XXV

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”⁠ ⁠… “Allah! Allah!”⁠ ⁠… “Death to the unbelievers!”⁠ ⁠… “Perish the Nazarenes!”

Saïd awoke to the consciousness of a frightful uproar streaming in with a sunbeam through the open door. The whole city was filled with it⁠—wrapt in it as in a mist. Frenzied shouts for Allah and the Prophet, devilish yells and cries of exultation mingled with the run of a great multitude in the street without, the distant beat of a drum and a sound of desultory firing.

The tavern, in deep shadow, was empty save for the old beggar, who stood over him brandishing a curved knife like a sickle in his sound hand, while with the withered he pointed to the piece of an iron bar which lay on the ground close to Saïd. A fierce devil looked out at his eyes.

“Arise, O sluggard!” he cried with a mad laugh. “Is this a time to sleep and be lazy? Come, let us out! There will be blood!⁠—blood⁠—blood of unbelievers to flush the streets like water! Aha, the dogs of the city shall drink rare wine tonight!”

Saïd’s eyes caught fire from the speaker’s. Grasping the iron, he sprang to his feet. “Ready!” he cried; and with a bound like a wild beast’s they cleared the threshold together.

A live stream filled the alley⁠—a torrent of men and boys; all with the murder-light in their eyes, all flourishing weapons, all racing in one direction. The current caught them and swept them along.

“In case we be sundered in the tumult,” breathed Mustafa, “meet me in the place thou knowest⁠—in the secret place of our treasure among the gardens⁠—at the hour of sunset. Forget not!”

Saïd turned his head to answer; but the old man was torn away from him in a sudden eddy of the human tide to avoid the frantic kicking of a donkey which held the middle of the causeway. He found himself roughly shouldered between two Drûz of giant build, clad in the black-and-white cloak and white linen turban of their tribe. Each had a long-barrelled gun slung across his back and a knife in his hand. They ran steadily, with teeth clenched and eyes full of a grim purpose, hustling Saïd along with them unawares.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”⁠ ⁠… The mountaineers, though unbelievers, joined lustily in the cry of El Islâm. They had come fifty miles in pursuit of their quarry and now they had run him to earth. “Dìn ’hammed!” a child’s voice piped manfully; and Saïd beheld a little boy in a man’s arms, brandishing a toy knife as he was borne along, crowing for joy of the merry race and the shouting. There was a stoppage in front; but those behind still continued to push on, regardless of the protests of such as were tall enough to see the nature of the obstacle.

The giant on Saïd’s right proclaimed that certain persons of authority were sorting the crowd, sending some this way, others that, to join bands already at work. He licked his lips as he added that he himself had slain fifty Maronites between the first hour and the fourth, at the taking of Zahleh. By Allah, it was the business to whet a man’s appetite. He remembered to have eaten a whole sheep that day⁠—to have rent it limb from limb and devoured it yet warm and uncooked, he was so hungry. But his remarks were lost for the most part in the general uproar.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!⁠ ⁠…” Saïd was past the obstacle, speeding over the rough pavement of a lane in shadow. The sky, a narrow streamer of living blue, seemed to flutter and wave overhead as he ran with throbbing brow and panting chest. With the two Drûz and a hundred others he was told off to join a part of the mob who were gone to raze the house of the Muscovite Consul, whose ill-timed meddling had fired the people. The two Drûz lost their eagerness.

“What have we to do with this Frank?” Saïd heard one say to the other. “Let us turn⁠—what sayest thou? Our enemies are yonder!”

“True,” breathed the other; and they slackened so as to drop behind.

The house of the Consul was already in flames when Saïd’s reinforcement came up. Little pillars and wreaths of brown smoke curled upward from it, to condense in a low cloud like a frown upon the tranquil sky. A seething, roaring throng, close-packed from wall to wall, choked every approach. By mounting on a high stone beside a doorway Saïd contrived to see what was doing.

Furniture and other goods, which the greed of the insurgents had dragged from the burning house, were being tossed back into the blaze by order of an aged man invested with some sort of authority. This person seemed some prophet or dervìsh⁠—a holy man in any case, for he was naked save for a loose shirt of sackcloth, and his legs and arms were almost black through long exposure. He capered about in a solemn measure, screaming, praising Allah, and exhorting the faithful to fresh exertions.

There was a movement on the outskirts of the crowd. Where was the good in standing idle, looking on at the prowess of others, when there was work enough for every man that day?

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”⁠ ⁠… Even to Saïd’s maddened brain it occurred that there was some rough order in the mob. A band of butchers were there in their slaughterhouse garb, with long knives dripping blood not of beasts. Men forced their way into homes, he among them, upsetting costly furniture, trampling rich carpets in their zeal to seize on the inmates. These they spat upon, spurned, insulted and dragged out into the street, where the aforesaid butchers waited to despatch them.

