University of Virginia Library

THE PRINCE CORSAIR

1. CHAPTER I.
THE ASTROLOGER'S PREDICTION.

A SMALL kingdom
was once situated
upon an island in
the Indian Ocean,
over which reigned
a monarch who
had three sons,
Osmyn, Nadab,
and Selim. The
king their father
loved these young
princes with so
equal an affection
that he never
could decide in
his own mind which of them should be his successor
to the throne of Guzan, the name of his
kingdom; although, if any one of the youths
merited the honor more than another, it was without
doubt the youngest of all three, who was
called Selim. This prince appeared to possess
all the virtue requisite in a ruler who would
govern well; and at the age of twelve years, he
was far more advanced in learning and accomplishments
than any of his brothers, besides
being an especial favorite with the subjects of
the old king. It is not much to be wondered at,
then, that he soon became an object of jealousy
and dislike in the eyes of his brothers.

Nevertheless, the envious young princes carefully
concealed their uneasiness, and constantly
displayed towards him much outward affection.
They would often discourse with him, too, upon
the difficulty it might involve to divide the sovereignty
after their father's death; on which occasions
Selim would remark:

“It must not be divided. One of us alone
must reign.”

“But what will then become of the others?”
asked Osmyn, the elder, after hearing this, as
usual, from his younger brother.

“Let them support the throne, as princes,”
answered Selim.

“That's very well said,” cried Nadab, the
second brother; “but I fear we shall dispute
about the matter, unless we settle it beforehand.
Now, brethren, listen to what I have to say. I
have heard of an astrologer who dwells upon the
mountain Caucasus, which as you well know is
also the abode of the most powerful genii. This
astrologer is possessed of such potent arts that he
can rule the stars and the most subtle spirits, and
moreover, his mind is stored with all the wisdom
of the past and knowledge of the future. I propose,

therefore, that we obtain permission of the
king, our father, to depart upon a journey of
pleasure, and that we then seek the astrologer
in disguise, to inquire of him who is to succeed
to the throne of Guzan, without revealing to him
our name or station. He shall judge between
us which is to reign, and I, for one, agree to
receive his decision as the command of Heaven.
The chosen one shall possess the crown at our
father's death, and the two others, departing
from Guzan, shall seek other fields of adventure,
and strive, by their valor, to conquer kingdoms
for themselves.”

This scheme appeared to promise so much
harmony and good understanding, that it found
immediate favor in the mind of Selim; for the
unsuspecting young prince did not for a moment
suspect that his brothers had conceived any design
further than that which Nadab communicated.
So he yielded his consent at once, and
the old king of Guzan was straightway petitioned
to furnish his sons with a vessel, to proceed
as they averred, upon a pilgrimage, in which
pleasure might be combined with pious duty.
It was not long before everything was arranged,
and the three brothers, after tenderly embracing
their father, and promising a speedy return, set
out on their expedition to seek the astrologer.

They crossed the Indian Ocean without any
adventure, except being upon one occasion
chased by Ali Naro, a water pirate of those seas,
from whose pursuit they escaped by the superior
skill of their own ship. But as the desire to see
the astrologer was uppermost in their minds,
they stopped at none of the ports in any of the
waters which they traversed, until they reached
at last the harbor nearest to that mysterious
mountain, which, from time immemorial, has
been noted as the dwelling-place of genii, gries,
afrits and other supernatural beings, subjects of
the great Solomon. Here they disembarked,
and prepared to continue their journey, first,
however, disguising themselves as wandering
dervishes, in order to test the astrologer's skill,
without discovering to him their character.

After a toilsome march, and difficult ascent of
the mountain, our three princes reached, at
length, the entrance of a cavern wherein the powerful
astrologer Rahbek lived the life of a hermit.
The first object that met their eyes was
a grated iron door, from within which they heard
the voice of Rahbek raised in prayer. They
knocked loudly, but received no answer. After
pausing a little while, they redoubled their blows.
Then the solemn voice from within was heard
in reply to their summons.

“Sons of a king!” said the voice, “tarry a
moment, and be not impatient. He whose hand
created not only man, but all the heavens and
the earth, claims my service before mere mortals.
I shall be with you soon.”

The sons of the king of Guzan were, as may
be imagined, not a little startled at finding they
were known to Rahbek, even before he had cast
his eyes upon them. They waited respectfully
till he had concluded his devotions. But when
at last the astrologer opened the iron gate, how
much was their wonder increased, to have each
of them called by his own proper name, and the
object of their journey immediately mentioned.

“It is not difficult, princes,” said the aged
magician, in a very solemn tone, “to satisfy
your curiosity; nevertheless, the endeavor to
penetrate the future is always a perilous undertaking.
Let me warn you that he who shall be
designated as the successor of the king your
father will run the risk of losing his life before
returning to Guzan, and that his brothers will
one day become his most cruel enemies.”

These words startled the princes exceedingly,
and Selim the youngest endeavored to dissuade
his brothers from pursuing the inquiry any further;
but the elder princes, recovering from their
alarm, opposed his wise counsel, and bidding
him hold his peace, pressed the astrologer to declare
at once their destiny.

“If nothing can deter you from your design,”
said Rahbek, “hearken then to me. Descend
the mountain, as you came, and at the close of
one day's journey, you will encounter a woman
who will reveal to you which of the three is destined
to wear the crown of Guzan. Peace be
with you!”

The astrologer returned to his cave, and the
three princes set out on their homeward journey.
At the close of day, they reached a small plain,
surrounded by mountains, in the centre of which
a thick smoke arose out of a hole not larger
than the mouth of a well. A female was sitting
upon a rock, very near the opening.

“O,” said Osmyn, “this is doubtless she
whom Rahbek told us we should meet.” So approaching
the woman, this prince communicated
to her the words of the old astrologer.

She appeared to listen attentively, and when
Osmyn had finished, directed the three brothers
to take off their slippers and throw them, one

after the other, into the hole beside her. Osmyn
was the first to obey; but scarcely had his slippers
entered the aperture, when a frightful noise
was heard, and immediately the shoes were
vomited forth, and fell at the prince's feet, all
black with smoke, and half burned. Nadab's
turn followed, and he was treated in exactly the
same manner; but when Selim, the last, threw
his sandals in, no noise at all was heard, the
smoke disappeared for an instant, and the slippers
were cast out of the furnace, without a mark or
stain.

“It is thou, then, my lord,” said the old woman,
making an obeisance to the young man,
“who art destined to be king of Guzan. This is
the sign by which thou art recognized! Put on
thy slippers, O prince, and continue thy way!”

If Selim, as was very natural, felt satisfaction
at the omen which revealed to him so high a destiny,
it is not to be marvelled at, that the envy
and hatred of his brothers should be increased,
nor that they should speedily conclude to put
into execution a resolution which they had long
before formed, to remove the unfortunate prince
from their path as soon as possible. Concealing
their wicked feelings, however, they pretended
to be satisfied with the decrees of fate, and willing
that their brother should be exalted. But
on reaching the seashore, and re-embarking in
the ship to return to the Isle of Guzan, they began
to consult together, on all occasions, and to
lay various plans for disposing of Selim, without
drawing suspicion on themselves; and it was
not a great while before they had decided upon
a project by which to destroy the unfortunate
favorite of destiny.

2. CHAPTER II.
THE TRAITOR-BROTHERS.

Situated on the direct course necessary for
the vessel of the princes of Guzan to pursue, was
a small island known unto mariners as the
“Isle of Death,” insomuch as in the middle of
it grew that frightful tree called the Upas, which
is so very poisonous, and exudes so deadly a
vapor, that no animal can exist upon the island,
and no vegetation flourish save rank and venomous
weeds. Now it was plotted between
Osmyn and Nadab, that Selim should by some
means be inveigled into this fearful place, and
there left to fall a victim to the horrible effects
of the Upas effluvia. So no sooner had the vessel
arrived in sight of the “Isle of Death,” than
the two conspirators proposed to the captain that
they should all disembark and approach as near
to the poisonous tree as might be compatible
with safety, in order (as they pretended) to witness
the powerful effects of the miasm upon the
face of the island. The captain assented to their
desire—not, however, without warning them
of the danger of penetrating too far into the interior,
and instructing them, above all, to be
sure and re-embark before sunset, because at
nightfall the noxious vapors settled down and
overspread the entire surface of the island.

Prince Selim, who was of a very adventurous
spirit, and had no suspicion of any evil motives
in his brother's request, gladly agreed to accom
pany the rest in their proposed exploration of
the perilous place.

The captain accordingly anchored the ship
near the island, and disembarking, left a few
mariners in charge of the boat, whilst with the
princes and a large party of attendants, he proceeded
towards the interior. The wind, very
fortunately, was blowing from the water, so that
they were enabled to approach tolerably near
the Upas without inconvenience from its poisonous
atmosphere. Consequently they enjoyed a
good opportunity of satisfying their curiosity, in
viewing the desolate appearance of the soil, the
stagnant pools, green with mould, and the dark,
solemn tree itself. Little else was there in the
gloomy place to attract their notice, and so, as
twilight approached, they prepared to return to
the boat. But when they reached the beach,
and looked at one another, behold, Selim was
missing.

Immediately a great outcry was raised by the
Princes Osmyn and Nadab, about their unfortunate
brother. “He must be lost! he must be
lost!” cried the first; and, “O, poor Selim!
poor Selim!” groaned the second.

“It is very singular,” said the captain. “He
was with us only a few moments ago. I myself
conversed with him, as we were returning.”

“Let us question the crew,” cried Osmyn.

So the mariners were interrogated, and all
affirmed that the Prince Selim had accompanied
them on their return.

“Perhaps, then, he has concealed himself,
and is trying to frighten us by his absence,” said
Nadab.

“Or perhaps,” remarked Osmyn, “he has
merely lingered behind for a few moments.”

“Let us return instantly, and search for him!”
exclaimed the captain. “He would not surely
play hide and seek in a place like this.”

Saying this, the brave mariner turned about in
the direction of the Upas tree, resolved to search
for the young prince, though the sudden shifting
of the wind, and a gathering mist in the centre
of the island, warned his experienced mind
that the poisonous exhalations were about to
descend in deadly dews. Osmyn and Nadab
followed though with pale faces and trembling
limbs, and a few mariners and slaves ventured
to bring up the rear. In this manner, the party
proceeded for some distance inland, the dusk
rapidly deepening around them, and their nostrils
soon becoming sensible of an odor very
acrid and disagreeable.

“Let us raise our voices together in a loud
shout,” said the ship's captain.

This direction was obeyed, and a great noise
startled the deathly stillness. But no responding
cry came to their listening ears. Not even
an echo dwelt upon that stagnant island.

“This grows serious,” cried Osmyn. “Alas!
I fear our poor brother, in lingering behind, has
lost his way, and is overpowered by this subtle
vapor.”

“Let us search while we have yet time,” replied
the captain. “Night is gathering about
us, and not for all the wealth of Guzan would I
remain here till the evening damps come on.
But, to save life, let us still linger a while. In
the prophet's name, however, be quick, or we are
all lost!”

Again they shouted, and farther on they
marched, straining their ears to catch a sound
upon the breeze which now began to blow strong
from the land, bearing poison in every breath.
But vain were their exertions. Selim was not to be found.

Then the two brothers, Osmyn and Nadab
tore their hair, beat their breasts, and rent their
garments. “O, woe! woe!” cried they. “Sad
is the hour—luckless the day! Our brother is
lost, and we must return without him. O, woe,
woe! what can we say to the king our father?”

The captain endeavored to console the princes,
but without effect. They continued to bemoan,
and rend their garments; and when at last it
became necessary to return to the ship, inasmuch
as the venomous night clouds were settling
down upon the island, they covered their
faces with their mantles, and appeared to give
themselves up to the most violent despair.

