University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
THE ISLAND OF VASHNOR.

The shore on which Prince Selim and his
companions were wrecked, in which fearful catastrophe
all perished but the young monarch
himself, was in the neighborhood of the Indian
city, called Vashnor, of no great size or wealth,
the inhabitants of which subsisted by trading
spices and fruits, which their country produced
in great abundance, for other products brought
from various lands. In the interior, among the
valleys, many people were employed in cultivating
the soil, in order to raise the above-mentioned
articles of commerce, while the borders of
the island, for such it was, were nothing but
wide stretches of barren beach, or steep precipices,
beyond which extended sunken reefs, very
dangerous to navigation. On one of these reefs,
as we have seen, the ship of Selim had been
broken to pieces, and when that unfortunate
prince opened his eyes once more to the light of
day, it was to discover that he alone had been
preserved of all the company. The waves,
lashed to fury, had cast him safely beyond the
reach of their return, and thus, during the remainder
of a tempestuous night, he had lain,
out of immediate peril, but exposed to all the
violence of the winds and rain.

The morning was dull and gloomy, after the
storm, and the ocean had not yet subsided into
calmness, when the prince, recalled to his senses,
looked downward from the rocks upon which
he had been thrown. The shore was strewn
with fragments of the wreck, interspersed with
the mangled bodies of his late companions, and
Selim, appalled at the sad spectacle, turned
away his eyes, and rising with great difficulty,
for his limbs were stiffened with cold, and bruised
by the rocks, he essayed to ascend the cliffs in
order to ascertain if any habitation of man was
in sight.

But that portion of the island of Vashnor, on
which the shipwreck had taken place, was several
miles distant from the city, from which it
was also separated by high mountains, that looked
down upon the cultivated valleys. Consequently,
though the prince ascended to a great
height above the shore, so that he could command
an extended view of the ocean, he yet
was unable to discern any trace of human dwelling;
so that he began to conclude that either the
island was uninhabited, or only occupied by savages
in the interior.

But the hardships he had endured, united with
the pangs of hunger which now began to assail
him—for he had eaten nothing for two days previous
to the wreck,—urged Prince Selim to attempt
the discovery of some road by which he
might reach a less barren and inhospitable part
of the country. Ascending still further the
mountainous barrier, and penetrating through a
narrow and perilous defile, which led from the

outer cliffs, he was gratified to find that the vegetation
became less stunted and irregular as he
advanced, and that, here and there, wild berries
began to appear, clinging to the crevices of the
rocky pathway. These he plucked and ate as
he journeyed, and found them very palatable
and nutritious.

At length, after many mountings and descendings
of the narrow and crooked defile, which at
times conducted around the summits of steep
precipices, and again clove, as it appeared,
through the very centre of the mountains,
Prince Selim reached a small valley, through
the centre of which ran a clear stream of water,
apparently gushing from the mouth of a cavern
in the rocky wall. In this valley were quantities
of the berries that he had before seen, and
likewise several trees, loaded with a rich Indian
fruit that Selim recognized at once to be the
tamarind.

This discovery filled him with gratitude to
Heaven, inasmuch as it assured him against the
fear of famine, should he be forced to inhabit
the island for any length of time. He knelt beside
the running water, and after laving his face
and hands, and praying fervently, took a copious
draught of the pure element, and then treated
himself to some of the rich fruit that clustered
just above his head. Shortly after this,
weary with his travel since morn to noon, the
young prince fell asleep beside the stream.

His slumber lasted for a long term, for when
he awoke the moon was shining down upon the
valley, shimmering through the trees, and sparkling
upon the water beside him. But Selim's
throat and lips were parched with fever, and a
heavy pain throbbed through his temples. He
strove to rise, but his limbs were stiff and sore,
and refused to obey his will, while strange colors
began to dance before his sight, and ringing
noises to sound in his ears.

Selim knew that the fever, which had proved
fatal to so many of his companions on board the
ship, had now attacked himself in this desolate
place, far away from all earthly succor. He
made one more effort to rise, but in vain, and
then, yielding to delirium, sank with a wild cry
upon the ground.

