6. The Strange Ship
The first light of day was followed almost at once by the first blastof heat. Then the sun rose, a burning red ball that seemed to rollacross the eastern horizon with steadily increasing speed, as though togain momentum for leaping into the sky.
The rein hung slack and Ali dozed in the saddle as Ben Akbar pacedsteadily onward. When the bright sun flashed in his eyes, Ali awakenedand halted his mount with, "Ho, my brother! Let us stop."
Ben Akbar halted, knelt when commanded to do so, and Ali dismounted.
As the sun climbed higher and grew hotter, Ali pondered his presentsituation, the immediate past and the probable future. In his mind'seye, he drew a map of the general area and of his approximate position.
At a rough estimate, Mecca was halfway down the east shore of the RedSea, a great sweep of water whose most northerly waves break on theSinai Peninsula and whose southern extremity mingles with the Gulf ofAden, a thousand or more miles away. Directly to the east was the landof the Arabs. Ali's native Syria was northeast, and beyond Syria layTurkey.
Since it was manifestly impossible to cross the Red Sea without asuitable ship, Ali's choice of directions were north, south and east. Itwas a difficult choice, for, wherever he went, he would still be in aland of Moslems. Even if he might somehow contrive to cross the Red Sea,he must necessarily disembark in Moslem Egypt.
Because he had shed blood in Holy Mecca, he was and forever must beoutcast by all true Moslems. Moreover, with thousands of home-goingpilgrims and each one an indignant bearer of the tale of desecration,very shortly Ali would be a marked man throughout the Moslem world. AnyMoslem who killed him would be honored, not prosecuted.
Now all that belonged to the dead past. This was the living present, andAli wondered curiously why he was unable to regard that present in thegrave light cast by facts as they were. He'd gained in Mecca the covetedright to call himself Hadji Ali, and, considering the turn ofcircumstances that now meant nothing whatever. It made not the slightestdifference what name he carried. But, far from surrendering to despairor even giving way to anxiety, Ali felt that the _Hadj_ had brought hima whole new future and that it had never been so hopeful.
He stroked the _dalul's_ neck with affectionately understanding hands.Ben Akbar made happy little noises with his mouth and the rein trailedin the desert sand. Ali stooped to pick it up. The rein was notnecessary because he could still guide Ben Akbar by voiced commands,but, since he was setting out on what would most certainly be a longjourney, he had felt that it was desirable to have proper trappings forhis mount.
As soon as Ali began to plan ahead after his flight from Mecca, hedecided that he must reach the camp of Al Misri, the most accessiblesource of camel harness, before the soldiers were able to bring theirnews there. He accomplished that by making Ben Akbar kneel when both hadrun a safe distance, then mounting and riding at full speed until he waswithin a discreet distance of the camp. There--even if he has completedthe _Hadj_, a camel's groom must not be caught riding a _dalul_ reservedexclusively for the Pasha of Damascus--Ali dismounted and walked therest of the way.
Familiar figures about the camp, the pair attracted only indifferentglances from the sentries. As though he were acting under orders, Aliwent directly to the supply tent to choose a proper saddle and bridle.The bridle presented no problem, but Ali was able to find a saddle onlyafter rejecting a dozen of the biggest ones and finally hitting upon thelargest of all. In superb condition, Ben Akbar's sleek hump seemed readyto burst. None but the biggest saddle would fit.
However, foreseeing probable hardship, and the consequent shrinking ofthe _dalul's_ hump, Ali gathered up a sufficient supply of saddle pads.Finally, he chose a goatskin water bag and, as payment for all, left thesingle coin that had remained to him after paying for his _ihram_. Itwas not enough, and he knew it, but it was all he had.
Leading Ben Akbar, Ali filled his water bag at the oasis and went on.The sentries who watched all this but failed to act were lulled partlyby the fact that Ali was a familiar part of the camp and, as far as thesentries knew, above suspicion. They were further disarmed by the veryaudacity of the scheme. Nobody, certainly not a camel's groom, wouldwalk brazenly into a camp commanded by Al Misri and steal trappings toequip the Pasha's prized _dalul_, which he also intended to steal!
