can rise if have the talent. If you are of noble birth, citizen, I would advise you to keep it secret.” The deserter gave a short bitter laugh. “Do you “I have, I own, the misfortune to be. ‘‘Did I say I was noble? It wasa lie. I am Mourad the Mameluke. Call me nothing else. That is enough. Iam in your power of course, if you choose to betray me, but you may be men of honor. At least you can use a sword.” Lafangere stopped his horse. ‘*Do you doubt my honor, citizen?’ he asked. Mourad laughed again. ‘*] doubt no man’s honor,” he answered. “ You " there are no gentlemen left in France, satisfied, citizen. I am a prisoner.” Lafangere looked doubtfully at him as if he would like to provoke a duel, but St..George coughed warningly and they rode on in silence till they came to the French outposts, where they were halted in the usual fierce style of the day. ee the Mameluke listened to the short colloquy that ensued, and, as they finally rode past the sentry, observed in a low tone, as if be yey ‘‘ And they have Sonees Se uniform too.” ‘“* Yes,” answered St. rge quietly. ‘We leave white to the Austrians now. e have the tricolor for our flag and we wear the blue uniform. You are going now to the general’s head quarters.” ‘What is the general’s name?” asked the Mameluke as they went on, ‘*General Bonaparte,” was the proud answer. ‘*The greatest soldier in Europe.’ It was St. George that spoke, but Lafangere interposed rather we | ‘* Not so, comrade. neral Pichegru is as a man, or Moreau or Hoche. You men of taly think no one like your own general.” Si. George smiled but made no answer. “The stranger listened and shook his head. ‘*Bonaparte, Pichegru, Moreau—these are all new names. I never heard them.” " bef where have you lived all these years?” inquired Lafangere amazed. ‘In Egypt,” was the simple reply. ‘‘We have no journa/s here, and slaves are not per- mitted to hear wuch news. But this General Bonaparte, who is he?” ‘* A Corsican artillery officer,” said the sword- master with a . “A man of yesterday.” ‘‘A man of genius,” corrected St. George, ‘‘ who in his first campaign took more prison- ers and guns than he had in his own army and drove three Austrian generals into the Tyrol one after the other. | ver, comrade, your general now.”’ 3 Lafangere shrugged his shoulders silently. At that early period there was a great deal of jealousy among the different. armies of France, and the wonderful genius of the young Corsican. was not fully recognized among soldiers who had never served under him. However, the swordmaster gaid no more, for they were approaching the modest head-quar- ters of the general followed by a buzz of com- ment from the troops at the sight of three Ma- melukes riding into the midst of the army, and in a few moments more St. George pulled up, dismounted and stood stiffly before a slender figure by a little fire, saying: ‘‘The Mamelukes have nothing but ship’s guns, general. Wehave a Frenchman with us, who has been a slave and made his escape. He can tell you the rest.” The young general had been standing by the fire in this mB attitude of ~ women ty * = head bent, his hands behind his back. He looked up quickly. ‘: Where is the deserter?” ‘‘Here, general.” He beckoned, and the gorgeous Mameluke dismounted and bowed slightly with a certain grace in his movement that did not escape the general's keen gray eyes... re “You are a Frenchman?” he asked sharply, “IT was, monsieur le general.” ‘‘ Aha! you are noble?” tone was low and confidential. ‘**T was once.” There was a bitter tone in the reply. ‘* What is your name?’ pond general affected not to notice the tone. e. The creole sergeant gave a violent start, and the ral looked at him steryiy. * Ser you forget yourself. My soldiers are never su i he turned to the Mameluke. a re were you born?” ‘*In Martinique.” “Hee 4 - Egypt, d how | . came ° an w iong have.you been hare!” “It is a long story 7 ** Make it aes and it.” The Mameluke stiff nodded y: ‘You have the right to give ord own oe [am a gen always if you please.” The general smiled slightly. ‘* You will oblige me by telling.” A courtly bow from the Mameluke. ‘‘T am at monsieur’s service, I was sent as a child to France to be educated. The ship sailed for Toulon by the Strait of Gibraltar. We were taken by an Algerine corsair, and I was sold os slave.” ** How old were you?” in your father ‘Ten, monsieur,” ‘What year was it?” ‘* Seventeen eighty-six.” This time the general started slightly. ‘The very year I graduated from Brienne. You are then twenty-two?’ ‘* Yes, monsieur.” ** But how came you in Egypt?” ‘‘My master came here and sold me to Mou- rad Bey, in whose service I have been ever since.” ‘*Very good. Can you tell me his force?’ ‘*He has seventy gunsin position, with twelve thousand Mamelukes and some forty thousand infantry, who will run if the Mamelukes are beaten.” ‘* Has he any field guns?” ** Not one. The Turks use nonein Egypt.” The general turned away and paced up and down in thought forsome moments. At last he came to St. rge. ‘* You will be lheutenant to-morrow,” hesaid, kindly. ‘‘I have told my adjutant to make out your commission. Who is your friend holding the horses?” He looked at Lafangere as he spoke. y Lafangere, maitre darmes of the Seventh Dragoons,” replied the Gascon, saluting. ‘You will re to me after the battle of to morrow,” said the general, with a smile of pe- culiar favor. ‘‘ The Republic likes to reward brave officers. Go now. I wish to speak to this gentleman alone.” Lafangere and St. George saluted and went away, and the creole, as soon as they were out of hearing, : ‘* Well, what do you think of the general?” Lafangere broke out warmly. “He isa grand man, it is a powsre to be under him. I even think he could t Pichegru, if it comes to that,” St. George laughed. **I told you you would think so. Heis the greatest soldier in the world.” Then he seemed to become gloomy all of a sudden, and Lafangere asked: ‘* What is the matter, comrade?” “Did you hear what the deserter said was his name?” asked the creole slowly. ‘No. What was it?” ‘* The same «s mine.” ‘“* Has he as good a right to it?” St. George’s eyes flashed. ‘‘The creoles say no, but, thank God, the Republic has changed that. evertheless he is my brother.” CHAPTER V. THE DISPATCH. Inthe midst of the captured intrenchment of Embabeh, surrounded by dead bodies, overturn- ed guns and carri and all the hideous con- fusion of a place that has been taken‘by assault, stood the young General Bonaparte, at evening of the next day, his long hair tossed back from his pale face, while he hastily wrote on the top of a soldier’s knapsack a letter which secmed to interest him greatly. His gray eyes flashed as he wrote and a smile was on his lips: for the letter was a love epistle. And yet it was only to his wife. But_in those early days the young a oa adored his creole wife, and his first care after a victory was to. send her one of his short nervous openiee- He had done so in Italy, and now at e other end of the earth he did not neglect the habit. And truly it was a triumphant letter he wrote, and such as few other men could have “ HEART OF ur hares | aa ‘I send you the love of my whole nature from un- der the shadow of the F surrounded by the arms of Victory, w cannot make me forget yours, Ah, my Jose hine, what torment is it to think that a thousand miles of ocean roll between by wishing. I have e. We have driven everything else, for the Mamelukes into the Nile; Mourad <3 a ive; Cairo is ours; a Sr ae sonly, oh! if Josephine were he to see her own aap one kiss from you would be more pegoas all But we cannot be he ro tous: and as soon as I Mth ony yeh ore I shall fly to oo. The five who call es In the mean time keep on d learn all you can for me; for I have no from France for some months. Tsend you this by a gentleman from Martinique, who has been a slave among the Turks for twelve years. His name is Saint George. Treat him well and send Thine own : “ NAPOLEON.” As . Le gsm a enon ine, letter he looked up an in an one: | , ‘* Volunteers to go to France!” It was ludicrous to notice the eager way in shirk all the officers leaped toward him, ng: ans General, me! Take me!” | EGoOmice S (E(0)