But all the while, instead of grieving, these
wicked princes were laughing in secret over the
success of their unnatural scheme; for it was
through their artful contrivance that the unfortunate
Selim had disappeared so mysteriously.
And this was the manner in which their cruel
plan had been put in practice.

Before setting out to reconnoitre the island,
the three princes had provided themselves (pursuant
to the captain's advice) with phials filled
with a powerful antidote to poison, which they
were to smell constantly, as they approached
the Upas, in order to counteract the deleteriousness
of the atmosphere.. But in preparing Selim's
phial, his treacherous brothers had infused
into the antidote a strong narcotic powder, which
being inhaled repeatedly, would produce sudden
drowsiness, followed by a slumber of twelve
hours' duration.

Selim, in his march toward the tree, had constantly
kept the phial to his nose; and his
brothers marked with concealed joy, that his
steps at length became unsteady, and his head
nodded to and fro. They had watched him
closely, keeping near to him all the time, until,
choosing the moment when the narcotic was
about to overcome him, they had led him a little
to one side, unperceived by any one, and suddenly
pushed him over a precipice into a deep
gully filled with green and stagnant water. Then,
hurrying onward, and mingling with the rest,
Osmyn engaged the captain's attention, and
prevented his notice of Selim's absence till the
party had reached the seashore.

Thus the atrocious design of these wretched
youths had been successfully executed, and they
managed entirely to deceive the captain by well-counterfeited
sorrow for their brother's fate.
The vessel immediately set sail from the “Isle
of Death,” and Osmyn and Nadab, shrouding
their foreheads with blue turbans and wearing
robes of the same hue, presented to all eyes a
pious spectacle of the deepest mourning.

3. CHAPTER III
“THE ISLE OF DEATH.”

Abandoned upon a desert island, exposed
to the terrible miasma of the Upas, and moreover
precipitated insensible into a ravine filled
with stagnant water, apparently surcharged with
all the pestilential dews and vapors of the place,
it seemed utterly improbable that Prince Selim
could survive an hour, or that he would ever recover
from the unconsciousness produced by the
drug which he had inhaled. But, as it is often
through agencies which seem most detrimental
to health and life, that nature effects a cure of
some virulent disease, so in the present case it
was ordered by divine wisdom that the measure
which had appeared to secure the greatest success
to the nefarious scheme of Selim's brothers,
was in fact the one through which the prince's
life was to be preserved, in the midst of the
perils which surrounded him. The pool of
stagnant liquid into which he had been thrown
was not indeed, as Osmyn and Nadab conjectured,
a collection of poisonous juices and
drippings from the envenomed atmosphere, but
was a reservoir of that powerful fluid called in
commerce vitriol, which is well-known to accumulate
in such quantities, often forming large
lakes, to which adventurous traders resort for a
supply of the market; and which in some countries,
are leased by the governors to companies
of merchants, who amass much profit from a
traffic in the article. It was a pool or pond
of this fluid which had exuded from the rocks
and collected in the gully wherein Prince
Selim had been treacherously pushed by his
brothers, just as he was about yielding to the
soporific influence of the drug contained in his
phial.

How long the poor youth remained lying
prostrate upon the margin of the pool, with a
portion of his body actually exposed to the corrosive
liquid, it is difficult to say; but he was at
length awakened from his lethargy by a burning
sensation pervading his whole frame, which arose
from the action of the vitriol upon one hand and
arm, and part of his left side, that had fallen in
contact with it, as he lay stretched insensible.
It might be that hours elapsed, during which the
noxious vapors of the “Isle of Death” had
settled like a great pall over the surface; but
when Selim awoke, he remained for some time
without being able to recall any former event in
his life. The hot pain that he experienced made
him instinctively withdraw his person from the
liquid, which at the moment he could only fancy
to be a pool of boiling water; while the thick
darkness that surrounded him, and the consciousness
of his being in a strange locality, without
any recollection of the past, plunged his senses
for a short period into a stupefaction almost as

deep as that induced by the potion. He could
only, by a mechanical movement, gather his
limbs together, so as to avoid the vitreous water,
and then slowly crawl away over what appeared
a soil of greasy loam; after which he remained
for many minutes in a dim, trance-like state,
only cognizant of the burning feeling that pervaded
his left arm and side.

At length, however, as the unfortunate prince
lay thus immobile, he began to be sensible of a
change in the temperature of the surrounding
atmosphere. At first, the air to his slowly reviving
perceptions was exceedingly heavy, heated
and choking; but gradually, and proceeding
as it seemed, from a current of air, a coolness
succeeded to the oppressive warmth, and operating
upon the prince's brain, began to dissipate
the stupor which enthralled him. His eyes
opened, though in the deep gloom they could
distinguish no object, and his recollections, languidly
returning, like the shadows of a half-remembered
dream, began at last to assume shape
and fixedness.

It may be fancied that in such a position the
gradually-developing memory of the young
prince must have opened a fearful field to his
reflections. He did not indeed recall much of
his experience in the “Isle of Death,” inasmuch
as every incident which had transpired after the
landing of his party, and their setting out in
search of the Upas, was now a blank in his
mind; but he nevertheless divined that his
present situation and locality were directly connected
with his expedition toward the poisonous
tree, and he conceived that he was now, in fact,
under the influence of the malaria, and, more
over, abandoned upon the fatal island. But,
though so melancholy a conviction was well
calculated to appall his spirit, yet, so far from
murmuring, the prince composed himself to his
fate with a resignation natural to his disposition.

“I am in the hands of Allah,” he said to himself.
“He is powerful to save me; and that I
am now alive, and conscious of my situation, is
an omen of my preservation at last. Therefore,
I will not despair, but trust in him whose wisdom
overrules the lives of men.”

Prince Selim then bowed his face, and prayed
long and fervently to Heaven, for assistance and
support in his perilous position; and in performing
this act of devotion, he became at once aware
of the great cause he had to be thankful for the
beneficence which had preserved him. For, as
his head approached the earth, he felt a rush of
cold air, and presently discovered an aperture in
the embankment, out of which proceeded a
steady current, moist and saline, and evidently
arising from some subterranean cavern, connected
with the sea. He placed his mouth and
nostrils at the small opening, and inhaling a
long draught, became at once conscious of renewed
strength and animation. “O, Allah!”
he exclaimed aloud, his breast heaving with new
life, and his heart pulsating rapidly; “O, Allah!
how wonderful are thy ways! Here is a draught
of delicious health, whilst all around is poison!”

But not then did the prince realize how the
forces of nature had combined their various
operations, obedient to the heavenly wisdom,
which had watched over his helplessness. He
did not know that the deadly venom of the Upas
had been neutralized in its effects by the superior
acid of the vitreous lake; how that acid, likewise,
acting upon the surface of his arm and
side, had, by means only of a slight pain, awakened
him to consciousness; and how, finally,
the sulphuric gas generated by the vitriol, that
of itself had been dangerous to his life, was carried
away from his person by the current of air
which, through the subterranean passage, had
borne the pure salt of the ocean to revive his
palsied energies. All these necessities of nature
had indeed united to produce the seeming
miracle of his restoration.

But, thought at the time unaware of the extent
of his obligations to the great Source of all
good things, Prince Selim neglected not, through
the intervals of that tedious night which he passed
near the pool of vitriol, to prostrate himself
afterwards in prayer and thankfulness to Heaven.
And when, at length, the first glimpses of daylight
were discernible in the east, and he began to
feel the fresh breeze blowing in strongly from the
shore, and lifting the heavy vapors that hung
over the whole island, and when, at last, inspiring
a long draught of the cool current from the
earth, he arose and hurried toward the beach,
his first thought was to greet the coming of the
full day, in a spot where he could feel the full
extent of Heaven's merey.

At the moment when Prince Selim reached
the shore, the sun was giving beautiful warning
of his approach, by the yellow haze that, at first
blended with the gray clouds, gradually deepened
and glowed, until at last it seemed to become
an atmosphere of burning gold, mingled with a
sea of rolling fire. From the low stretch of
beach where he stood, the young man could

behold the entire eastern horizon belted with
crimson and orange, and other brilliant hues,
changing every moment, like the shifting flashes
of fairy vision, until finally, the glorious orb
itself arose out of its flaming bed, even as the
great Solomon might ascend his throne, crowned
with light, above the subject elements. Then
all the dark shadows of the fearful night swiftly
fled and lost themselves afar, and the vapors of
the Upas shrank within the isle, to coil themselves
in fear around their evil parent.

Prince Selim, after watching for a long time
the radiant spectacle that filled his eyes, inspiring
him more than ever before, with admiration
of that mighty Allah on whose will hung all the
suns and stars, as well as the children of men,
prepared, as a devout Mussulman, to perform
his ablutions, and offer a morning prayer to the
Author and Preserver of his life. He walked a
few paces down the shore, whose sands sparkled
in the rich light like particles of silver, and,
stooping beside the bright water that glided
softly at his feet, laved his brow and face, and
poured from the hollow of his hand a few drops
of the clear element, at the same time turning in
the direction of Mecea, whilst he bowed in
reverence thrice, repeating the ritual enjoined
upon followers of the prophet. As he did so,
his eyes encountered an object that startled and
terrified him.

Near the spot where he stood, and almost hidden
from view by the sands which were heaped
up around it, appeared the wreck of a ship's
boat. The stern which was the only part distinctly
visible, was of a sable hue, with a crimson
crescent in the centre; and this, together with
such portions of the sides as were not entirely
covered, presented a shattered and beaten look,
as if they had long suffered the assaults of storm
and waves. But the object which affrighted
Selim, and indeed one calculated at all times, to
startle a beholder, was the white and ghastly
skeleton of a human form, which lay on one of
the seats of the boat, its ribs and breast pressed
against the gunwale, and its long, fleshless arms
hanging over to the sand beneath. A shudder
thrilled through the prince's frame, and his
heart seemed to grow faint and chill, as he contemplated
the sad relic of humanity.

But Selim was not one to be mastered by any
superstitious feeling, and his reason quickly enabled
him to banish the sensation of fear which
had transiently possessed him. He reflected
that this was very likely the skeleton of some
poor shipwrecked traveller, cast upon the poisoned
isle, and fallen a victim to the miasma
from whose deadly influence he himself had so
miraculously been protected. The sight of the
boat, too, could not but present to the prince's
intelligence a sudden hope that, by means of
even so frail a bark, he might escape from the
island, and he resolved at once to ascertain if it
could be got afloat and made capable of service.
But, firstly, as soon as he could sufficiently recover
his composure, the good Prince Selim
knelt once more upon the sands, and offered up
a prayer to Allah for the repose of that soul
whose mortal remains lay now extended upon
the barren beach. “And let me,” he exclaimed,
as he rose to his feet, “let me in the first place,
proceed to perform the rites of sepulture to this
shattered frame of what was once a fellow-being.
Perhaps Heaven has directed this discovery for
my deliverance, and I must not, on my part, be
unmindful of the sacred duty incumbent upon all
the faithful. I will without delay prepare a
grave for this poor victim of the island.”

Saying this, the prince, although much worn
by his night of vigils, and moreover very faint,
because of long abstinence from food, proceeded
with his hands, and a shell which he found upon
the shore, to remove the covering of sand that
concealed the lower portion of the skeleton, and
the greater part of the boat in which it lay. But
as he proceeded in his labors, Selim, with much
concern, discovered that all prospect of escape
by the medium of the boat, must be at once
abandoned; for it was so battered and crazy by
long exposure to wind and waves as to be beyond
the skill of hands to render seaworthy, even
if material could be had wherewith to repair it;
and to procure this latter was entirely an impossibility,
since no wood of any sort, save that
of the Upas tree, was to be met with in the
whole island.