A safe distance from camp, Ali mounted and rode. He struck inland,veering away from the route that would be selected by most of thehome-going pilgrims, letting Ben Akbar choose his own moderate pace allnight long. Nobody could follow him in the darkness, anyhow, and it waswise to spare his mount.
Now, as he stood beside the reclining _dalul_ and the burning sunpursued its torrid course, Ali considered that which was as inevitableas the eventual setting of the sun.
It was a foregone conclusion that some tracker had taken the trail assoon as he was able to see it, and the pursuers would waste no time. Norwould they ever give up. Who stole a _dalul_ from the Pasha of Damascusmight escape only if he sought and found asylum with one of the Pasha'spowerful enemies. But who desecrated Holy Mecca would never find safetyin any Moslem land. In addition, Ali thought, the officer and all themen who'd been with him would now make a heretic's punishment a point ofhonor, a blood quest from which only death would free them.
Ali still saw hope that could not have been without Ben Akbar. Asindividuals, either was assailable. Together, they were invincible.
Counting from the time they'd left Al Misri's camp to the first light ofday, Ali gave meticulous consideration to the pace set by Ben Akbar andthe type of terrain they'd traveled. When finished, he knew within a fewrods either way just how far they had come and within a few minutes,plus or minus, when pursuers could be expected. Ali turned to Ben Akbar.
"Rest," he crooned, as he removed saddle and bridle. "Rest and forage,oh Prince among _dalul_. Come to me then, and you shall teach thePasha's soldiers the true speed of a _dalul_."
Ben Akbar wandered forth to crop the coarse desert vegetation. Choosingthe doubtful shade offered by a copse of scrub, Ali lay down and drewhis burnous about him. He slept peacefully and soundly, as though he'dsomehow managed to purge his mind of certain grim prospects for theimmediate future and rest alone mattered. A bit more than three hourslater, as Ali had planned when he chose his bed, the blazing sun shonedirectly upon him and its glare broke his slumber.
He did not, as had been his habit, lie quietly and without moving untilhe determined exactly what lay about him and what, if anything, heshould do about it. Ben Akbar, who always knew long before his masterwhen anything approached--and always let Ali know--made such precautionsunnecessary. The great _dalul_ was grazing quietly and only a few feetaway.
"To me, my brother," Ali called softly.
Ben Akbar came at once and Ali replaced the saddle and bridle. About totake a swallow of water, he decided to wait until Ben Akbar could alsohave a satisfactory drink or until thirst became unbearable. In thelatter event, they'd share the contents of the water bag.
Ali thought calmly of the journey before him. A novice attempting such atrip would invite his own death, and even an experienced desert travelerwould find such an undertaking very precarious. However, Ali, who'dspent most of his life on the caravan routes, thought of it as just onemore journey.
The merciless sun spared nothing. Waves of heat rolled along withmonotonous regularity, as though the heat blanket were a mighty oceanbeset by a steady wind. Ali turned his back to the sun's direct rays andwatched Ben Akbar. He was hot and thirsty, and becoming hotter andthirstier, but so had he been before and would be again.
The sun was almost exactly where Ali had decided it should be when BenAkbar raised his head and fixed his attention on the western horizon. Itwas the direction from which they had come, that from which pursuitshould come. Ali turned to face the same way as Ben Akbar.
A few minutes later, they rode over a hillock and Ali saw them. Theywere a little group of the Pasha's crack troops, superbly mounted onmagnificent _dalul_ and maintaining tig
ht formation behind a tracker.Ali reached up to fondle Ben Akbar's neck but kept his eyes on theriders. They were seven, including the tracker, and Ali knew at once whythere were no more than seven and no fewer.
He was no ordinary outlaw, but a direct affront to all that Moslems heldmost dear. He must be brought to justice, and no effort would be sparedto do so. Thus the tracker was the best to be found. The six soldierswere picked men. Finally, the seven _dalul_ were the very elite of thealmost thirty thousand camels with the _Hadj_. There were no more thanseven pursuers because there was not another _dalul_ to keep pace withthese seven.
