The Prince of India; Or, Why Constantinople Fell is a Webnovel created by Lew Wallace.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
Afterwhile, so wide was the inrolling tide, the field of vision overflowed, and the eye was driven to ranging from point to point, object to object. Then it was discernible that the ma.s.s was mixed of animals and men–here horses, there camels–some with riders, some without–all, the burdened as well as unburdened, straining forward under urgency of shriek and stick–forward for life–forward as if of the two “comforts,” Success beckoned them in front, and Despair behind plied them with spears. [Footnote: In the philosophy of the Arabs Success and Despair are treated as comforts.]
At length the eastern boundary of the Valley was reached. There one would suppose the foremost of the racers, the happy victors, would rest or, at their leisure, take of the many sites those they preferred; but no–the penalty attaching to the triumph was the danger of being run down by the thousands behind. In going on there was safety–and on they went.
To this time the spectacle had been a kind of panoramic generality; now the details came to view, and accustomed as he was to marvels of pageantry, the Prince exclaimed: “These are not men, but devils fleeing from the wrath of G.o.d!” and involuntarily he went nearer, down to the brink of the height. It seemed the land was being inundated with camels; not the patient brutes we are used to thinking of by that name, with which domestication means ill-treatment and suffering–the slow-going burden-bearers, always appealing to our sympathy because always apparently tired, hungry, sleepy, worn-out–always reeling on as if looking for quiet places in which to slip their loads of whatever kind, and lie down and die; but the camel aroused, enraged, frightened, panic-struck, rebellious, sending forth strange cries, and running with all its might–an army of camels hurling their gigantic hulks along at a rate little less than blind impetus. And they went, singly, and in strings, and yonder a ma.s.s. The slower, and those turned to the right or left of the direct course, and all such as had hesitated upon coming to a descent, were speedily distanced or lost to sight; so the ensemble was constantly shifting. And then the rolling and tossing of the cargoes and packages on the backs of the animals, and the streaming out of curtains, scarfs, shawls, and loose draperies of every shape and color, lent touches of drollery and bright contrasts to the scene. One instant the spectator on the hill was disposed to laugh, then to admire, then to shiver at the immensity of a danger; over and over again amidst his quick variation of feeling, he repeated the exclamation: “These are not men, but devils fleeing from the wrath of G.o.d!”
Such was the spectacle in what may be called the second act; presently it reached a third; and then the fury of the movement, so inconsistent with the habits and patient nature of the camel, was explained. In the midst of the hurly-burly, governing and directing it, were hors.e.m.e.n, an army of themselves. Some rode in front, and the leading straps on which they pulled with the combined strength of man and horse identified them as drivers; others rode as a.s.sistants of the drivers, and they were armed with goads which they used skilfully and without mercy. There were many collisions, upsets, and entanglements; yet the danger did not deter the riders from sharing the excitement, and helping it forward to their utmost. They too used knotted ropes, and stabbed with sharpened sticks; they also contributed to the unearthly tumult of sounds which travelled with the mob, a compound of prayers, imprecations, and senseless screams–the medley that may be occasionally heard from a modern mad-house.
In the height of the rush the Shaykh came up.
“How long,” said the Prince–“in the Prophet’s name, how long will this endure?”
“Till night, O most excellent Hadji–if the caravans be so long in coming.”
“Is it usual?”
“It has been so from the beginning.”
Thereupon the curiosity of the Prince took another turn. A band of hors.e.m.e.n galloped into view–free riders, with long lances carried upright, their caftans flying, and altogether n.o.ble looking.
“These are Arabs. I know by their horses and their bearing,” said he, with admiration; “but possibly thou canst give me the name of their tribe.”
The Shaykh answered with pride: “Their horses are gray, and by the sign, O lover of the Prophet, they are the Beni-Yarb. Every other one of them is a poet; in the face of an enemy, they are all warriors.”
The camps on the hill, with the yellow flag giving notice of the Emir’s station, had effect upon others besides the Yarbis; all who wished to draw out of the _melange_ turned towards them, bringing the spectacle in part to the very feet of the Wanderer; whereas he thought with a quicker beating of the heart, “The followers of the Prophet are coming to show me of what they are this day composed.” Then he said to the Shaykh, “Stand thou here, and tell me as I shall ask.”
The conversation between them may be thus summarized:
The current which poured past then, its details in perfect view, carried along with it all the conditions and nationalities of the pilgrimage.
Natives of the desert on bare-backed camels, clinging to the humps with one hand, while they pounded with the other–natives on beautiful horses, not needing whip or spur–natives on dromedaries so swift, sure-footed, and strong there was no occasion for fear. Men, and often women and children, on ragged saddle-cloths, others in pretentious boxes, and now and then a person whose wealth and rank were published by the magnificence of the litter in which he was borne, swinging luxuriously between long-stepping dromedaries from El Sbark.
“By Allah!” the Prince exclaimed. “Here hath barbarism its limit!
Behold!”
They of whom he spoke came up in irregular array mounted on dromedaries without housing. At their head rode one with a white lettered green flag, and beating an immense drum. They were armed with long spears of Indian bamboo, garnished below the slender points with swinging tufts of ostrich feathers. Each carried a woman behind him disdainful of a veil.
The feminine screams of exultation rose high above the yells of the men, helping not a little to the recklessness with which the latter bore onward.
Woe to such in their way as were poorly mounted. In a twinkling they were ridden down. Nor did those fare better who were overtaken struggling with a string of camels. The crash of bursting boxes, the sharp report of rending ropes, the warning cry, the maddening cheer; a battle of men, another of beasts–and when the collision had pa.s.sed, the earth was strewn with its wreck.
“They are Wahabbas, O Hadji,” said the Shaykh. “Thou seest the tufts on their spears. Under them they carry _Jehannum_.”
