LIFE is an interesting thing under all circumstances, and men are worth studying whether they be savage or civilized. There was something born in me, however, which prevented me from being a mere spectator of life; like the small boy in "Helen's Babies," I liked to "see the wheels go round," it is true, but it was not possible to keep from giving them a shove at the same time. When I came back from the West I had no definite plan of life, and after six months of inaction I began to get restless. I had no desire to return to the West, for with Winnetou, my adopted Apache brother, dead, there was little attraction to me in the scenes we had roamed together. Having once followed the star of empire in a westerly direction, I began to think of the East; I wanted, as Rudyard Kipling says, to hear "the desert talk." I broached the subject to my uncle, whose heir I was to be, and whose name I bore, he being John Hildreth and I Jack Hildreth, and found he had no objection to my having a few more of what the Germans call "wander years." Uncle John had a friend who, opportunely, had some business interests in Cairo, which he wanted looked after

by a person in whom he could confide, so, armed with this reason for setting forth, I started for Egypt, with the understanding that, after I had done the errand on which I had been sent, I was to be free to go whither I willed. "The Triumphant,""E1 Kahireh," the "Gate of the East" -- these are titles the Egyptian gives the principal city of his land. Though the first of these is no longer appropriate, the last two, in perfect justice, belong to Cairo; it certainly is the gate of the East. It has been overrun with Europeans, however, and the French especially have set their mark upon it. Shepherd's Hotel, the New Hotel, the Hotel d'Orient, the Hotel du Nil, the Hotel des Ambassadeurs, and countless other inns, cafes, and restaurants provide the traveler with everything he is used to at home, but at a cost which would require an English milord to meet a personage one is likely to be mistaken for if he comes decently clad, and with an English accent.

On my arrival there was no delay in attending to the business entrusted to me, which took all my time for three days. After that I was free to do whatever attracted me, and my first step was to sally forth to see what I could discover in respectable lodgings at a reasonable price.

The streets were full of a queer crowd. On the corner was a group of donkey boys, splitting the air with their cries. The Egyptian donkey is the unwearying, faithful servant of his master, who rewards him with scanty food and many blows and kicks. Laden with the heaviest rider, the little beast travels many hours, and even capers on his thankless way. Behind him runs his driver, beating him, occasionally adding a kick to the blows, or stoning him, and hastening his speed with deafening shouts. These drivers are keen judges of men; they know at a glance whether they are looking at a Frenchman, Englishman, Italian, or German. They know a word or a sentence of

the language of each one, and seem to have a scrap of knowledge of the history or geography of every land. "Here is a beautiful Bismarck," cries one, on recognizing a German; the Bismarck, of course, being his donkey. "Here is a fine General Grant," cries another to an American, while the Englishman is saluted with the invitation to try a "good Beefsteak," or ride a "renowned Palmerston"; and the Frenchman is assured that here is "le grand Napoleon, le meilleur animal de toute France." A little way from the donkey boys two Arab jugglers sat in the middle of the street exhibiting their skill. A few feet further a "muhad'dit" or story teller, had drawn around him a circle of curiosity seekers, who were listening for the thousandth time to the same old tales. Close by, a little Negro danced to the sound of a kind of flute, while closely veiled women, mounted on donkeys, rode slowly past. Then came a band of tall, swinging camels, each with a straw rope on his tail, fastening him to the next one. Behind them panted the drivers and porters with heavy burdens on their heads, singing with dull voices some reiterated words to keep themselves in step. Then followed a water seller, bearing a large earthen vessel, from which he was prepared to quench one's thirst for a slight recompense. The other side of the street illustrated the lack of privacy with which the most intimate concerns were conducted. The fronts of the houses were open, and the public eye could gaze upon each interior. In one I saw a worthy citizen squatting on his mat, holding a struggling child between his knees, whose tangled hair he was overhauling for those incumbrances with which the Egyptians since the time of Pharaohs have been rich. From another house something was thrown into the street, which proved to be a poor cat, just dead -- very likely of starvation -- and whose body was tossed into the street regardless of sanitary

considerations. A little further on, a gray-haired man sat with his back against a post, his eyes closed, as the beads of his prayer chain slipped through his fingers, his lips moving in prayer. He saw and heard nothing around him; he had quitted earth and wandered in spirit in the fields of paradise, promised by Mohamed to true believers.