Ali did not have to ask himself if the seven _dalul_ were fresh orweary; their riders would know how to conserve their mounts. Ben Akbarhad had less than four hours' rest.
Standing quietly beside Ben Akbar, Ali told himself that he had wantedand planned to have the pursuit take form in just this way, and he wouldnot change now if he could. He himself might have ridden much farther inthe hours that had elapsed since leaving Al Misri's camp, but he'd havedone it at the expense of Ben Akbar. The test had to come, and it wasbetter to meet it in this fashion.
The soldiers sighted him and urged their mounts from an easy trot to aswift lope. Ali waited until they were within two hundred and fiftyyards, well beyond effective range of smoothbore muskets, before heturned to Ben Akbar and said quietly, "Kneel."
Ben Akbar knelt and Ali mounted. At ease in the saddle, he turned towatch the soldiers sweep nearer. A momentary doubt assailed him as aclose-up inspection of their _dalul_ revealed the full magnificence ofsuch animals. Ali put the doubt behind him and told Ben Akbar to run.
At home in a camel saddle as he seldom fitted in elsewhere, Ali did notwaste another backward glance as Ben Akbar flew on. He knew what laybehind him, and that he could expect no mercy whether his back or hisface was toward the pursuers. Wherever it struck, the blade of a swordwould be equally sharp and bite as deeply.
After fifteen minutes, and the blade not felt, Ali knew he'd chosenwisely when he gave his very life into Ben Akbar's keeping. He still didnot look behind him. _Dalul_ such as the soldiers mounted were noteasily outdistanced, but there was a mighty vein of comfort in that verythought. Ben Akbar would never again be pursued by swifter _dalul_ ormore skilful riders. If he won this race, he'd win all to come.
An hour and a half afterwards, Ali finally looked around. With less thana two-hundred-yard lead at the beginning of the race, Ben Akbar haddoubled that distance between himself and the three swiftest pursuers.The remaining four, in order of their speed, straggled behind theleaders. Ali slowed Ben Akbar so that his pace exceeded by the scantiestmargin that of the three leaders.
When a cool wind announced the going of the day and the coming of thenight, the nearest of the seven pursuers was a mere dot in the distance.
* * * * *
The bitter autumn wind that snarled in from the Mediterranean had sent aherd of tough, desert-bred goats to the shelter of some boulders andmade them stand close together for the warmth one found in another.Riding past on Ben Akbar, Ali gave the shivering herd the barest ofglances and turned his gaze to the horizon. He missed nothing, a highlypractical talent whose development had been markedly accelerated bynecessity.
Behind lay an incredible journey. Eluding the soldiers, Ali rode on intothe very heart of the Arabian desert. Always he sought the lonelierplaces, shepherd's or camel herder's camps and the smallest villages. Atfirst his experiences had conformed strictly to what any solitarytraveler might expect. As the news spread and Ali's ill fame became partof the talk at even the most isolated campfires, his fortunes changedaccordingly.
He seldom met anything except cold hatred and outright hostility.Normally it was accompanied by dread, not entirely a disadvantage since,whatever else they thought, trembling natives who recognized Ali fearedto refuse him food and other necessities. He fought when he could notavoid fighting, but much preferred to run. Ben Akbar had shown his heelsto more soldiers, tribesmen and just plain bandits than Ali couldremember.
With an almost desperate yearning for anyone at all who'd exchange afriendly word, eventually Ali turned to his native Syria, where he hopedto find a friend. He found a hatred more bitterly intense than anythingexperienced elsewhere; every Syrian seemed to think that he must bearpart of the shame for a countryman who had defiled the Holy City. NowAli was farther north, in the land of the Turks and riding toward theport of Smyrna.
Rounding a bend that brought him in sight of the Mediterranean, Alihalted Ben Akbar and stared in amazement.