Therefore, Prince Selim abandoning all hope
of escape by the boat, set himself vigorously to
work in the burial-task which he had taken upon
himself to perform. It was several hours, however,
before, through the tedious process which
the want of proper instruments of excavation
compelled him to pursue, he could entirely disengage
the bones from their shroud of sand, dispose
them decently together, and prepare them
for the final resting-place in a grave which he
scooped ont near a low rock that he thought
might shelter it from the dashing of waves. At
length, however, all being made ready, the skeleton

of the unknown was deposited in the ground
by the hand of Prince Selim, who then placed
upon its breast the shell with which he had hollowed
out the sand, after first graving upon it
with his dagger-point, a short and appropriate
verse from the Koran. Finally, before closing
up the simple sepulchre, the young man bowed
beside it, offering a concluding prayer for the
departed spirit.

So absorbed had Prince Selim been in his
labor, and forgetful of aught save the pious duty
which he felt bound to fulfil, that he was not at all
conscious of the near approach of a vessel, which
rounding an abrupt point of the island, had
noiselessly dropped anchor, and lowered a boat,
filled with men, which was now rapidly making
for the shore. Indeed, it was not till his last
prayer was over, and he arose to finish his task
by covering the romains with sand, that the
harsh grating of the boat's keel upon the beach
very near, and a simultaneous shout from all the
strangers on discovering him, apprised him of
the presence of living human beings.

At first Selim was impressed with the thought
that his brothers and their companions had returned
to search for him, but a glance at the
new-comers quickly undeceived him. They
were men of swarthy countenances, fierce in expression,
and all were clothed and armed with
strange garbs and weapons. Both the prince
and the strangers remained silent for a space,
regarding one another with surprise; and then
one who appeared, from his age and demeanor,
to be the chief of the mariners, held up his hands
and spoke a few words in the Arabic tongue,
which Selim well understood, demanding of the
latter how it had come to pass that a man could
exist upon the “Isle of Death?”

The prince returned the questioner's scrutinizing
gaze with the open glance which was
natural to him, and replied in a firm voice:

“Allah is all-powerful, my friend, and man's
life is in his hands at all times.”

“But how came you here? where is the ship
that landed you? for what crime were you
doomed to perish?”

The interrogations were uttered hurriedly and
in a commanding tone, to which Selim was
about to reply, when a sudden outery from the
rest of the party attracted his attention as well
as that of the stranger.

The alarm was occasioned by a discovery of
the shattered debris of the boat, and an apparent
recognition of the wreck by the band. The old
chief slowly turned his head toward his men, but
no sooner did his glance rest upon the dark stern
and the crimson crescent in its centre, than he
seemed to forget immediately the questions that
he had just propounded, and abruptly starting
away, he walked quickly to the boat, which was
now nearly freed from the mass of sand that
had concealed it. Arriving at the wreck, he
stooped, and appeared for a short time to be attentively
examining the planks; then, rising
quickly, he rushed toward the prince again, gesticulating
wildly, and apparently moved with
strong emotion. At length his words became
intelligible.

“The boat!” he cried—“what know you of
that boat? Where is my son?”

Selim startled at the vehemence of the old
man's manner, could at first hardly frame a
reply to his abrupt questions. Nevertheless,
preserving his calmness, as he saw that both
grief and anxiety marked the stranger's features,
he raised his hand, half unconscious of what he
was doing, and pointed to the open grave, wherein
lay the skeleton he had been about to cover.

This movement of Selim, and the sudden disclosure
which it seemed to make to the old mariner's
perceptions, caused a renewal of the latter's
violent agitation. He clasped his hands together,
covered his face with their united palms, and
then sunk prostrate upon the sand beside the
grave. His companions gathered near, but looked
on in silence, as if apprehensive of disturbing
their chief. Selim likewise remained quiet,
beginning to suspect that some close relation had
existed between the strange old man and the
skeleton of the wrecked boat.

This impression was soon verified; for when
the paroxysm of grief that had convulsed the
mariner, became exhausted, and he lifted his
bowed head from the ground, the first movement
of his hand was to reach forth and take from one
of the clasped fingers of the skeleton a small
emerald ring, which had escaped the prince's
notice till this moment, inasmuch as it was
thickly crusted with the sand that clung to nearly
all the bones. Gazing fixedly upon the jewel
for a few moments, the old man appeared to be
slowly recalling his calmness, and when at
length he turned his eyes upon Selim, and spoke
once more, his voice, instead of being quick and
loud as before, was quite low, though very
distinct.

“My son!” he murmured, lifting his eyes
from the skeleton form that reposed upon its

kindred earth, up to the heaven that now was
bright with sunlight—“my son! may Allah rest
thee!” Then making a sign to Selim that he
should follow, the old mariner walked a few
paces from the rest of the party. The young
prince, hesitating not to obey the signal, speedily
joined the stranger at the spot where he had
halted.

“Young man!” was the first greeting of the
mariner to Selim, who awaited his address in
silence; “If my conduct has seemed strange to
you, so likewise your presence unharmed upon
this poisonous isle cannot but be marvellous to
me. I ask you, therefore, who you are, and by
what miracle you exist where all things die?”

“Why I have been permitted to exist,” returned
Prince Selim, “is known to Allah alone,
since his care has preserved me through the
perils of the place. What I am, is more easily
explained. I am called Selim, and my father
reigns over the kingdom of Guzan.”

“And what manner of crime did you commit,
that was deemed worthy of such terrible expiation?”
asked the mariner.

“I know not what you would imply?” returned
Selim.

“It is only the greatest criminals who have
ever been exposed to the terrible death by Upas
poison.”

“I am conscious of no crime,” said Selim.
“It is but yesterday that, in company with my
two brothers and the master of our ship, I landed
upon this island, actuated by a curiosity to
observe the effect of the poison-tree upon its
vicinity. I remember our disembarking, and
setting forth toward the Upas, but I can recall
none of the circumstances which afterwards happened,
nor do I know by what fatality I was left
behind, unless—”

Selim paused in confusion, for a suspicion of
his brothers' treachery, could not but obtrude
upon his mind at the moment. He shuddered,
and became deadly pale.

“How! were you abandoned by the princes
your brothers upon this horrible place?”

Selim endeavored to regain his composure, for
he saw that it was necessary he should explain
what he himself knew in regard to his present
situation. He proceeded, therefore to recount
such incidents as had occurred to him, from the
moment of his returning to consciousness near
the mysterious pool, to the hour when, reaching
the beach, he had discovered the wrecked boat.
But when he related how, impelled by a sense
of duty to the dead, he had hollowed out a resting-place
for the bones which the boat contained,
the agitation of the old mariner, who listened
attentively, suddenly returned. He clasped the
young prince's hands, drawing him close, and
embracing him warmly, while, in broken accents
he exclaimed:

“Pious youth! you have won my gratitude
forever. Alas! these relics were the last of my
only son, whose loss I have mourned for many
months. Assuredly Heaven directed me to
land this morning, in order that I might be instrumental
in rescuing you, noble prince, from
the dangers of this horrible island. Perhaps,
indeed, I may be an agent of the reward which
your pious conduct has merited.”

“Allah be thanked! I have not for a moment
despaired of relief,” cried Selim.

“Prince, you are without doubt, preserved for
some great purpose, and I, though men call me
an outlaw and a man of crime, can recognize
the hand of Heaven in this thing. But, return
we to my men, and they shall unite with me in
acknowledging the pious care which you have
bestowed upon the remains of a comrade dear to
all of them, as to me, his unhappy father.”

Saying this, the mariner led the way to the
beach, and presently acquainted his companions
with the rank of Selim, and the occasion of his
being found upon the “Isle of Death.” And
when, in conclusion, he informed them of the
respect which the noble youth had exhibited toward
the mortal remains of him who had been
their comrade, the rough seamen pressed around
the prince, uttering a thousand protestations of
gratitude for the act which he had performed; so
that the son of the king of Guzan hardly knew
what return to offer to their singular devotion.
Nevertheless, with natural dignity and goodness
of heart, he received the embraces of the seamen,
and then, at the request of their chief, finished
his prayer for the departed, whilst they reverentially
covering the skeleton with their garments,
bore it to the boat, and there deposited it, for
transportation to the ship, after having first
marked the place which was to have been its
sepulchre, with a rude monument of stone and
shells hastily gathered from the beach, and the
shattered fragments of the wrecked boat that
had so long been the victim's resting-place.

When the rite was over, the seamen, at a signal
from their commander, marched away in the
direction of the Upas tree, whilst Prince Selim
with the old man entered the boat in which the
latter had landed. For some moments both
preserved silence, seemingly occupied with reflections
upon the strange events which had
happened. At length the mariner spoke, laying
his hand upon the prince's arm:

“Mark,” said he, “how mysterious are the
ways in which destiny operates. Six months
ago, yonder mouldering skeleton, clothed with
healthy life, and animated by a daring spirit,
stood beside me in battle and storm, promising
support and strength to my declining years.
Proud and high spirited, my son Ali was likewise
unhappily rash and headstrong. His temper
could not brook the stern discipline by means
of which I have ever controlled the turbulent
men whom I command. One fatal night, alas!
that I survived it, the son boldly disputed his
father's will. I sternly ordered his instant obedience,
and with a taunt he turned away. My
crew were witnesses to the insult, and I had no
alternative but instant action. I struck the daring
rebel to the deck of my ship, and left him
bleeding and insensible, whilst I sought my
cabin. It was the last time that I ever beheld
him!”

The old mariner paused, overcome with his
recollections, and for a few moments uttered no
word. Then, recovering himself, he went on
again:

“At daybreak next morning, when after a restless
night, I ascended to the deck, and summoned
Ali to my side, the unhappy boy was nowhere
to be found. Whether my crew knew
aught of his departure I know not but he was
gone, and the absence of a boat from the ship's
side gave the only clew to the means by which
he had escaped. In the darkness of night,
burning with a sense of the indignity which he
had suffered, and, perhaps, cursing his wretched
father, my poor Ali abandoned his comrades and
the ship, and trusted himself to the wide waters.
Alas! he departed to his death, and I was left
desolate. This is all that remains to me of my
beloved Ali!”

The old man, as he said this, took from his
bosom the emerald ring which he had discovered
upon the skeleton's finger, and pressed it to his
lips.

“This was his mother's, and now twice the
dead have restored it to the living.”

Selim ventured not to disturb the emotion
which this thought seemed to awaken in the old
mariner's heart; but awaited his renewal of the
conversation, and it was not long before he
resumed:

“Prince,” he said, “pardon a father's agitation,
and let me continue. This morning, as
my vessel drew in sight of the `Isle of Death,'
the sudden thought occurred to me, to procure
from the vicinity of the Upas some of the soil
which is said to be so strongly saturated with
poison, as to be capable of impregnating steel
and iron with the deadly venom. I felt a desire
to experiment, by coating some of our arrowheads
and other offensive weapons with the venom,
and for this reason alone landed with a few
men. Judge of my astonishment at beholding
a living man upon the shore.”

“And to this accident alone, I am indebted
for my escape perhaps from death.”

“Prince!” returned the mariner. “It was
no accident, though thus it seems to our eyes.
Doubtless, all has been ruled for your good,
even the death of my poor Ali. And this day,
young man, you have gained a friend who may
yet serve you essentially. I appreciate your
goodness of heart, and moreover I cannot help
believing that you are the victim of some great
treachery. When I learn more of your history,
I shall be able to decide with better judgment.
But, ere you confide aught to me, it is proper
that I should discover to you my name and
character. You have doubtless heard of the
corsair Ali-Naro. Prince, I am he!”