Suddenly a cry arose: "May your morning be white." It was a milkman, thus advertising his wares. "Delicious flavor, dripping with juice," cried another, who sold melons. "They sprang from the tears of the Prophet, O fragrance of all fragrance," echoed the voice of the rose merchant, while the "scharbetti," or peddler of rose-water, cried "Length of life, death to death; it purifies the blood."

Opposite a cafe stood a little Negro girl, perhaps eight years old, with a basket hung around her neck, who cried at intervals, in a discouraged tone: "Figs, figs, sweeter than my eyes!" Whoever had taught the child to say this was a good business man, for her dark eyes had a far-off, dreamy look which really was sweet. She was a pretty child, in spite of her black skin. The frightened, pleading tone, the outstretched, imploring hand, were certain to induce passers-by to spend a few para for figs.

I could scarcely turn my eyes from the little creature; her voice sounded terror-stricken, and her cry of "Figs, figs," fell on my ear like an appeal for help, and I determined to give her a good backsheesh. I noticed that I was not the only one who felt drawn to the child; the little black waiter boy in the cafe had thrice slipped out while I stood there to buy a fig. Was it because he loved sweets. or from childish sympathy? When he approached the little girl her face lighted up with a loving look, as it did if he looked out the door and their eyes met. Turning to see if he were still in sight, I saw him crouching down in a

corner, half turned away from the street, and yes, he was crying; I saw him repeatedly rub the back of his hand across his eyes to dry the tears. The little girl discovered him in his corner, and, seeing that he was crying, both of her hands instantly flew up to her eyes. Evidently there was some connection between these two pretty ebony children. What made me do so I could not say, but I went over to the boy in the corner. As he saw me standing by him he jumped up, and, with a little bow, started to go away. I held him fast, however, and asked him, in a tone I tried to make encouraging:

"Why are you crying? Can't you tell me?"

He looked me in the face, winked away his tears, and replied:

"Because no one buys from Djangeh."

"Do you mean the little fig merchant over there?"

"Yes." "You buy from her; I saw you do so several times."

He seemed to think I accused him of gluttony, for he said, hastily: "I didn't eat the figs; I'll give them back to her when the master has gone by. I only bought them so she could have some money, for if she doesn't bring in five piasters at night she will be beaten, and have nothing to eat, and be tied in a circle by her hands and feet to a post. I must bring in eight plasters; the cafe keeper gives me three each day; I have had four to-day as backsheesh, and I only need one more. Some one is sure to give me that, so I gave twenty para to Djangeh for figs."

"To whom do you have to bring these piasters?" I asked.

"To our master."

"He is Djangeh's master also?"

"Yes; she is my sister."

"And what is your master's name?"

"He is a wicked man, called Abd el Barak."

"Has he hired you from your father?"

"No; our father and mother live far away. He bought us of the men who attacked our village, burned our houses, and took us prisoners, with many others, to sell us."

"So you are slaves, you poor little creatures!" I cried. "What was your native country called?"

"I don't know; it had no name; there was a river called Bahr el Abiad. Our people were called Dongiol," answered the boy.

"Well, don't cry any more to-day; nothing shall happen you. Here are ten piasters, which you may share with Djangeh; she shall have her supper, and not be abused."

As I laid the money in his hand tears of joy sprang in his eyes, his lips moved as if to thank me, but he could not speak, and I turned away, followed by his grateful eyes.

I went into the cafe and sat down to think over this sad little story. The Viceroy had forbidden slave-trading, and yet here was proof that, as I had been told, it was still secretly carried on. Poor, faithful, loving little chap! He had not forgotten his country and people, and how beautiful and touching was his love for his sister! And this Abd el Barak, which means "dispenser of blessings"; how ill his name accorded with his actions!

As I was reflecting on these things and considering how I could rescue the children, a man appeared from the side street who could never pass unnoticed. He was in the prime of life, of a commanding figure, tall and strongly built, evidently possessing great muscular power. He had heavy jaws, compressed lips, and his color indicated African blood in his veins. In spite of the indications that he had sprung from the Sudan, he wore green slippers and turban to show he was a successor of the Prophet. In each hand he held a prayer chain, and around his neck hung a case with the "Hamaël" -- that is, a Koran written in the sa-

cred city of Mecca, and bought during a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Prophet. Holding himself very erect, he made his way along the street, his whole manner saying, plainly: "Here am I; who is like to me? Fall down in the dust before me." From the first glance, this man was antagonistic to me, though I did not guess how just my dislike was, nor what grounds he was to give me for detesting him. The bystanders saluted the newcomer with profound salaams, laying their hands on their hearts, lips and brow, all of which he acknowledged with the slightest bend of the head, and passed through a door near-by, signaling the little slave boy and girl to follow. I saw an expression of terror on the boy's face as his trembling sister joined him, and the eyes of both were full of tears.

