Oriental Encounters | Page 7

also the discharge
Rashîd required. Hasan Agha stamped both documents with an official seal, and handed
them to me, who gave him in exchange the money.
'Bismillah!' he exclaimed. 'I call all here to witness that Rashîd, the son of Ali, called the
Fair, is free henceforth to go what way he chooses.'
To me he said: 'Rashîd is a good lad, and you will find him useful. The chief fault I have
found in him is this: that, when obeying orders, he is apt to think, and so invent a method
of his own, not always good. Also, he is too susceptible to female charms, a failing which
has placed him in some strange positions.'
The last remark evoked much laughter, relating, evidently to some standing joke
unknown to me. Rashîd looked rather sheepish. Hasan Agha turned to him, and said:
'My son, praise Allah for thy great good fortune in finding favour in the sight of one so
noble and benevolent as our beloved guest, who is henceforth thy master. Remember, he
is not as I am--one who has been what thou art, and so knows the tricks. Serve him freely
with thy mind and soul and conscience, not waiting for commands as in the Army. Come
hither, O my son, grasp hands with me. I say, may God be with thee now and always!
Forget not all the good instruction of thy soldier days. Be sure that we shall pray for thy
good master and for thee.'
The old man's eyes were wet, so were Rashîd's, so were the eyes of all the soldiers
squatting round.
Rashîd, dismissed, went off to change his uniform for an old suit of mine which I had
brought for him, while Hasan Agha, talking of him as a father might, explained to me his
character and little failings.
At last I took my leave. Rashîd was waiting in my cast-off clothes, a new fez of civilian
shape upon his head. He held my stirrup, and then jumped on to a raw-boned beast which
had been 'borrowed' for him by his friends, so he informed me. It might be worth my
while to buy it for him, he suggested later--the price was only eight pounds Turk, the
merest trifle. The whole garrison escorted us to the last houses, where they stood a long
while, waving their farewells. Two hours later, on the mountain-ridge, beyond the wady,
we turned to look our last on Karameyn. It stood amid the flames of sunset like a castle of

the clouds.
We returned, then, to the 'alafranga' hostelry; but Rashîd, having heard the story of my
sleepless night, would not allow me to put up there. I paid my debt to the proprietor, and
then he found for me an empty house to which he brought a mattress and a coverlet, a lot
of cushions, a brazier, and the things required for making coffee, also a tray of supper--all
of them borrowed from the neighbouring houses. I might be pillaged, brought to
destitution, and eventually murdered by him, as my friends had warned me. At least, the
operation promised to be comfortable.
CHAPTER III
THE RHINOCEROS WHIP
'Where is the whip?' Rashîd cried, suddenly, turning upon me in the gateway of the khan
where we had just arrived.
'Merciful Allah! It is not with me. I must have left it in the carriage.'
Rashîd threw down the saddlebags, our customary luggage, which he had been carrying,
and started running for his life. The carriage had got half-way down the narrow street
half-roofed with awnings. At Rashîd's fierce shout of 'Wait, O my uncle! We have left
our whip!' the driver turned and glanced behind him, but, instead of stopping, lashed his
horses to a gallop. Rashîd ran even faster than before. The chase, receding rapidly, soon
vanished from my sight. Twilight was coming on. Above the low, flat roofs to westward,
the crescent moon hung in the green of sunset behind the minarets of the great mosque. I
then took up the saddle-bags and delicately picked my way through couchant camels,
tethered mules and horses in the courtyard to the khan itself, which was a kind of cloister.
I was making my arrangements with the landlord, when Rashîd returned, the picture of
despair. He flung up both his hands, announcing failure, and then sank down upon the
ground and moaned. The host, a burly man, inquired what ailed him. I told him, when he
uttered just reflections upon cabmen and the vanity of worldly wealth. Rashîd, as I could
see, was 'zi'lân'--a prey to that strange mixture of mad rage and sorrow and despair,
which is a real disease for children of the Arabs. An English servant would not thus have
cared about the loss of a