Selim could not restrain a sudden start at the
mention of this name; for he remembered that
the captain of his own ship had represented it as
borne by an unscrupulous and desperate pirate,
the scourge of the Indian Seas, whose hand was
never free from the stain of human blood, and
who delighted in deeds of cruelty. Yet, as he
looked upon the grave features of the man beside
him, he could scarcely realize that one of so
evil a reputation should appear not only mild
but even benignant.

“I know not what may be your past life,
Ali-Naro,” said the prince, after a short silence.
“The actions of a man are to be judged by Allah
at last. I know, however, that you have rescued
me from a fate that is wretched to contemplate,

and I must consequently look upon you with
gratitude. Perhaps, likewise, it is Allah who
impresses me that I can also confide in you as a
friend.”

“Thanks, noble Prince Selim!” cried the
corsair. “Trust me when I say to you, that
you will never regret your confidence in Ali-Naro.”

The sailors were now seen returning from the
Upas tree, and their chief rose to ask them questions
concerning their success in procuring the
soil; after which, in a few moments, the men
took their stations in the boat, and in a very
brief space Selim stood upon the deck of the
vessel commanded by the corsair chieftain.

4. CHAPTER IV.
ALI-NARO THE CORSAIR.

The career of the Arabian adventurer, Ali-Naro,
had been a wild and stormy one, and his
name was a terror to the rich merchants of India
and Persia, who voyaged in their well-freighted
vessels, to trade with distant ports, and
barter with caravans at points upon the shore
which served as entrepots of inland merchandize.
The corsair was always sure to know beforehand
of the time of departure, the value of cargo,
and capabilities of defence, of every ship
which traversed the waters over which he claimed
command; and not a few of the islands
either through their princes, or by their chief
merchants, chose rather to purchase the protection
of the formidable freebooter, by a yearly
payment of tribute, than to run the risk of losing
thrice as much by his bold descents upon the
shore, or attacks of their vessels of trade. Consequently
Ali-Naro enjoyed a sort of sovereignty
throughout the insular kingdoms around which
his flag was borne triumphantly from the masts
of three ships, the largest of which was commanded
by the corsair himself, and was that in
which Prince Selim now found himself—an
honored guest.

The remaining two vessels comprising Ali-Naro's
fleet, were signalled by the lookout from
the “Green Bird,” which was the name of the
admiral's bark, in a very few hours after the
embarkation of Ali-Naro and his new friend from
the “Isle of Death.” They appeared at first
like small feluccas upon the horizon, and gradually
approaching, were discerned by the prince
to be much inferior in size and armament to the
“Green Bird,” on the quarter-deck of which he
now stood, with her captain.

“The `Green Bird' is my fighting vessel,
prince!” said the old chief. “Many a Persian
corvette has struck her flag to my pennon, and
the Franks know me so well that they never fail
to give sea room in plenty for the `Green Bird's'
flight.”

“And have you never been defeated, captain?”
asked Selim.

“I have met my match, prince, and have been
fain to sheer off, after a hot brush with a superior
force, but never has the good Bird received more
than she gave in return, in the matter of blows,
my young friend. It is not many days since I
fought two Persian ships of twice our size, at
once, and so sure was I of victory, that yonder
craft were ordered to keep within hail in order
to take possession of the `Green Bird's' prizes
when the battle should be decided.”

“And you captured both?”

“Two richly laden barks from Cathay—with
silks and spices, worth a king's jewels, my friend.
The Bird's handmaidons yonder, as I call the

other vessels, are even now returning from our
free port, where the flag of Ali-Naro floats over
three hundred brave men, the corsair subjects of
a corsair-chief. So I may well call you cousin,
noble prince, though my true throne is the deck
of a battle-ship.”

The smaller vessels now advanced, and answering
the “Green Bird's” signals, ranged
behind the latter, whilst she led the way over the
bright waters which a brisk breeze was now agitating.
Selim, as he glanced from the calm and
grave countenance of the old chief, to the swarthy
and determined crew, who moved back and
forth over the well-ordered deck, trimming the
sails, and making firm every line and rope, as the
ship bounded on her way, could not help comparing
his own situation, betrayed, as he doubted
not, by his brothers, with the power and freedom
enjoyed by the sea rover with whom he had been
so strangely brought into connection. It was
true that the gentle soul of the prince recoiled
from sympathy with the lawless life of a pirate;
nevertheless, he could not but reflect that, after
all, the position of All-Naro was on a par with
that of most of the monarchs of the earth, whose
dominion was held, oftentimes, only by reason
of their strength over weaker men, and whose
possessions were generally increased by the same
means employed by the corsair to swell his coffers—that
is to say, by violence and aggression
upon those who crossed his path.

“In what then, alas,” said Selim, to himself,
“are princes less freebooters, when, by force of
arms, they seek to subjugate a neighboring state?
And are not my brothers Osmyn and Nadab,
more worthy of execration than this corsair-captain?
He declares himself boldly a sovereign
of the ocean, and demands tribute from all who
cross his domain; but my unhappy brothers
have sought, like ignoble assassins, to gain
their objects by the most wicked treachery.”

Doubtless the expressive countenance of the
prince of Guzan revealed somewhat of the reflections
occurring to his mind, to the keen eyes
of Ali-Naro; for the latter, with a sympathizing
look, addressed him once more:

“Prince!” said the captain. “Give not way
to sad or gloomy thoughts. I have promised
that I would be your friend, and believe me, I
will prove that I can yet be of service to you.
We are now directing our course to a small
island which we shall reach before to-morrow
morning. It is my citadel, storehouse and hospital.
There I retire, when the season of traffic
is over, and feel myself as much a monarch as
when on my quarter-deck. There my brave
companions have their wives and children like
the soldiers of your island kings; but there,
when wounded or disabled, the invalid subject
of the corsair Ali-Naro finds shelter and support
for life, whilst you land-princes leave the
poor slave to shift for himself, when he is no
longer serviceable to his master.”

“And you are doubtless as happy as a monarch
of Persia or Cathay?” said Prince Selim.

“If my poor Ali had been spared,” cried the
corsair, turning his head to hide the softening of
his eyes which denoted how deeply the loss of
his son had affected his stern nature; “if he had
not rashly cast himself away, Ali-Naro would
have ceased his wanderings, and dwelt among
his people, a friend and father. This year had
been the last of my outlaw life, prince!”

“Allah knows I pity you!” murmured Selim,
taking the old mariner's hand, and looking in
his face with an undisguised expression of deep
commiseration.

“May Allah reward you, noble prince!” returned
Ali-Naro. “But—let me not show this
weakness, or my comrades will think me about
to turn dervish. My son is gone—and my dream
of a peaceful close to my stormy life is past also.
But, you, prince, shall know me as a friend. We
shall refresh our men by a brief sojourn at the
`Isle of Eagles,' as I have named my rocky
home, and then, with all the force I ever command,
you shall be conveyed to your father's
kingdom. If the base men who abandoned you
have returned before, they shall eat dirt in their
father's presence.”

“Nay, my friend, Ali-Naro!” cried Selim,
“I bear no malice toward my brothers. They
were blinded by ambitious desires, and—”

“Would have murdered you to attain them,”
rejoined the corsair. “No, prince, you have given
me your confidence, and I feel that you have been
wickedly betrayed. The prediction of the astrologer
will doubtless be fulfilled, as is apparent
from your preservation in the `Isle of Death,'
but the crime of your brothers is not lessened
because of its lack of success. They triumph
now, believing in your destruction. Let it be
my task to deal with these treacherous princes.”

“But my father will be distracted should he
learn of their baseness.”

“You are a good son!” cried Ali-Naro, his
memory reverting to his unfortunate boy.
“Well, let Allah, in whom you trust devoutly,

direct us when we arrive at Guzan. Be it may
pleasure to escort you thither, as becomes a
prince.”

Over the smooth Indian Ocean, the three vessels
sped swiftly, and, when on the morning succeeding
that in which he had awoke to find
himself abandoned on the “Isle of Death,”
Selim arose from the couch which had been prepared
for him on board the “Green Bird,” and
ascending to the crowded deck, he discovered
that the vessel was rapidly nearing a wide, precipitous
point of rocky land, beyond which extended
a narrow opening of water, forming a
channel of communication from the ocean to a
secluded harbor completely imbedded in the
grassy slopes of a lovely island, crowned by a
succession of steep ramparts, on which waved a
flag like that flying from the “Green Bird's”
mast-head. A multitude of women and children,
dressed as if for a gala, crowded the heights,
and a hundred or more armed men were drawn
in array on the beach, whilst many others occupied
various points along the shore, waving flags
and beating drums, as the “Green Bird” entered
the narrow inlet.

“These are my subjects—or rather children,”
said Ali-Naro. “Not a child among them all
but has kissed me with its infant lips, and not a
father but would die for me.”

“This is to be a monarch indeed!” cried Selim.
“O, that I could be so beloved by my
people. It would be worthy of ambition!”

“Be just, and you cannot fail to win the hearts
of your subjects, prince,” replied Ali-Naro.
“If a corsair, whose life is lawless, and whose
hand has been against the whole world, can thus
gain the affection and esteem of his rude companions,
why may not an enlightened and generous
prince learn to make himself the favorite
of his countrymen?”

The ship had now threaded her way through
the devious channel which conducted between
overhanging bluffs to the green bank of shore,
and, casting anchor abreast of the little town,
saluted the inhabitants with a blast of martial
music, and the display of a hundred gay flags of
different nations. The multitude on the ramparts,
and many who had put off in boats bedecked
with silken streamers, now burst into a
simultaneous cheer, and afar up in the precipices,
a thousand echoes replied to the wild acclaim.
Prince Selim, standing beside the captain, near
the stern of the ship, could behold the entire
population of the place, seemingly actuated by a
single emotion of enthusiasm, and he began to
forget that Ali-Naro was only a freebooter, and
to fancy that he witnessed the greeting of a
faithful city's inhabitants, to some victorious
king who had brought succor to their distresses.

But, when, disembarking, the corsair-chief
conducted his guest to a beautiful castle which
was built upon a lofty eminence, back of the
village, and from out of a screen of thick foliage,
commanding a view of the ocean for miles on
every side; and when, to the hall of audience
where Ali-Naro sat, like a sultan at his divan,
came hundreds of the happy islanders, thronging
to bid their leader welcome; stern, swarthy men
wreathing their fierce faces with smiles, and
beautiful women kissing the old mariner's hands,
and gentle children climbing around his seat—
while, all the time, great shouts arose without,
and the din of merry music shook the entire
island—Prince Selim was well-nigh bewildered,
and thought to himself, that such a welcome had
never greeted his father on returning to Guzan.
And, then, remembering Ali-Naro's words, the
young prince said to himself:

“If a corsair is thus beloved and reverenced,
why may not a prince be? I will be just to my
people, and merit their affection—if, in his good
time, Allah shall please to give to me the crown
of Guzan.”

5. CHAPTER V.
THE “ISLE OF EAGLES.”

A SHORT stay at the “Isle of Eagles” was
necessary to afford opportunity to Ali-Naro to
refit his vessels completely, and to select from
his entire force a number sufficient for his proposed
expedition to the island of Guzan, whither
he designed at once to escort the prince, his
guest. During this time, Selim had leisure to
examine the corsair's isle and its inhabitants,
and he found much to claim his admiration.
Possessed of boundless wealth, the accumultion
of his predatory career; and, moreover,
inspired by a rare taste, combined with an educated
mind, Ali-Naro had taken delight in beautifying
and enriching the little island which he
claimed as his own. The hand of art had shaped
the growth of nature, by refined cultivation,
and embellished every portion of the domain
with peculiar and appropriate graces. The luxuriance
of woods afforded scope for all that could
be achieved in forest architecture, and bosky
dells, sylvan grots, arbors, eaves, and labyrinthine
walks, extended from the eminence on
which Ali-Naro's castle was built, down to the
green terraces that sloped to the transparent bay.
Lovely white cottages dotted the landscape on
either side, and fragrant gardens, encircling these,
sent up continually a breath of perfume to the
heights.