Girls were embraced brutally and borne shrieking away in the arms of men whose clothing was bespattered with the blood of a father or mother. Crones strained and knotted their wizened throats in supplication for the spark of life that yet warmed them. Dwellings were looted, then set on fire. Saïd, in his search of the house of a rich merchant, saw a foot peeping out from a heap of bedding. He laid hold of it and, pulling with a will, elicited an old, white-bearded man whose face was grey with terror. He shrieked to Miriam, Mother of God, to help him; but Saïd had him fast by the throat, thin and grisly as a hen’s, and soon pitched him headlong down a short flight of stone steps. He toppled senseless at the feet of one of the butchers, who, being idle for the moment, knifed him at once.

The thought of Ferideh, awaiting his further pleasure in the safe keeping of old Nûr, filled the fisherman with a kind of drunken joy. She had bitten his arm last night and the wound pained him yet. What matter! There would be plenty of leisure to punish and tame her by-and-by. She would learn to worship him in the beautiful house he would build for her out of her father’s hoard. His brain whirled. He had the strength of two men. He saw all things in the redness of eyelids closed against the sun; felt and cared for nothing save the lust of blood and the joy of killing.⁠ ⁠… “Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

A sound of firing came out of the distance⁠—a single volley followed by faint cries. One or two strained ears to listen; but the hoarse shouts of the slayers and piercing shrieks of their victims made it hard to ascertain noises more remote. Zeal continued unabated. Men, women and children were dragged out of the shadowy doorways to be hacked to death on the causeway beneath the ribbon of peaceful blue sky which the smoke of burning houses began to veil in part. The mob jeered and reviled their last agonies. Some were found to spit in the faces of the newly slain. And the name of Allah was in every man’s mouth.

Of a sudden a tremor ran through the multitude. The uproar dwindled to a murmur, above which terrified cries were heard, growing louder and nearer.

“The soldiers!”⁠—“The soldiers have scattered us!”⁠—“Allah destroy them!”⁠—“They have killed Ahmed, my brother!”⁠—“I am wounded even to death!”

The broken remnant of some other band poured headlong from the arched entry of a by-street and made haste to mingle and lose themselves in the stagnant crowd which choked their way. They came running, beards on shoulders, faces blanched with fright, and slipped in among the throng as a lizard slips under a stone for safety.

The butchers stayed their hands and wiped their knives on the skirts of their clothing. The feeders poured out of doorways to hear the news. Saïd struck a squealing Nazarene on the head with his iron bar and looked out from the lattice of the upper storey where he found himself. He glanced down upon the press of dark fezes and light turbans in fierce sunlight and plum-coloured shadow. The sea of heads rolled purposeless like beads unstrung from a chaplet. All at once a yell of rage uprose.

“The soldiers!⁠—Allah cut their lives!⁠—The soldiers!⁠—let us slay them!⁠—Let us fly!⁠—Let us stone them to death who favour the infidels!” At the street end, where there was a great pool of sunlight, Saïd caught the glint of gun-barrels and recognised the uniform of the irregular troops. He saw a sword flash as an officer of high rank flourished it; and through all the cursing of the mob he heard a word of command, short and gruff like the grunt of a pig. A howl of execration rent the air. The front rank of the troops were taking deliberate aim at the rioters.

Saïd beheld the surging sea of heads with the unconcerned pity of an angel or a sage. Packed close as they were down there, every shot must tell. He gave warm praise to Allah Most High, who had placed His servant in that upper chamber, whence he could observe all that passed without peril.

Then he saw a strange sight. The rabble had shrunk back before the muzzles of the rifles covering them. Across the space of pavement thus deserted rushed the wild figure he had observed before the Consul’s house. The holy one ran up to the officer and confronted him with gestures of command and entreaty.

“Shall Muslim war with Muslim?” A shrill voice rang clear on the hush which ensued. “Will you then separate yourselves from the cause of Allah and His Apostles to side with pagans and idolaters? Will you shoot down the servants of the Highest like dogs? I heard a voice in the night saying, Go to the city, Es-Shâm, and tell the dwellers there: The word of Allah to such as are faithful. Slay me the unbelievers which aspire to sit in high places! Slay the whole race of them, the child with the strong man, the woman giving suck with the aged one whose eyes are dim! Let not a soul of them remain alive, for the welfare of Islâm is in it!⁠—Will you then anger the Praiseworthy? Will you then.⁠ ⁠…”

