"There are shallow places, here and there, where a passage would be easy."Youssouf's manner was careless and indifferent, but nothing escaped him. No one read in his countenance the fearful danger to which he was exposed, and he passed the entire day strolling around in Damietta. But, when night came, he hastened to the canal, and tried the places casually mentioned during the day. He finally attempted to cross over at the place spoken of as the most shallow.
And he has succeeded! There he stands on the other bank, dripping with water, his wet blouse clinging to his person. He hastened to the camp to Bardissi, to bring the glad intelligence that there is a place where they can cross on foot to the other shore in spite of the cannon on the bridge, and of the garrison of Damietta.
"Well done, brave kachef!" cried Bardissi. "You have deserved your reward, and you shall have it! I appoint you kachef of my guard, and give you a command of one hundred Mamelukes."Youssouf's countenance lighted up, and his eyes sparkled with delight. He thought of Sitta Nefysseh, and rejoiced in his successful feat, and 'in his reward, because she would be pleased.
"O Sitta Nefysseh, when I come into your presence, and kneel down before you, will you receive me graciously, and permit me to remain with you henceforth? O Sitta Nefysseh, if the time were only come when on bended knee I can say to you: 'Your servant has returned, but he is no longer a poor kachef! He has won laurels because you commanded him to seek them! May he now serve you again?' Oh, that Iwere with you again, Sitta Nefysseh!"
On the following night they were conducted by Youssouf to the place at which he had forded the canal.
The Mameluke beys dismount and step into the water. In advance is Osman Bey, and beside him Mohammed Ali. The passage must be effected noiselessly, so as not to attract the attention of the enemy.
The water rushes past them, almost carrying their feet from under them. It already reaches their shoulders, and they can hardly retain their foothold. Kachef Youssouf must have been deceived. A wave, driven by the night-wind, rolls by and sweeps Mohammed with it.
Osman Bey sees his friend torn from his side, rushes after him, grasps him with his strong arm, and holds him securely.
"I thank you, Osman Bey, you have saved my life.""And I thank Allah that I was at your side and could save it."Finally they succeed in getting over, and now they stand on the other shore. Bardissi embraces Mohammed, and congratulates him on their safe passage. He then grasps Youssouf's hand, and thanks him once more.
"Now, good Cousrouf, the days of your rule are numbered.""Yes," murmured Mohammed to himself, "I, too, rejoice in your coming overthrow. O Allah, give us all victory, and give me vengeance!"The passage of the troops is effected. The Albanians first rush to the bridge where the cannon are in position, cut down the gunners before they can give an alarm, and with the captured guns fire their first shots into Damietta.
The thunder of these shots arouses the enemy, who lie encamped in front of the fortress, and a bloody, fiercely-contested battle begins. But at its conclusion the allies, Bardissi and Mohammed Ali, enter Damietta in triumph. No quarter is given. They massacre all who fall into their hands; every house is sacked and then burned. On the square in front of Fort Lesbe, a column of soldiers, Cousrouf Pacha at its head, sitting proudly erect on his steed, still opposes them. He has been bravely fighting all along, fighting for life, for victory, for glory, but he has fought in vain; he prefers, however, to die at the head of his followers, than to flee, or fall into the hands of Mohammed Ali.
The enemy approaches. A ball strikes Cousrouf's horse, and it sinks to the ground. With difficulty he succeeds in extricating himself from his fallen steed.
"Upon them, my brave soldiers!" he cries, drawing his ataghan. "Let us fight our way through to the fort. There we shall be secure.""You shall never reach it!" exclaims Bardissi, his uplifted sword descending upon Cousrouf's head.
Suddenly his arm is grasped, and held as in a vise.
"Give him to me, Bardissi!" cries Mohammed.
"And you wish to save Cousrouf's life, Mohammed?""Only give him to me, Bardissi, I pray you!"Bardissi recognized in the tone in which these few words were uttered, that Mohammed's motive in making his request was not love for Cousrouf.
"You are my prisoner," cried Mohammed, tearing the sword from Cousrouf's hand, and hurling it far from him. He then grasped him by the shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye. "Cousrouf Pacha, I, Mohammed Ali, make you my prisoner."Cousrouf makes no reply, but only gazes defiantly upon his enemy;gradually his head sinks down upon his breast. Yes, he is vanquished and a prisoner, a prisoner of his worst enemy. He could be in no worse hands than in those that now hold him. To become Mohammed Ali's prisoner was the worst that could befall him.
And vanquished and captured he is, by this his most relentless enemy! With him are vanquished all his followers, and nothing is left of the fortress of Damietta but ashes and ruins.