Nor had beauty alone been considered, in its
sensuous aspect, by the planner of this corsair's
paradise. Usefulness possessed its share in the
adornment of the “Isle of Eagles.” Not only
were barracks, white-walled and neat, prepared
for the mariners on shore, but a large hospital,
supplied with all the aids of the healing art, provided
for the wants of those among the crews
who might be wounded or sick. A mosque for
prayer attested the reverence of the outlaws for
the forms of their religion, if it did not answer
for their observance of all the Koran's principles,
and workshops, fisheries, and fields of corn,
agreeably diversified the prospect, wherever,
from his chamber in the castle, Prince Selim permitted
his gaze to wander. Altogether, the
“Isle of Eagles” was a habitation fit for great
enjoyment, and all the luxury of peace. Strange
passion of alternation is that which sways the
heart of man. It transformed the rude and savage
pirate chief into the calm architect of rural
scenery—the destroyer into the beautifier.

But not to remain long in his island retreat
was Ali-Naro's intention, though the prince
would gladly have lingered. In truth, though
surrounded by devoted comrades and friends,
the corsair chief found little pleasure in the habitation
which he had created and made lovely,
for the enjoyment of another—that unfortunate
son whose bones had so long lain upon the “Isle

of Death,” and now, bedewed with the tears of
handreds who loved the youth, were laid silently
away in a sequestered grove beside a stream that
murmured its gentle requiem as it rippled to the
seashore. No display of grief had been permitted
on the occasion of re interring poor Ali's
remains—only a simple procession of rough men,
and women leading their children by the hand,
went out from the castle's porch, and proceeded
silently and solemnly to the place of sepulture.
Prince Selim once more offered up a prayer—the
last, and all was over with the corsair's erring son.

But not with the father's sorrow. After the
burial, though Ali Naro spoke not of the dead,
it was easy to perceive that his thoughts were
busy. No more repose, no more of quiet existence
for the pirate chieftain. Action—quick,
energetic existence, the storm, the tumult of
battle—these were the alternations craved for by
the strong man's spirit. He hurried, therefore,
all preparations necessary for the departure of
his vessels, and bidding adieu to those who remained,
under the lieutenant of the island, set
sail once more from the beautiful isle, to try
again the fortunes of his ocean career.

In the rude but disciplined community of outlaws,
which formed the crews of Ali-Naro's little
fleet, his departed son had held the post of lieutenant,
and on taking their departure from the
“Isle of Eagles,” the captain signified to his
comrades that, on this expedition, Prince Selim
should be obeyed as second in command. The
corsair directed this, at once as a mark of his esteem
for the prince, and for the purpose of accustoming
his men to regard the latter as one
of their number, with authority to lead them,
should aught befall their real commander. Selim
at first objected to this distinction, but acceded
to the request of Ali-Naro, who enforced it by
many good reasons.

“We know not,” said the old chief, “what
may have occurred in the island of Guzan during
your absence. It is probable that the king,
your father, may be no more, and your brothers
in possession of the throne; or, what is likelier
still, engaged in civil war for the succession.
No better conduct may be looked for than to disgrace
their father's memory.”

“Talk not of my dear father's death,” cried
Selim, with emotion. “He was in good health,
when we left Guzan, and will I trust be spared
to his country many a year.”

“It is best to provide for emergences, nevertheless,”
rejoined Ali-Naro, “and for this reason,
I desire you to follow my directions. Should
such an event as your father's decease (which
Allah forbid!) have taken place, there is no reason
to suppose that your brothers will regard
your sudden appearance with much pleasure.
They may intrigue, in fact, they may attempt
once more your assassination. I would have
you prepared for this, with faithful followers, who
will protect your life, and assist you in asserting
whatever-rights you may claim. Therefore,
my dear prince, I would have you divide with
me the authority of the expedition, undertaken
for your interest, and let me announce you to my
comrades, as my lieutenant.”

“Be it so, then, Ali-Naro!” answered the
prince. “I will endeavor to act as becomes a
brave man.”

“That will be but natural to you,” said the
corsair, as he turned away to communicate to his
men the position in which the prince (already
very popular with all) would henceforth stand to
them. The announcement was received with a
hearty response by all the swarthy rovers.

In accordance with his new responsibility Selim
devoted himself assiduously to the performance
of every duty incumbent upon the second
in command. He shared with Ali-Naro the
task of drilling and exercising the men, superintended
their labors, adjusted their differences,
and oftentimes participated in the rough sports
with which they were accustomed to while away
the tedium of a calm; and in a brief space there
was not one of these sons of adventure, who
would not have followed the prince through
every peril, and stood by him to the death in any
quarrel.

But the Indian Ocean was to be traversed for
nearly its whole extent before the island of Guzan
could be reached, and in order to replenish
the supply of fresh water, the “Green Bird”
cast anchor, one delightful evening, at the mouth
of a clear river which flowed from a range of
mountains that formed one of the sea-walls of
an island called Divonduron. Here, with several
boat's crews of the hardy mariners, Prince
Selim disembarked, the men being all supplied
with skins and other vessels for the conveyance
of fresh water, which Ali-Naro knew could be
obtained in great abundance at this place. And
it is here that we shall take the liberty of preceding
the arrival of the prince, and advert to another
character, not yet introduced to the reader,
but who will be hereafter involved in the fortunes
of our story.

The island of Divonduron was the seat of an
extensive kingdom, which boasted several cities
of great splendor, and many rich villages both
inland and seaboard. It was governed by an
old monarch, who, although rather rigid in his
rule, was, nevertheless, quite popular with his
people, and it possessed not only wealthy towns,
brave citizens, and a good king, but moreover
the most beautiful princess imaginable; in the
person of the king's daughter, the charming Azna-Alwaz.
With the loveliness of this wonderful
maiden all the painters of the kingdom were
in ecstasies, whilst all the priests prayed daily
for her health, and every mother on the island
wished devoutly for such a handsome daughter.
When first born, the sagest counsellors of the
king went into transports as they beheld her
lying in her cradle, and prophesied all sorts of
good fortune for the happy infant. The good
king, her father, was, of course, almost beside
himself, gazing continually upon the dear child,
and decreed at once that she should be called
Azna-Alwaz, which in the language of the country,
signifies “Beautiful Diamond.”

As the young princess grew up to maidenhood,
she grew if possible more graceful and lovely in
form and feature, whilst her mind became the
abode of purity and her heart the temple of
goodness. It was no wonder, then, that all the
youths of her father's kingdom should adore her,
or that the fame of her perfections should travel
beyond the borders of Divonduron, and inspire
the princes of neighboring countries with an intense
desire to behold and possess the marvellous
maiden. Notwithstanding this, however, nature
had given to Azna-Alwaz so much good sense
and discretion, that she became neither vain nor
haughty, but preserved a modest demeanor that
won all hearts to her service.

From kingdoms near and far arrived continually
a succession of ambassadors, with portraits
of young monarchs, who ardently wished to
prove themselves worthy of esponsing the fair
Azna-Alwaz. These messengers extolled the
virtne of their respective masters, and portrayed
the felicity which any princess would be likely to
enjoy in a union with such royal excellence. At
the same time, with many genufiections, they
threw themselves, one after another, before the
maiden, and laid the portraits of young, old and
middle-aged, short, tall and medium, dark, light,
and dubious, suitors at her beautiful feet. But
Azna-Alwaz merely glanced at them without
manifesting, or even feeling any emotion of in
terest for the handsomest. Thus the years passed,
till the princess had attained her sixteenth
summer, at which time it became necessary, in
accordance with an ancient law of the land, that
the heir-apparent to the throne should select a
partner. But Azna-Alwaz still exhibited no
preference for any of her many admirers.

It was then that the king, her father, after kissing
her tenderly, spoke to her in these words:
“O, Azna-Alwaz, painful is it for me to compel
you to think of marrying, for by so doing I must
inevitably lose your sweet presence. Nevertheless,
the custom of our land must be obeyed. It
is time, therefore, my dear child, that you should
prepare to unite yourself with some prince worthy
of your hand. But of the many who solicit
this honor, choose, then, O, my daughter, one
whom you can love, and espouse him immediately;
so shall the laws be obeyed, and the power
and extent of our sovereignty enlarged.”

“Sire,” replied the beautiful princess, “I
confess there is none among all these suitors who
can awaken in my bosom the feeling of love;
nevertheless, I cannot refuse to comply with the
wishes of my kind father, and I will marry the
prince whom your majesty's wisdom shall think
fitting to be my husband.”

The old king embraced his daughter with great
affection. “Heaven will reward your obedience,
my child,” he cried. “And if you will abide by
my choice, I think I can select a partner who is
every way fitted to make my daughter happy.
I mean the prince of Caranor.”

Azna-Alwaz exhibited no emotion at hearing
the name of this suitor mentioned by her father.
The young prince had often visited her father's
kingdom, and was now very shortly expected to
arrive. Azna-Alwaz had seen and perhaps admired
him, for the prince of Caranor was a man
whom ninety-nine women out of a hundred would
have fallen in love with at first sight, so favored
was he by nature with a handsome form, an intelligent
face, and amiable manners. Yet with
all these advantages, he had failed to make an
impression on the heart of our lovely princess.

However, it was no more customary for maidens
to marry for love in those days than it is at
present; so it made little difference to the old
monarch of Divonduron whether Azna-Alwaz liked
or disliked the person he had chosen, so long
as she was contented to marry him. Consequently,
the wedding preparations were immediately
ordered, and the prince of Caranor was
made acquainted with his sudden good fortune.

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE PRINCESS ALNA-ALWAZ.

The Princess Alna-Alwaz used often to
wander alone, in the quiet summer time upon
a pleasant silver-sanded beach that stretched
far away to the sea-shore behind the gardens of
her father's palace. Often, either in the early
morning, or at the close of day, when the rays
of the setting sun fell in a brilliant shower of
crimson and gold upon the broad ocean surface
and glittering sands of the shore, the young
maiden would leave her bower, and, without a
single attendant, traverse the royal gardens, and
descending the green terraces that overlooked
the beach, pass an hour or more in watching the
ships gliding to and fro upon the distant
horizon.

Sometimes Azna-Alwaz would seat herself
upon a high rock, the base of which was laved
by rolling waves, and there listen to the melancholy
music of the wind, and the swell of the
surf high up on the pebbly strand. At such
times, it is true, the young maiden would have
dreams in which her imagination pictured a
brave and noble lover, daring all sorts of dangers,
and undergoing every species of ill usage for the
love of a peerless lady like herself; but in these
visions none of the faces of her suitors, not even
that of Prince Caranor, answered to the ideal of
her fancy.

It was upon one of these occasions, and shortly
after she had given her consent to wed the
prince of Caranor, that Azna-Alwaz met with
an adventure which entirely changed the current
of her thoughts, and inspired her with a feeling
that banished all the calmness of her former
existence.

She was listlessly pacing the lowest garden
terrace, and looking forth, as was her wont, from
a thick grove that concealed it, into the depths
of the great sea, when the sound of men's voices,
in loud conversation, suddenly awakened her
from her reveries. Glancing fearfully in the
direction of the beach below her, the princess
saw that several boats' crews had just effected a
landing on the shore, and, climbing the bank,
were advancing toward the spot where she stood.
Her first thought was to fly toward the palace,
but the next moment, perceiving by their manner,
that the strangers had not discovered her,
she moved quietly away from the terrace and
concealed herself amid the dense thicket which
bordered a cluster of trees that half surrounded
a fountain upon the highest terrace, from which
the water was conducted by several channels to
moisten every part of the palace gardens.
Scarcely had the maiden thus screened herself
from observation, when she beheld the strange
men ascend to within a very few yards of the
fountain, and proceed to make preparations for
drawing water out of a pool or reservoir into
which the jet fell, before it was dispersed through

the grounds. Azna-Alwaz then knew that the
intruders were mariners who had doubtless landed
from one of the vessels in sight, in order to
obtain a supply of water. Shrinking back,
therefore among the leaves, she watched them
closely, waiting till they should fill their tubs
and skins with the crystal element, and move
toward the beach, when she could easily make
good her flight to the palace.

