ALI'S RETURN TO TETUAN
The plan which the Mahdi thought of had first been Ali's, for the black lad was back in Tetuan.After he had fulfilled his errand of mercy at Shawan; he had gone on to Ceuta; and there, with a spirit afire for the wrongs of his master, from whom he was so cruelly parted, he had set himself with shrewdness and daring to incite the Spanish powers to vengeance upon his master's enemies.
This had been a task very easy of execution, for just at that time intelligence had come from the Reef, of barbarous raids made by Ben Aboo upon mountain tribes that had hitherto offered allegiance to the Spanish crown.A mission had gone up to Fez, and returned unsatisfied.War was to be declared, Marteel was to be bombarded, the army of Marshal O'Donnel was to come up the valley of the river, and Tetuan was to be taken.
Such were the operations which by the whim of fate had been so strangely revealed to Ali, but Ali's own plan was a different matter.
This was the feast of the Moolood, and on one of the nights of it, probably the eighth night, the last night, Friday night, Ben Aboo the Basha was to give a "gathering of delight," to the Sultan, his Ministers, his Kaids, his Kadis, his Khaleefas, his Umana, and great rascals generally.Ali's stout heart stuck at nothing.
He was for having the Spaniards brought up to the gates of the town, on the very night when the whole majesty and iniquity of Barbary would be gathered in one room; then, locking the entire kennel of dogs in the banqueting hall, firing the Kasbah and burning it to the ground, with all the Moorish tyrants inside of it like rats in a trap.
One danger attended his bold adventure, for Naomi's person was within the Kasbah walls.To meet this peril Ali was himself to find his way into the dungeon, deliver Naomi, lock the Kasbah gate, and deliver up to another the key that should serve as a signal for the beginning of the great night's work.
Also one difficulty attended it, for while Ali would be at the Kasbah there would be no one to bring up the Spaniards at the proper moment for the siege--no one in Tetuan on whom the strangers could rely not to lead them blindfold into a trap.To meet this difficulty Ali had gone in search of the Mahdi, revealed to him his plan, and asked him to help in the downfall of his master's enemies by leading the Spaniards at the right moment to the gates that should be thrown open to receive them.
Hearing Ali's story, the Mahdi had been aflame with tender thoughts of Naomi's trials, with hatred of Ben Aboo's tyrannies, and pity of Israel's miseries.But at first his humanity had withheld him from sympathy with Ali's dark purpose, so full, as it seemed, of barbarity and treachery.
"Ali," he had said, "is it not all you wish for to get Naomi out of prison and take her back to her father?""Yes, Sidi," Ali had answered promptly.
"And you don't want to torture these tyrants if you can do what you desire without it?""No-o, Sidi," Ali had said doubtfully.
"Then," the Mahdi had said, "let us try."But when the Mahdi was gone to Tetuan on his errand of warning that proved so vain, Ali had crept back behind him, so that secretly and independently he might carry out his fell design.
The towns-people were ready to receive him, for the air was full of rebellion, and many had waited long for the opportunity of revenge.
To certain of the Jews, his master's people, who were also in effect his own, he went first with his mission, and they listened with eagerness to what he had come to say.When their own time came to speak they spoke cautiously, after the manner of their race, and nervously, like men who knew too well what it was to be crushed and kept under; but they gave their help notwithstanding, and Ali's scheme progressed.
In less than three days the entire town, Moorish and Jewish, was honeycombed with subterranean revolt.Even the civil guard, the soldiers of the Kasbah, the black police that kept the gates, and the slaves that stood before the Basha's table were waiting for the downfall to come.
The Mahdi had gone again by this time, and the people had resumed their mock rejoicings over the Sultan's visit.These were the last kindlings of their burnt-out loyalty, a poor smouldering pretence of fire.Every morning the town was awakened by the deafening crackle of flintlocks, which the mountaineers discharged in the Feddan by way of signal that the Sultan was going to say his prayers at the door of some saint's house.Beside the firing of long guns and the twanging of the ginbri the chief business of the day seemed to be begging.One bow-legged rascal in a ragged jellab went about constantly with a little loaf of bread, crying, "An ounce of butter for God's sake!"and when some one gave him the alms he asked he stuck the white sprawling mess on the top of the loaf and changed his cry to "An ounce of cheese for God's sake!" A pert little vagabond--street Arab in a double sense--promenaded the town barefoot, carrying an odd slipper in his hand, and calling on all men by the love of God and the face of God and the sake of God to give him a moozoonah towards the cost of its fellow.
Every morning the Sultan went to mosque under his red umbrella, and every evening he sat in the hall of the court of justice, pretending to hear the petitions of the poor, but actually dispensing charms in return for presents.First an old wrinkled reprobate with no life left in him but the life of lust: "A charm to make my young wife love me!" Then an ill-favoured hag behind a blanket:
"A charm to wither the face of the woman that my husband has taken instead of me!" Again, a young wife with a tearful voice:
"A charm to make me bear children!" A greasy smile from the fat Sultan, a scrap of writing to every supplicant, chinking coins dropped into the bag of the attendant from the treasury, and then up and away.
It was a nauseous draught from the bitterest waters of Islam.