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

The words of the saint were drowned in a shout which thrilled Saïd to the marrow and made tears start in his eyes. The officer took a written paper embodying his orders and tore it to little pieces. The soldiers flung down their rifles with a great noise. With frantic exclamations the crowd surged towards them, enveloped them, embraced them and made them one with it. The Colonel waved his sword on high, shouting for Allah and the Prophet. It was who should kiss his hand, his scabbard, his clothing⁠—anything that was his.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!⁠ ⁠…” The mob, thus reinforced, set to work once more. “To the French convent!” someone shouted. “Let the nuns be ravished and then slain!” The cry was taken up on all hands with laughter and coarse jibes. “The nuns! The nuns!” “Aha, the nuns are sweet!” “They have kept their flower for us, the darlings!” “Let us see how the nuns are fashioned!”

There was a breathless rush, of sheep following blindly the track of an unseen leader. Saïd was more than once crushed against a wall of the narrow ways they traversed; but he was stalwart and held his own. Then there was a standstill. Those in front hammered at a strong door, while those behind stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to see what was doing.

All at once there was a backward movement. Another panic got hold of the crowd. A cry, “The soldiers!” was again raised; but was received with jeers by such of the mob as were of that calling. A small troop of armed men rode up to the door of the nunnery. They were seen plainly of all, towering as they did on horseback above the seething mass on foot. Most of them rode their chargers at the foremost, who drew back in alarm; while a few, among whom was the leader, dismounted and entered the convent, the door of which was promptly opened to them.

A mighty roar went up from the multitude.

“It is Abdul Cader!”⁠—“May Allah preserve his Grace!”⁠—“He goes to take vengeance upon his enemies!”⁠—“It was the French who wronged and imprisoned him, though he fought them brave as a lion!”⁠—“He is come to claim the French nuns for his harìm!”⁠—“Allah is just!”⁠—“May all the Franks perish, and their women be dishonoured!”⁠—“Long live the might of Islâm!”⁠—“May Allah preserve Abdul Cader, the glory of the Faith!”

But applause was turned to oaths and howls of rage when the hero and his officers reappeared, escorting with respect a train of black-robed nuns, each with the obnoxious cross shining on her bosom. The horsemen closed around them as a bodyguard; the leaders sprang to their saddles. Then the fury of the crowd broke all bounds. The coolness of the rescuers as they rode away had a point of contempt which stung the rout to madness.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”⁠ ⁠… “Death to the enemies of Allah!”⁠ ⁠… “Who dares protect those whose lives are forfeit to Islâm!”⁠ ⁠… “Perish Abdul Cader!”⁠ ⁠… “Death to the traitors of Eljizar.” Raging like a winter-torrent, the crowd surged forward in pursuit. The horsemen were constrained to a foot’s pace, having regard to the women in their midst. The mob was close upon them. Stones and other missiles began to whizz through the air. Of a sudden the whole mass swayed back, every man jostling his neighbour.

Abdul Cader had turned his horse about and was sitting motionless, his eyes ranging sternly over the sea of turbaned heads and swarthy, malignant faces. A last stone, flung at random from the heart of the throng, struck his arm and made him wince. He raised a hand to his tarbûsh, commanding silence. An awestricken hush spread like a breath over the crowd. This man was the established idol of the populace. He was the greatest living hero of Islâm, and at heart they gloried in his intrepidity.

“What is this, O my friends?” His voice rang out clear and measured. “Will you provoke the wrath of Allah against this city? Will you anger Him so that He turn away His face from us forever? It has been told you how I have fought for Islâm⁠—ay, and borne imprisonment and exile for our holy Faith. But I tell you I would rather be the meanest Christian slain this day in the sight of Allah than one of you whose hands are red with his blood. Shame on you, Muslimûn!⁠—Shame on you, I say! Would to Allah I had gone to my grave ere ever this day dawned for the Faith!”

He gazed for a moment, silent on the silent crowd; then, turning, set spurs to his horse and cantered away. But the foremost, among whom was Saïd, saw that his eyes glistened.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” It was the holy man who raised the shout once more, waving his gnarled brown arms above the crowd. “Who dares withstand the justice of Allah? Slay him also, who rescues the condemned of God! Onward! Dìn! Dìn!”

But the words of Abdul Cader had wrought a change in the temper of the multitude. Some there were who lagged behind. Saïd’s thirst for blood was somewhat slaked by this. There was time, he bethought him, to visit Ferideh and snatch a kiss from her before keeping his appointment with Mustafa. He slipped aside into an archway which gave access to a shady passage barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, and made his way by forsaken paths to the prison of his desire. And ever as he went the roar of the tumult was in his ears, now loud and near, now soft and melting in the distance, like the thunder of surf upon a rockbound coast:

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”