But it was evident that the sailors were either
totally unaware that the gardens upon which
they had intruded were attached to the royal
palace, or else the fellows were a most reckless
and independent set; for they ceased not, during
their work, to laugh and make merry, chasing
one another about the pool, and splashing
the water to and fro, with all the indifference
conceivable. Azna-Alwaz indeed could not
helpbeing diverted by their uncouth motions and
grimaces, as the water was dashed in their faces.

But suddenly the noisy gambols came to an
end, and the mariners drew themselves quickly
together, as the figure of a man approached from
the beach. Every red cap was lifted at once
from the sunburnt brows of the seamen; and a
respectful salutation made to the new-comer;
after which they resumed their task of replenishing
the water vessels. Azna-Alwaz felt her eyes
irresistibly drawn toward the stranger, who spoke
in a clear, manly voice to the crew.

“Make haste!” cried he. “The wind is
changing, and we must aboard immediately.
Give way, my boys!”

The mariners, who had by this time filled all
the skins and tubs, began to lift them upon each
other's shoulders, and then, one by one, took
their departure from the pool, whilst their chief,
for such he appeared to be, folded his arms across
his breast, and gazed around him with a glance
that seemed to take in earth and sky with one
wide sweep; so that the concealed princess almost
feared that she was discovered, and shrank
back trembling among the leaves that sheltered
her.

But Azna-Alwaz had no cause for apprehension,
inasmuch as the stranger was too much
wrapt in his own reflections, whatever these might
be, to take note of aught that might overlook
his motions. Consequently the princess, securely
hidden, had a good opportunity of studying
his features.

But, perhaps it would have been better for the
princess not to have regarded the young chief
with so much attention; for she began at once
to experience a sensation in her bosom quite
new and perplexing. A feeling as if she had
suddenly discovered something of which she had
long been in quest took possession of her heart,
and she trembled with anxiety lest she should
as suddenly be deprived of it. It seemed to her,
while her eyes dwelt upon the stranger's face,
that she had never before beheld so perfect a
picture of manly beauty; a white forehead,
shaded by glossy, clustering ringlets, a finely-moulded
nose, and full, rich lips, between which
gleamed a set of teeth white as pearls. A majestic
beard, closely curled around his throat,
depended on his breast, and there was about
his whole person an air inexpressibly noble.

It is little to be wondered at, then, that Azna-Alwaz
should feel a growing interest in the
young chief, or that she trembled lest he should
turn away. She could, as it appeared to her,
have gazed forever upon that noble face; and
when, at length, the stranger descended from the
terrace and followed the mariners to their boats,
the poor princess felt as if a cloud had come
across the sunlight of her life. She crept from
her hiding-place, and watched the party until
they had pushed off from the beach, and were
tossing on the shining waves; and when, at
length, she could no longer discern the boats,
and beheld, too, that the evening was closing in,
she slowly retraced her steps toward the palace,
with tears filling her beautiful eyes, and the
image of the stranger chief fixed in her memory
forever.

7. CHAPTER VII.
SELIM'S RETURN TO GUZAN.

Our readers have doubtless already divined
that the stranger with whom the Princess Azna-Alwaz
had fallen so evidently in love, at the
close of the last chapter, was no other than the
Prince Selim, who had landed upon the island
of Divonduron, in order to procure water supplies
for the good ship “Green Bird.” Doubtless,
it would have been very flattering to the
young man to have been aware that he had inspired
so warm a feeling in the breast of such a
lovely maiden as was Azna-Alwaz, and that,
too, after she had been admired and sought by
so many powerful and handsome princes; but
he remained totally unconscious of the fact, and
returned to the ship, with the mariners, without
experiencing any of the strange emotions which
at that time were agitating the princess of Divosduron.
He found Ali Naro awaiting him very
impatiently.

“We must take advantage of this favorable
breeze,” said the old corsair. “Nothing need
now delay our proceeding to Guzan, where I
trust we shall arrive in a very few days.”

“Yonder isle of Divonduron is a lovely spot,
if one might judge by a portion of it,” said Selim.
“I stood on a lofty terrace near where we
drew the water, and beheld a prospect that reminded
me much of your own fair `Isle of
Eagles.' ”

“Divonduron is noted as a country of great
riches and beauty,” returned Ali-Naro; “I have
myself looked from the terrace where you stood,
and remember well how fine a landscape lay beneath.
True, prince, Divonduron from that spot,
may resemble the `Isle of Eagles.' ”

Ali-Naro, saying this, turned abruptly away,
for the mention of the isle which he had designed
as a princely residence for his son, brought too
vividly before him poor Ali's fate. Selim observed
the old chief's uneasiness, and regretted
that he had recalled the painful theme. But he
knew that words of consolation would be useless,
and so, walking to the stern of the ship, he leaned
upon the high bulwark, and watched the receding
shores of Divonduron till the shadows
of evening gathered darkly in, and the face of
the ocean became undistinguishable in the
gloom.

After a pleasant and rapid run of several days,
the “Green Bird” reached that portion of the
sea in which the island of Guzan was situated,
and soon after Selim beheld with delight the
towers of his native city visible afar, for the capital
of his kingdom lay some leagues inland,
while the harbor and port was the residence of a
large population of merchants and ocean-traders.

The “Green Bird” and her two smaller companions

speedily cast anchor in the roadstead,
and Ali-Naro, summoning the choicest of his
followers, directed them to make all needful preparations
for escorting Prince Selim to the capital.
In a short time, the people of the port,
who had collected in crowds upon the great pier,
to view the armed vessels which had suddenly
appeared, beheld a half-dozen boats advancing
toward the shore filled with fierce-looking men,
apparently armed to the teeth.

Ali-Naro had, however, before disembarking,
taken the precaution to place a white flag at the
prow of the foremost boat, in which he sat, beside
Prince Selim; or very likely a panic might
have been occasioned among the inhabitants
whose peaceful harbor had been thus unceremoniously
entered by vessels-of-war. As it
was, the corsair beheld, on drawing near the
landing-place, that quite a large body of soldiers
were drawn up in martial array, to receive the
visitors in such manner as their behaviour might
warrant. Thus matters stood when the prince
of Guzan, at the head of the crews, and accompanied
by Ali-Naro, stepped on the wide pier.

The young man's noble features and stately
form were immediately recognized by the people,
and a shout of welcome rose at once, clearly
demonstrating that Selim was quite as popular
as ever. The military, clashing their arms, joined
in the acclamation, and for several minutes
nothing could be heard but the name of “Selim”
uttered by hundreds, and mingled with all sorts
of joyful cries.

At length, when the tumult had partially subsided,
and Selim obtained a little respite from
the gratulations of those who pressed eagerly
forward to salute him, a deputation of the eldest
merchants of the port advanced slowly toward
the prince, and formally expressed their joy at
beholding him return in safety, after having
given up all hopes of ever seeing him again.

“Then my brothers—Osmyn and Nadab—
they have returned?” cried Selim, eagerly.

“Many weeks since, and it was the sad intelligence
brought by them, of your disappearance
at the fatal island of the Upas tree, which so
affected the good king your sire, that—”

The venerable merchant, who was the leader
of the citizens, here paused, as if loth to proceed.
Prince Selim at once comprehended that a great
misfortune had befallen him.

“My father!—the king!—speak!” he cried,
anxiously, clasping his hands together.

“Alas! he is with Allah! The news of your
loss, brought by the princes your brothers,
affected our beloved monarch so deeply, that he
never recovered the shock. He died three days
ago.”

“O, Allah! Allah! sustain me with thy
strength!” said the pious prince, as sinking upon
the ground, he covered his face with his robe,
hiding the tears that gushed fast from his eyes.
Ali-Naro and the rough corsair-crew, as well as
the merchants and populace of the place, felt
their hearts stirred with pity for the noble prince,
so stricken with grief. Many sobs and moans
were now heard in place of the joyful exclamations
that had so lately greeted the returned
prince, and not a few of the spectators knelt
upon the ground like Selim, and mingled their
prayers with his.

“It would be well if the princes his brothers
felt their father's loss so deeply as does our
good Selim!” whispered one of the old merchants
to another beside him. “It is said they
have not even wept over his bier.”

“I fear me those princes will yet cause trouble
in Guzan!” answered the other. “For my part,
were I to choose, Selim should be our next
king, and his brothers have no part at all in the
government.”

“So say I,” said the first merchant. “But
that is for the council of the mosque to decide,
and it is said the late king signified how the
choice of his successor should be made.”

“Ay, I have heard,” replied the second old
man. “But, see! Prince Selim rises! He will
speak to us, I think!”

The crowd drew back respectfully as the
prince, rising to his feet, looked around with a
sad but calm countenance.

“Friends,” he said, “it is not for us to
murmur at the dispensations of Allah! He is
wise, and orders all things for our good. Great
joy would it have been to me, could I have seen
my dear father cre he died, and received his
parting blessing; but such was not to be. Now,
my fellow-countrymen, let me perform another
duty—to present to you my friend and preserver,
Ali-Naro—here beside me—to whom I am indebted
for my rescue from a dreadful fate. He
is my friend, and will henceforth be the friend of
my countrymen.”

At the mention of the name of Ali-Naro, which
had a terrible sound to the merchants—many of
whom had in past days suffered from the corsair's

depredations, a general murmur pervaded
all present. But when they looked upon the
noble face of their young prince, and the grave
features of him whom he called Ali-Naro, and
when, with mercantile shrewdness, they quickly
perceived how valuable would be the amity of
so renowned a pirate, whose future friendship
was here guarantied, and when, at the same time,
they learned that to the corsair the prince of
Guzan owed his life, it is not to be marvelled at
that a loud shout should at once arise, and the
names of Selim and All-Naro be vociferated with
the greatest energy. The old corsair smiled
grimly, and lifted his cap of crimson silk in acknowledgment
of the welcome, and then, marshalling
his men in good order, prepared to ac
company Prince Selim from the seaport to the
capital, a distance of about a league.

A couple of fine horses were soon provided for
the two leaders, and hundreds of the merchants,
mounted likewise, followed by a great concourse
of the people, with banners and instruments of
music. Thus Prince Selim was escorted, in
somewhat of the guise of a conqueror, to the
seat of his late father's kingdom. The corsairs,
to the number of three hundred men, formed his
body guard, and doubtless many thousands more
could be found in the country, who, at his word,
would defend his right and title to the throne
above the claims of his brothers; though none
knew, as yet, of the treacherous conduct of the
latter toward the innocent Selim.

8. CHAPTER VIII.
THE TRIAL OF ARROWS.

In the meantime, matters were going on apparently
very much to the satisfaction of Osmyn
and Nadab. These wicked princes, on their return
to Guzan, had immediately presented themselves
before the king their father, arrayed in
garments of deep mourning, and wearing countenances
of profound sorrow. Throwing themselves
at the old monarch's feet, they had, with
much affectation of violent grief, informed him
of the loss of their dear brother Selim upon the
“Isle of Death.” Calling the captain of their
vessel to corroborate the statement, they minutely
detailed the sad incidents of their landing
upon the Upas isle, and described their frantic
search for the lost prince till the approach of
night constrained them, through fear of their own
lives, to give up the hope of rescuing him. They
did not allude to aught that had previously occurred,
never mentioning a syllable concerning
their visit to the astrologer Rahbek, or of the prediction
concerning Selim. These facts they
chose rather to keep to themselves, lest their
discovery should awaken some remark, if not
suspicion.