But Heaven had not deserted the young prince.
It happened that the small valley into which Selim
had penetrated, was at this very time the
abode of a dervish, or hermit, who resorted hither
at certain seasons to practise his devotions,
and who had made a rude habitation in the cav
ern from which issued the clear mountain rivulet
of which the prince had drank. At the same
moment in which the youth, overcome with fever,
uttered a despairing moan as he sank prostrate,
the good dervish was returning from a
long journey which had called him away from
the valley during all the day. The moon's rays
falling upon the figure of the prince, acquainted
him at once whence had proceeded the cry what
he had heard, and hastening forward, he knelt
quickly beside the stranger, and raised his head
to the light.

Selim was quite unconscious of everything,
though his eyes remained open, and his pulse
beat rapidly. The fever, which had for a long
time, doubtless, been secretly gaining strength,
was now completely victorious over all his energies—mind
and body being alike prostrated before
its subtle power. Incoherent sounds fell
from the young man's lips, and powerful spasms
agitated his whole frame, so that the dervish
saw that immediate action was requisite in order
to save his life. He lifted him at once from the
earth, and bearing him to the cave, laid him
upon his own humble pallet, and then proceeded
to apply such remedies as he could immediately
provide.

The dervish, like most of his wandering profession,
was somewhat skilled in herbs, and understood
the preparation of simple medicaments
suited to sudden attacks like that now requiring
his aid. Besides this, he was a man of much
experience, and of a kindly nature, and therefore
he exerted himself to the utmost in rendering
all the service of which he was capable to
the suffering stranger, who had been cast literally
at his door. And under the skilful and gentle
treatment which he speedily brought to bear
upon his patient, the virulence of the fever was
soon allayed, and Selim sank into a slumber
which promised much for his restoration.

The good dervish, who had travelled in many
lands, and encountered all kinds of people, recognized,
as soon as he had leisure to observe
his guest, that the latter was no common personage.
He judged not alone by the rich robes
of the prince, or the jewels and richly decorated
sword which had escaped being torn from their
owner in his conflict with the waves, but likewise
from the noble, distinguished countenance of
Selim, and his majestic figure. These signs of
high birth and station satisfied the hermit that
whatever might be his misfortunes, the stranger
was undoubtedly a prince, or of royal connections,

and he pondered deeply as he watched the
sleeping youth, upon what strange vicissitudes
our life is composed, when one who, doubtless,
very lately had been invested with rank and
power, was now dependent upon a wandering
dervish for the care necessary to the preservation
of his life.

“We are all in the hands of God!” murmured
the dervish, as he turned to his devotions.

Prince Selim lingered long beneath the shadow
of death's portals, but the kindly attentions
of his host, and a naturally vigorous constitution,
at last enabled him to throw off the disease
which had prostrated his faculties. Weeks, it is
true, passed away before he was able to relate to
the dervish the incidents which had led to his
present situation; but when, after proper rest
and nourishing diet, which the hermit prepared
from the fruits that grew abundantly in the
neighborhood, and from the milk of two mountain
goats, which had been tamed, the prince began
to feel his old strength and health returning,
it was to cherish in his soul deeper feelings of
gratitude toward the bounteous Father who had
preserved him through every trial.

But at least two months elapsed before Selim
could venture to ascend above the rocky heights
he had before traversed, and look forth upon the
ocean once more. It was a bright sunlight day
when he essayed the journey, and the waters,
gambolling peacefully upon the yellow sands,
flashed back the noonday rays in laughing brilliancy.
How different from the scene which
Selim had last witnessed upon this shore! Not
a trace of wreck was visible—no unburied bodies
nor bleaching skeletons. All had been swept
by some new tempest to the caves of ocean, and
now nothing but sunlight, and glancing waves,
and glittering sands, could be seen from the towering
cliff.

“And where are my friends—my companions
—my people?” cried the prince, clasping his
hands, and lifting his eyes to heaven. “O, Allah!
let thy rest be vouchsafed to them and to
all suffering mortals!”

Prince Selim, after a long survey of the spot
so fraught with sad associations, prepared to retrace
his steps to the hermit's valley. He had
learned from his host that the mountains in
which they dwelt were situated about three or
four leagues' distance from the town of Vashnor,
and he proposed ere long to journey to the
latter place, in company with the benevolent
dervish, and there make himself known to the
governor, who was reported to be a man of
great goodness, and noted for his strict administration
of justice throughout the island.