He was on the shoreside wall of a u-shaped rock ledge that extended intothe sea and formed a natural harbor. Some distance out, a great sailingship that flew a foreign flag rode at anchor. Though he could not readit and had no more than a vague notion that it might be read, Ali couldmake out her name. She was the _Supply_.
Halfway between shore and ship, a scow propelled by oarsmen and carryinga kneeling camel that seemed to be strapped in position, was makingtoward the _Supply_. On the shore beneath Ali, a number of other camelswere tethered. One had lain down, and eight Egyptian camel handlersseemed interested in making it get up again.
With a fine contempt for Egyptians generally, and Egyptian camelhandlers specifically, Ali had decided to his own satisfaction thatthese last fell back on forceful crudity simply because they were toostupid to master the right ways of handling camels. Ali's curiositymounted because, contrary to their usual procedure, these handlers weregently trying to make the camel get up.
Then the scow reached the ship, the men who had been on the scowdisappeared on the _Supply_ and took the camel with them, whereupon theEgyptian handlers abruptly changed tactics. Kicking together a pile ofrubble, someone started a fire. A pail appeared from somewhere and wasput over the fire. A raging Ali leaped from Ben Akbar and toward thegroup.
He had not intended to interfere. If the Egyptians were stupid enough toabuse their own camel, then let them be deprived of the beast that muchsooner. Ali would not have interfered if the Egyptian handlers had donealmost anything except what they were obviously about to do--make thecamel get up by pouring boiling pitch over its tail. Hearing Ali, theeight turned as one and greeted him with hostile stares.
"Swine!" Ali snarled. "Offspring of diseased fleas! Eaters of cameldung!"
He emphasized his insults with a blow to the midriff that sent thenearest Egyptian spinning, and immediately the seven were upon him. Alidelivered a smart kick to the shin that left one hopping about on onefoot and howling with pain, landed a clenched fist squarely on the jawof another, and then a sledge hammer collided with his own head.
Night came suddenly. Then light shone through the dark curtain, and Alilooked up at two men who stood before him. One, a native interpreter,was foppish in garment and manner. The other, arrayed in clothing suchas Ali had never seen, commanded instant respect. Tall, slim, strong andyoung, he had the same air of strength and authority that marked AlMisri. He spoke in a strange tongue to the interpreter, who addressedAli.
"Lieutenant Porter demands to know why you attacked his men."
Ali gestured toward the kneeling camel. "They would have made it rise bypouring boiling pitch on its tail."
The interpreter conveyed this information to Lieutenant Porter, whowhirled at once on the Egyptians.
"I've told all of you that I will tolerate no cruelty," he began.
Not understanding a word, nevertheless Ali listened with mingled awe andadmiration as Lieutenant Porter continued to speak. His words, Alithought happily, were a lion's roar, and it was better to be whippedthan to endure them because a whip could not remove skin nearly as well.The eight Egyptians, like eight beaten dogs, slunk away. LieutenantPorter addressed the interpreter, who conveyed the message to Ali.
"Can you make the camel rise?"
Ali got to his feet, smoothed his burnous and went to the stubborncamel. He took hold of the tether rope while he stooped to whisper inits ear, "Rise, my little one. Rise, my beau
ty. The trail is long andthe day is short."
The camel rose and began to lick Ali's hand. Ali addressed theinterpreter. "Where are these camels going?"
"To America," the interpreter assured him.
"But--" A bewildered Ali looked from the stately ship to the tetheredcamels. "Is a land wealthy enough to have such a ship, so poor as tohave no camels?"
Treating this question with haughty disdain, the interpreter relayedanother message. "Lieutenant Porter wishes to know if you will go toAmerica with the camels?"
Ali hesitated, then asked, "Is America a land of Moslems?"
The interpreter conferred with Lieutenant Porter and turned to Ali."There are no Moslems."
Ali indicated Ben Akbar, silhouetted on top of the ledge. "May my_dalul_ come, too?"
"He may," the interpreter assured him.
Ali said joyously, "Then we will go."
He didn't know where America was or what he might find on arrival, buthe was sure that he and Ben Akbar, together, could make their own wayanywhere at all.