The tidings of his favorite son's death was
like a dagger stroke to the old king of Guzan.
He never recovered from the blow, but began to
droop immediately, and in a very few weeks was
gathered to his fathers. But ere he died, he
called around his bed the principal men of his
kingdom, together with the priests, called the
Council of the Mosque, and disclosed to them
his wishes regarding the selection of a successor
to the throne of Guzan.

“When I am dead,” said the old monarch,
“let my body be anointed, and clothed in my
royal robes, with the crown upon my head.
Then bear me forth to the plain beyond our city,
and place me upon the ivory throne, with my
face turned toward Meeca. Let the councillors
and wise men surround me, as in life, and let
the king's guard be drawn up in array. Then,
let my two sons Osmyn and Nadab be summoned,
and placed one hundred yards in front of the
throne. Let them prepare their arrows and
bows, and when the chief priest shall give the
word, let them in succession shoot each an arrow
at my heart. He who shall pierce nearest to the
heart shall be my successor and reign over
Guzan.”

The wise men and priests marvelled greatly
at this singular desire of the old king, but when,
with a solemn voice, he had repeated it, and
bidden the scribes to write it upon parchment,
they conceived that in his strange command,
the monarch was doubtless actuated by some
higher direction; so they promised with one
consent to fulfil the task enjoined upon them.

“Swear this to me, by Allah and the Prophet!”
said the king.

And with one voice the wise men and priests
answered—“We swear!”

In compliance, therefore, with the will, no
sooner did the monarch breathe his last, than he
was washed and anointed with oil and perfumes,
and after being arrayed in fine linen and clad in-his
usual royal robes, was borne to the grand
mosque, where prayers were offered for his
soul's repose, and many ceremonies, suited to
the rank of the departed, performed with great
solemnity. Osmyn and Nadab the princes stood
on either side of the body, while the priests
chanted their prayers, and though, as was noticed
by many, no tears flowed from the eyes of the
two princes, yet their countenances wore an exceeding
gloomy expression, and they beat their
breasts, and threw ashes on their beards, as if
they suffered the most poignant anguish. But,
in truth, all the while, these hypocrites were
conscious of no real sorrow for the loss of their
good father, but were thinking, on the contrary,
of the trial of skill which was to take place between
them, in which the successful archer should
win the crown of Guzan.

After the ceremonies in the mosque were
ended, the will of the deceased king was read to
the assembled people, and then lights were
placed at the head and foot of the corpse, which
was suffered to remain, well-guarded by the
priests, for one night in the sacred edifice.

Next morning, in slow procession, to the
sound of solemn music, the body was borne from
the mosque to the great plain beyond the city,
and there placed, as in life, upon the royal throne
of ivory and gold, with its heart exposed, and
its face turned toward the east. And there,
while thousands of the people, came hourly
forth, to gaze upon the features of their dead
monarch, the immovable king remained till the
third day, on which was to take place the trial
of skill that was to award the sovereignty of
Guzan to the son who should pierce nearest to
his father's heart.

All these things, Prince Selim learned while
on his way from the seaport to the capital, and
when at length he neared the city, and came in
sight of the immense assemblage which covered
the plain on which his royal father sat
in death, he could no longer restrain his feelings,
but breaking away from the merchants,
people, Ali-Naro and all, he set spurs to his
steed, and galloped swiftly in advance, impatient
to look upon his parent's face.

As he rode thus wildly forward, many of the
people recognized the features of their young
prince, and shouted his name, which was communicated
from one to another; so that, almost
as soon as his arrival near the throne, the vast
multitude who filled the plain, had become aware
of the return of him whom they had believed
lost forever. And, when, at last, the hurrying
crowds beheld the horseman leap from his saddle
at the foot of the royal chair, and ascending
its ivory steps, cast himself prostrate at the dead
monarch's feet, and grasping his cold hands,
covered them with kisses, the assemblage with
spontaneous sympathy, set up a shout that
shook the very skies, and rolled along the wide
plain to the city walls like a roar of continuous
thunder.

Osmyn and Nadab, too, seated among the
priests and councillors, near the throne, beheld
the form of their brother, appearing before them
like one arisen from the grave, and at first their
superstitious terror almost overcome them.
It seemed as though Heaven had permitted the
spirit of the murdered prince to return and convict
them of their perfidy. But when, in a few
moments, they became convinced that it was no
other than the living form of Selim, their hardihood
returned to them, and they resolved at
once to make the best of the matter. Rising,
therefore, with the priests, they advanced hurriedly
to the throne, and, as Selim rose from his
embrace of the dead, presented themselves with
outstretched arms as if to welcome him.

By this time Ali-Naro and his three hundred
corsairs, together with the multitude who had
accompanied Selim from the seaport, arrived in
front of the ivory throne. The old captain
beheld the two young men, whom he recognized
by their dress as the princes, approach and proffer
their hands to the prince whom they had so
basely abandoned to almost certain destruction;
but what was his surprise, likewise, to see Selim
accept the embrace and return their hollow
salutation. He could scarcely restrain his indignation
from venting itself in an accusation of
the two princes before all the people, until Selim,
turning from his brothers after the greeting,
said in a low tone:

“Ali-Naro, wonder not that I make peace with
these. In presence of a dead father, it is not
fitting that brothers should quarrel.”

Ali-Naro admired the noble spirit which dictated
this conduct of Selim, though for his
own part, he would have chosen to brand the
princes with their unnatural crime without
further delay. But, the priests now approaching,
no further remark was possible, and he
listened in silence, therefore, whilst the chief
councillor welcomed back the young prince, and
with much ceremony read to him his father's
last commands.

“For this ceremony,” concluded the councillor,
“we are now met together—that a successor
may be chosen to our departed sovereign,
it is ordained that his sons shall essay their skill
with the bow—the time-honored weapon of the
brave soldiers of Guzan. It is the third day
from our good king's death, and you are come
in time, prince, to perform your part. Let the
trumpet sound, and the ground be prepared.”

Saying this, the chief-councillor waved his
hand, and straightway a blast of trumpets was
heard, followed by strains of melancholy music,
during which the soldiers marched from behind
the throne, and advancing in close column,
cleared a space of several hundred yards in front;
the multitudes crowding each other, and rushing
to obtain good positions where they could
view the trial of archery about to take place.

Osmyn and Nadab, tormented with uneasiness
at their brother's unlooked for return, not
only because they knew him to be at least their
equal with the bow, but lest he should be aware
of their nefarious treatment of him at the “Isle
of Death,” nevertheless managed to conceal
their annoyance, and proceeded to choose their
bows and arrows with much deliberation from a
large heap which the soldiers brought to their
feet. Apparently, they found much difficulty in
suiting themselves with the weapons, for they
snapped in pieces many of the bows and arrows
as soon as they had handled them. In truth,
the importance of the prize for which they were
to shoot, rendered them both extremely anxious,
and as each prince was regarded as equal to the
other in the practice of archery, they knew very
well that a slight superiority in bow or arrow
might turn the scale of victory. At length, however,
the preparations were completed, and Osmyn
and Nadab, standing a hundred yards in
front of the throne, prepared to discharge their
arrows at the dead monarch's undefended heart.

During all this time, Prince Selim had remained
near the throne, leaning upon Ali-Naro's
arm, and gazing fixedly upon his father's placid
countenance, which seemed indeed to smile upon
the youth even in death. It was not till the
chief-councillor again approached him, that he
perceived how far the preparations had progressed,
and that his two brothers stood ready,
Osmyn bending his bow, and fixing the arrow.

“It is necessary, Prince Selim,” said the aged
councillor, “that you choose your weapons in
like manner with your brothers. We have sworn
to carry out the will of your departed father!”

“I do not like this means of chance,” said
Selim.

“What fear you?” demanded the councillor.
“Is it not well-known to us all that you are
quite as good an archer as is either of your
brothers? It is then in your power to win the
throne, and that certainly is likewise the popular
wish.”

“Let me reflect,” cried Selim, abruptly turning
from the councillor, and retiring, with Ali-Naro
to the place where the latter's followers
were drawn up. And there, while Osmyn and
Nadab began the trial, the young prince bowed
his head upon his breast, and communed silently
with Allah, asking direction from Heaven concerning
the part which he was to act in this
crisis of his fortunes.

Osmyn advanced several paces before his
brother, and in sight of all the multitude that
covered the plain. He drew his arrow to its
head, and stood a moment, poised, and resting
on his right foot, a model of strength and
daring.

Osmyn was, as we have said, the eldest of the
princes. He possessed a tall and muscular
figure, with vigorous limbs, and broad shoulders.
His features were beauty-moulded, and
his eye black and piercing; but he lacked the
symmetry and beauty which were apparent in
Selim's form and face; and his appearance,
though at times imposing, was not majestic like
the latter's. Nevertheless, as he now stood,
with his bow bent, and his eye flashing, there
was much that was striking in his appearance.

The bow twanged—the arrow clove the air,
and sped swiftly toward the throne. But either
the wonted skill of Osmyn had failed him at this
moment, or some secret agitation had unnerved
his arm, for the shaft, instead of striking the
body, rung with a loud sound against the royal
crown and struck a diamond from its jewelled
circlet.

The multitude raised a loud cry, apparently
well pleased at the ill success of Osmyn, who

turned away, with his face pale, and his teeth
compressing his discolored lips. It was easy to
perceive that the prince was writhing inwardly
at his failure.

Nadab now approached the stand, with a
confident smile upon his features. Nadab, the
second son, was different in stature from his
elder brother, being neither so tall nor vigorous.
His demeanor was not so bold, nor his carriage
so resolute; but he wore a self-satisfied and cunning
look, which marked him to be the equal of
Osmyn, if not in force, at least in artifice. He
took a long and steady look at the form of his
royal father, and then slowly drew back the
arrow.

This time there appeared no possibility of a
bad shot. The shaft winged its straight course,
as many thought, straight for the dead king's
heart, and a general shudder ran through all the
people, as if the impiety of the act first made
itself apparent to their minds. Nadab stood
expectant, his bow firmly grasped in his left
hand, whilst his eye followed the arrow's flight.
Osmyn looked up likewise, a gloomy frown
wrinkling his forehead.

But the force of the bow had been miscalculated.
The shaft, after speeding straight forward
at first, began to slacken in speed, and at length
fell at the foot of the ivory throne, without having
reached its mark.

Again a shout like thunder rolled up from the
excited spectators, and Nadab turned toward his
elder brother, muttering savagely:

“There's magic in it. That boy will ruin
us!”

“He shall not live to do it,” returned Osmyn,
morosely, casting a meaning look upon his
brother.

But the attention of both was now immediately
directed to him of whom they spoke. Selim,
wrapped in his meditations, had not witnessed
Osmyn's shot, though made aware of its result
by the exclamations of those around him. He
had, however, beheld the apparently sure flight
of Nadab's arrow, and experienced in his own
frame the shudder that simultaneously pervaded
the other spectators. But when he saw the
weapon, instead of striking his sire, fall spent at
the monarch's feet, he could not but feel that the
hand of Heaven was directing this seemingly
unnatural trial of skill. The reflection gave him
new confidence in the providence which had thus
far preserved him.

But no sooner was the fortune of Nadab as
certained, than a murmur among the populace
called loudly for the appearance of the third
prince, and Selim's name was once more heard
resounding from a thousand throats. The priests,
councillors and sages, now surrounded the young
prince, and adjured him at once to prepare himself
for taking part in the trial.

“Here,” said an aged noble, pressing forward.
“Here, my prince, is a bow, and here a sheaf of
arrows, the truest in the land. Heaven, doubtless,
designs that you alone should be our king.”