But another misfortune was about to try the
faith and endurance of the prince of Guzan.
Following the road which he had travelled, faint
and weary, from the shipwreck, the young man
arrived near the dusk of evening at the entrance
of the valley in which he had for over two
months dwelt beneath the hospitable shelter of
the dervish's cave. The old hermit contemplated
passing that day in prayer, and Selim expected
on his return to find him engaged in his
devotions at the mouth of the cavern, or beside
the streamlet. What, then, was his surprise,
just as he passed the gorge which opened on the
vale, to hear the noise of struggling and the
sound of imprecations, mingled with the voice
of the hermit, apparently in supplication. The
prince darted quickly down the sloping path,
and entering the valley beheld a scene of horror.

Two men, in rough garments, were dragging
the dervish from his cave, whilst the body
of another man, covered with blood, lay close
beside the little brook. The hermit struggled
wildly, and murmured his prayers, whilst the
ruffians cursed him and beat him with their
swords.

Selim was armed with the sword he had worn
in the defence of Guzan, and which, with a few
jewels, was all that he had preserved from the
wreck of either kingdom or ship. The blade
was dented with the blows of the last struggle
which he had made, but it was still a noble
weapon in the hand of a gallant man. The
young monarch drew it from its sheath, and
commending himself to the protection of Heaven,
rushed upon the villains who were assaulting
the dervish. A fierce blow made at the foremost,
who had turned quickly to defend himself,
struck the weapon which he held to the ground,
at the same time severing a finger from the ruffian's
right hand. Selim then rushed at the
other, who had released his hold of the hermit,
and would have assuredly cloven him in sunder
had not the man sprang aside and avoided the
blow. In so doing, his face became exposed in
the rays of the declining sun, and what was the
astonishment of the prince to behold the features
of his brother Nadab!

The sword of Selim almost fell from his
grasp at this recognition, but he recovered himself
immediately, and stood firm as a rock before
the trembling hermit, who had fallen to the

ground. Nadab, on his part, seemed shaken
with mortal fear; his face grew pale, and shrinking
from the angry eyes of Selim, he sprang
away, and darted down the rocky pathway that
descended from the cavern. His comrade, who
had been disarmed and wounded, fled also, in
the track of the felon prince, leaving the young
king of Guzan master of the field.

Selim's first care was to attend to the fainting
dervish, who was bleeding from a deep wound
which he had received upon the head. The old
man's pulse was low, and his breath short, while
his eyes appeared glazed and filmy.

“My kind friend, are you much hurt? Shall
I assist you to the cave?” cried the prince, in
agitation, as he took the hermit's hand.

“Nay, my son. I can as well die here, in the
pure air, and with the sun's light on my countenance!”

“Speak not of dying, father! Your hurt,
Heaven grant, is not dangerous! Let me at
once apply some healing herb.”

“My son, I feel that I am dying. It is time!
Those unhappy men have slain one who never
injured mortal!”

“O, my friend, how did this dreadful thing
occur? Why should you be attacked, my good
father?”

“Alas, son! I sought to save the life of yonder
wretched victim, who was falling beneath
the blows of the other two, when, disturbed in
my devotions, I rushed from the cavern, and
beheld the conflict.”

“And they turned upon you, my friend?”

“I was too late to succor him whom they were
assailing, for he had already received a fatal
wound. I reached the spot only in time to hear
his last fearful words: “Brother, I curse you!”

“Brother!” cried Selim, a sudden suspicion
flashing through his brain. Then leaving the
hermit's side, he ran quickly to the rivulet side,
where lay the body of the murdered man. He
raised the cold form in his arms, turning the face
toward the western sky.

“Just Allah!—it is Osmyn!”

A deadly faintness came over the young
prince's heart; he gasped for breath, and buried
his face in his hands. Then mastering his emotions
with a great effort, he returned to the
hermit.

“Pray for me! I am going!”

These words were uttered feebly by the old
man, as Selim knelt once more at his side, and
raised his drooping head. The beaded sweat
had gathered upon his brow, and his hands were
cold and clammy. The prince saw that all mortal
assistance would be of no avail, for Azrael
awaited the departing spirit of the dervish.

Then in that lonely valley, with the last beams
of day glimmering through the leaves above,
Selim poured forth his prayer for the dying
man, who had been the preserver of his own
life. And when the ancient hermit's eyes closed
gently on the world, and his limbs grew straight
in death, the prince of Guzan prayed likewise
for another who lay dead in that dim valley—for
Osmyn, the brother who had been his foe in
life.