“And these now coming?” asked the Prince. “Their long white hats remind me of Persia.”
“Persians they are,” replied the Shaykh, his lip curling, his eyes gleaming. “They will tear their clothes, and cut their shaven crowns, and wail, ‘Woe’s me, O Ali!’ then kiss the Kaaba with defilement on their beards. The curse of the _Shaykaim_ is on them–may it stay there!”
Then the Prince knew it was a Sunite speaking of Schiahs.
Yet others of the Cafila of Bagdad pa.s.sed with the despised sons of Iran; notably Deccanese, Hindoos, Afghans, and people from the Himalayas, and beyond them far as Kathay, and China, and Siam, all better known to the Prince than to his Shaykh, who spoke of them, saying, “Thou shouldst know thine own, O Hadji! Thou art their father!”
Next, in a blending that permitted no choice of a.s.sociates, along swept the chief const.i.tuents of the caravans–Moors and Blackamoors, Egyptians, Syrians, Turks, Kurds, Caucasians, and Arabs of every tribe, each a mult.i.tude of themselves, and their pa.s.sing filled up the afternoon.
Towards sundown the hurry and rush of the movement perceptibly slackened. Over in the west there were signs of a halt; tents were rising, and the smoke of multiplying fires began to deepen the blue of the distance. It actually appeared as if settlement for the night would creep back upon the east, whence the irruption had burst.
At a moment when the Prince’s interest in the scene was commencing to flag, and he was thinking of returning to his tent, the rearmost divisions of the pilgrims entered the Valley. They were composed of footmen and donkey-riders, for whom the speed of the advance bodies had been too great. High-capped Persians, and Turks whose turbans were reduced to faded fezes, marched in the van, followed closely by a rabble of Takruris, ragged, moneyless, living upon meat of abandoned animals.
Last of all were the sick and dying, who yet persisted in dragging their fainting limbs along as best they could. Might they but reach the Holy City! Then if they died it would be as martyrs for whom the doors of Paradise are always open. With them, expectants of easy prey, like the _rakham_ [Footnote: Vultures.] sailing in slow circles overhead, flocked the beggars, thieves, outcasts and a.s.sa.s.sins; but night came quickly, and covered them, and all the things they did, for evil and night have been partners from the beginning.
At last the Prince returned to his tent. He had seen the sun set over El Zaribah; he had seen the pa.s.sing of the caravans. Out there in the Valley they lay. They–to him, and for his purposes, the Mohammedan world unchanged–the same in composition, in practice, in creed–only he felt now a consciousness of understanding them as never before. Mahomet, in his re-introduction of G.o.d to man, had imposed himself upon their faith, its master idea, its central figure, the superior in sanct.i.ty, the essential condition–the ONE! Knowingly or unknowingly, he left a standard of religious excellence behind him–Himself. And by that standard the thief in the wake of the mighty caravans robbing the dead, the Thug strangling a victim because he was too slow in dying, were worthy Paradise, and would attain it, for they believed in him. Faith in the Prophet of G.o.d was more essential than faith in G.o.d. Such was the inspiration of Islam. A sinking of spirit fell upon the unhappy man. He felt a twinge of the bitterness always waiting on failure, where the undertaking, whatever it be, has enlisted the whole heart. At such times instinctively we turn here and there for help, and in its absence, for comfort and consolation; what should he do now but advert to Christianity? What would Christians say of his idea? Was G.o.d lost in Christ as he was here in Mahomet?
CHAPTER VI
THE PRINCE AND THE EMIR
In the reception room of the Prince’s tent the lamps are lighted; one fastened to the stout centre pole, and five others on as many palings planted in the ground, all burning brightly. The illumination is enriched by the admirable blending of colors in the canopy of shawls.
Within the s.p.a.ce defined by the five lamps, on a tufted rug, the Mystic and the Emir are seated, both in _Ihram_, and looking cool and comfortable, though the night outside still testifies to the heat of the day.
A wooden trencher, scoured white as ivory, separates the friends, leaving them face to face. In supping they have reached what we call the dessert.
On the trencher are slender baskets containing grapes, figs, and dates, the choicest of the gardens of Medina. A jar of honey, an a.s.sortment of dry biscuits, and two jugs, one of water, the other of juice of pomegranates, with drinking cups, complete the board.
At this age, Orientals lingering at table have the cheer of coffee and tobacco; unhappily for the two of whom we are writing, neither of the great narcotics was discovered. Nevertheless it should not be supposed the fruits, the honey, and the waters failed to content them. Behind the host is the negro we already know as Nilo. He is very watchful of his master’s every motion.
As guest and host appear now the formalism of acquaintanceship just made has somewhat disappeared, and they are talking easily and with freedom.
Occasionally a movement of one or the other brings his head to a favorable angle, whereat the light, dropping on the freshly shaven crown, is sharply glinted back.
The Emir has been speaking of the plague.
“At Medina I was told it had run its course,” the host remarked.
“True, O Hadji, but it has returned, and with greater violence. The stragglers were its victims; now it attacks indiscriminately. Yesterday the guard I keep in the rear came to a pilgrim of rank. His litter was deserted, and he was lying in it dead.”
“The man may have been murdered.”
“Nay,” said the Emir, “gold in large amount was found on his person.”
“But he had other property doubtless?”
“Of great value.”
“What disposition was made of it?”
“It was brought to me, and is now with other stores in my tent; a law of ancient inst.i.tution vesting it in the Emir El Hajj.”
The countenance of the Jew became serious.
“The ownership was not in my thought,” he said, waving his hand. “I knew the law; but this scourge of Allah has its laws also, and by one of them we are enjoined to burn or bury whatever is found with the body.”