Could this man be Abd el Barak? Of course it was, and I hastened after the children with a presentiment that they would need me. As I reached the door a frightened wail rang in my ear; I sprang over the sill. Behind the door lay a small court, in which the man was standing. He held Djangeh up by the hair with both hands, and she dared not utter a sound beyond a moan, which she could not repress. Before them knelt the boy, pleading: "Let her go; oh, let her go, and I will pay for her."

The wretch shook Djangeh from side to side as she hung by her hair, and said to the boy, with a ferocious grin: "So you have more money than you give? I thought so. Give it over, and if you --" He stopped, for he saw me. Letting the poor child sink downward, he demanded: "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Let that child free, instantly!" I answered. He gnashed his teeth like a wild beast, but I paid no attention to this; rather, to make sure I was obeyed, dealt him a blow on the chest which made his fingers open, and Djangeh fell to the ground, where she lay, not daring to

move. Abd el Barak stepped back a few paces, bent over, doubled his fists, and would have thrown himself upon me, but I cried: "Stop! Will a successor of the Prophet get into a scrimmage?"

He paused and straightened himself, but what a face I saw! It defied description. The blood had left it, and its brown tint had changed to a dirty gray. His lips were open, disclosing two rows of long, yellow teeth; his eyes flashed fire, and his breath came in gasps.

"Dog!" he snarled. "Thou hast attacked a Sheik, a successor of the Prophet. Dost thou know me?"

"No," I answered, quietly, keeping my eyes on his.

"I am the Sheik Hadschi Abd el Barak, Mokkadem of the sacred Kadis."

This was an interesting piece of news. He was the chief of the members of the pious brotherhood which administered so-called justice in Egypt! However, without seeming much affected by these tidings, I replied: "Very likely you are, but why do you not act like a son of the Prophet and the head of such a pious confraternity?"

"What knowest thou of my actions? Has thou not seen just now how all heads bowed before me? Humble thyself also, thou dog! Thou hast struck me, and I will tell thee how to make amends for such an injury."

"I kneel to no man; I am not a Moslem, but a Christian."

He positively swelled before me. "A Christian, a giaour, a thieving dog!" he roared. "And thou hast dared annoy the Sheik Abd el Barak! It were better for thee thy mother had strangled thee at birth, for I will seize thy throat --"

"Oh, don't chatter," I interrupted him. "Every one of your threats is laughable. You are no greater than I, and have not the slightest power over me. I am answerable to my consul, and he doesn't care about your titles. Repeat

your insults and I'll knock you down, and appeal to the law to find out whether the acts of a man who buys slave children, beats and starves them, and ties them to posts if they fail to bring him the money he wants are pleasing to God."

He fell back at these words, crying: "Who, who told thee this? It was this boy, this jackal! Woe be to him when he comes home to-night."

"You'll do him no harm; I'll take care of that," I said.

"Thou wilt take care of it? Wouldst thou give me commands, thou a dog of a Christian, whom Allah will burn forever in --"

He got no further, for I had been guilty of wrong to myself and all Christians with whom he would deal later if I allowed his words to pass unpunished. I drew off and gave him such a blow that he fell flat, and lay on the pavement senseless.

"Quick, quick," cried the Negro boy, trembling between joy and fright. "He's dead! Don't go out into the street again, but through the little gate at the back of the court, where you will find a deserted house, and over its wall you can get to another street. But hasten, hasten."

"He is not dead, only unconscious, and I have no fear," I said. "But I will take the road you say. Come with me; Abd el Barak shall never beat you again."

I took the boy's hand in my left one, the girl's in my right, and went out through the little gate. We climbed over the wall, and came out on the back street, the children following me silently, too dazed with the thought that they had been rescued from their oppressor to be sure whether they walked on air or earth. But their black eyes looked at me adoringly, and I saw they would follow me unhesitatingly to the ends of the earth.

Now, the question was: What shall I do with them?

Two stolen Negro slave children were puzzling luggage for a young American traveler. I had made but one acquaintance in Cairo, beyond the business connection of my uncle's friend. This man was called Murad Nassyr, and to him I resolved to go for advice and help.

Contents

Introduction