Selim mechanically clasped the bow which
was presented to him, and taking at random an
arrow from the bundle, walked slowly toward
the stand, followed by all the priests and nobles,
and led by Ali-Naro. Here in view of all the
throng, he lifted his arms toward heaven, and
invoked its protection. Then, fitting the shaft,
he drew the bow to his shoulder, and took sight,
while the people held their breaths in anxious
expectation.

But when Prince Selim, glancing from his
arrow's level, beheld the object at which he was
aiming his weapon—that brow so kingly even
in death, that face which had ever smiled upon
him—that breast which had been his pillow in
infancy and youth, the young man's affection
asserted its superiority to all considerations of
policy. He contemplated a moment the throned
monarch before him, then raising the bow and
arrow in his hands, he dashed them suddenly to
the ground, and sinking on his knees, cried
aloud:

“No, no! I cannot do so impious a thing. I
cannot aim my weapon at a father's heart. Let
my brothers enjoy the throne! I am content,
and will yield my claim!”

These words were spoken clearly, so that the
multitude heard them on every side, and their
effect was instantaneous. A low murmur, which
gradually swelled into loud acclamations, attested
the people's recognition of their young
prince's filial piety. From a thousand lips arose
the shout:

“Selim shall be our king! Selim is the choice
of Guzan! We will have no other prince but
Selim!”

And the populace pressed forward to cast
themselves before him.

“He shall shoot! He fears to try his skill!”
cried Osmyn, almost beside himself with rage,
as he witnessed the excitement of the people.
He was answered by those around with a clamor
of:

“No, Osmyn! No Nadab—Selim is our
choice.”

“That I fear not to essay my skill shall be
proved,” said Selim, calmly, as he stooped, and
took up the bow and arrow. “Not at my father's
bosom will I shoot—but at yonder hawk.”

Saying this, Prince Selim fitted his shaft, and
directed it toward a large hawk, which at the
utmost stretch of an arrow's flight was circling
above the heads of the people. It seemed almost
impossible to drive a weapon to so great a
height, and the elder princes laughed at what
they deemed would be a signal failure on the
part of their brother. Not so the populace, they
waited eagerly till the arrow left its rest, and
winged toward the bird of prey, and then another
loud shout broke spontaneously from their
lips. Ere it had died away, the skill of Selim
was no longer to be questioned. The hawk was
seen falling swiftly from the lofty flight it had
been making, while the arrow, after piercing the
bird's neck, was descending at a slower rate
through the air.

And, O, miracle as it seemed—that shaft,
sinking gently, swayed by the wind, dropped
upon the breeze and was carried slowly over the
ivory throne, whence, descending, it lodged in
the bosom of the dead king of Guzan; whilst
the hawk fell upon the plain beyond.

Prince Selim sank upon his knees, with the
bow clasped between his united hands. The
people shouted not, for they recognized a power
in this, above all human providence. But the
priests and nobles advanced to the throne, and
the chief-councillor, lifting up the arrow, still
wet with the hawk's blood, cried in a loud voice:

“This is a sign from Allah! The arrow of
Prince Selim is nearest to his father's heart!
I proclaim therefore Prince Selim as the king of
Guzan! Let all hear and obey!”

The chief-councillor's voice was downed in
the glad response of the multitude, who crowded
around their new monarch, whilst Osmyn and
Nadab, mounting their horses, rode swiftly away
from the plain. Ali-Naro and his corsairs then
surrounded Selim, and formed a body-guard,
supported on either side by all the Guzan soldiery
and populace. And thus the pious prince
was escorted to the ivory throne, where, after
once more offering thanks for the protection of
Heaven, he directed that his royal father's remains
should be reverentially placed upon the
bier, and carried back to the mosque, thence to
be borne to the tombs of the kings of Guzan.

9. CHAPTER IX.
THE INVASION OF GUZAN.

Selim began his reign over Guzan with all
the popularity that could well be enjoyed by a
monarch. Nevertheless, the conduct of the
elder princes threatened to disturb the tranquillity
of the kingdom, unless wise precautions should
avert such an evil. The wicked brothers, immediately
after the choice of Selim as king by
the council and people, took their departure in
one of the royal ships from the island, and setting
sail at once for the dominions of a neighboring
potentate who had always been the enemy
of Guzan, threw themselves upon his protection,
asserting that they had been driven from
their inheritance by an usurper, and promising
him a share in the kingdom if he would aid
them in re-establishing their rights.

The king of Xanda, the name of the country
to which the princes fled, was quite willing to
receive the two brothers, but at that time he
was engaged in warfare with another power,
and could not promise them immediate assistance.
He, however, tendered them posts in his
army, which Osmyn and Nadab at once accepted,
hoping to influence the king of Xanda to
espouse their cause, as soon as he should be
successful in the war he was prosecuting.

Selim, on first learning of the absence of his
brothers, conjectured that, aware of his knowledge
of their former treachery, they feared his
vengeance now that he could wield the power of
Guzan. He therefore sent messengers to assure
them of his friendly feeling toward them both,
and his forgetfulness of all the past, inviting
them at the same time to return to their country,
and indeed, offering them posts of honor in
the government. To these overtures they replied,
that they were very well content to remain
at Xanda, and when they desired to return to
Guzan, they should not consult his pleasure.
This answer put a stop to all further efforts on
the part of Selim, though he cherished no ill
feeling towards his brothers, and in fact would
willingly have contributed to their good in any
proper way.

But the affairs of his kingdom soon began to
occupy the attention of the young monarch more
than could the concerns of such ingrates as
Osmyn and Nadab, and he called around him
his father's ablest councillors, in order to fully
understand the requirements of his people. He
found great assistance, likewise, in the experience
and decision of the old corsair-chief, who
could not only give instruction in points of
nautical and military discipline, but likewise in
diplomatic action; for the pirate in his earlier
days had seen much of both camp and court.
It was therefore with deep regret that Selim
heard the latter announce, one morning, his intention
of leaving Guzan, and resuming his wild
life upon the Indian Ocean.

“I cannot remain, my young prince,” said
the corsair. “This inactive life on shore eats
into my soul. My thoughts continually dwell
upon that unfortunate boy, and vainly do I strive
to banish his image. On the broad ocean, and
perhaps in conflict alone, can I hope to find respite
from bitter memories.”

“Alas, my friend, I sympathize with you,”
replied the king. “I have perceived that for
some time past, your mind has been overcharged.
Yet, I had hoped that I could find honorable occupation
for you in forming a navy for the
defence of Guzan. Should my brothers obtain
means to invade their native country, I shall
miss your counsel and support.”

“You shall have both, prince!” cried the
corsair, earnestly. “Wherever I may be, should
war threaten you, I will return and defend your
kingdom. But, war to this realm is, I trust,
distant, and perhaps will never come.”

“But where shall I seek you, should there be
urgent need of your services?” asked Selim.

“I will leave with you one of my most devoted
followers, who is equally attached to yourself.
Moussa is a true man, and will serve you
faithfully—and should danger threaten, despatch
him at once to the `Isle of Eagles,' and there
he will learn of my whereabouts.”

“And will nought induce you to remain with
me, Ali-Naro?” inquired the young monarch.

“If aught could retain me, it would be my
friendship for you, noble prince,” answered the
corsair. “But I feel that the land is not my
place. The wild tempest, the mountain-wave,
the shock of battle—these are my true life, and
in these I must seek refuge from oppressive
thoughts.”

Selim saw that it would be vain to urge the
subject, and therefore reluctantly consented to
the departure of his outlaw friend, who shortly
after set sail from Guzan, leaving his follower
Moussa in the service of the king.

But the apprehensions expressed by Selim
regarding the designs of his brothers, were not
without foundation, as became manifest in a very
short time after Ali-Naro's vessels had left the
island. Osmyn and Nadab from the day of
their arrival in Xanda, had not ceased to represent
to the king of that country the position
of Guzan, and the facility with which he might
make an attack upon their brother, whom they
charged with every sort of erime. The monarch
of Xanda at length resolved to fit out an expe
dition against his ancient enemies the inhabitants
of Guzan.

His measures were well taken, and cunningly
concealed for a long time; so that nearly the
first intimation that king Selim had of the peril
which threatened him was the intelligence
brought in by a fisherman that a large fleet was
manœuvering not three days' sail from the entrance
of the port.

At once the monarch made vigorous preparations
for defence. Calling to him the trusty
Moussa, on whose judgment he could rely, he
bade him at once proceed in a small armed vessel
to the mouth of the harbor, for the purpose
of reconnoitering the enemy's force. “If they
present a formidable appearance,” was his instruction
to the corsair, “delay not to make all
sail for the `Isle of Eagles.' Arriving there,
you will inform Ali-Naro of my straits, and return
with him as speedily as possible to Guzan.
I, in the meantime, will defend my kingdom
against the invader, who I doubt not is conducted
hither by my unnatural brothers.”

Moussa took leave of the monarch, with assurances
of his devoted service, and, embarking
in a small vessel belonging to the government,
immediately proceeded to fulfil the duty imposed
upon him; whilst Selim, convoking the councillors
of his kingdom, laid before them the intelligence
he had received of the approaching
enemy, and called upon them to assist him to
take proper measures for repelling the invasion.
Much alarm was manifested by the worthy dignitaries,
so that their advice became of little
importance; whereupon Selim ordered his military
officers to muster at once all the able-bodied
men of the kingdom, and directed his treasurer to
provide the means of arming and equipping the
soldiers that should be levied.

In a much shorter period of time than Selim
anticipated, he found himself at the head of quite
a respectable army, and set himself to the work
of disciplining it with great vigor. At the same
time he took measures to strengthen the seaport
of Guzan, by erecting new defences and posting
large bodies in positions where they could survey
any advancing ship. He likewise collected
all the vessels that could be of service, which he
manned and armed, and placed at the mouth of
the harbor. Thus prepared, Selim awaited the
appearance of the foe.

Nor was he compelled to wait long. The
king of Xanda was an old soldier, and knew
very well that too much notice should never be

given of an enemy's approach. He soon showed
himself, with a large force of ships, and made
active preparations for a landing on the very day
in which he reached the island.

At first the defenders of the seaport conducted
themselves with great resolution, bravely attacking
the invaders, wherever they endeavored to
effect a descent, and driving many of them to
their ships. At the same time, the small armed
vessels of Guzan engaged some of the Xanda
fleet, and succeeded in capturing two, which they
burned in sight of the assailants.

During this defence, which lasted for a whole
day, the young king Selim directed the operations
with skill and coolness, and on several occasions
led the attack against his enemies; so
that when the approach of night occasioned a
cessation of hostilities, the old councillors of
Guzan began to feel less tremulous, and ventured
to hope that the invaders would be successfully
resisted.

But, though the assault had been discontinued,
Selim did not neglect throughout the entire
night, to make every possible disposition of his
strength for a renewal of the defence on the following
morning. He visited every post, encouraged
the citizen soldiers, and exhorted them,
by all they held dear, to continue the brave conduct
which they had thus far exhibited. Besides
this, he took steps for strengthening the approaches
to his capital, in order, if compelled to
fall back from the seaport, to be enabled to dispute
the passage of the king of Xanda to the
interior.

The morning dawned, and at the first gleam
of light, the young monarch was on the field.
The enemy was equally alert, and had already
directed a large force upon a point below the
town which had not been attacked on the preceding
day. Thither Selim despatched a body
of his men, whilst he himself directed the main
defence of the town.

The assailants met with quite as warm a reception
on this as on their previous attempt.
The defenders of the place, principally merchants,
fishermen and mariners, fought under
their prince's eye with unbated ardor, and steadfastly
resisted the most strenuous efforts of the
foe to land upon the shore. Several of the Xanda
vessels were fired during the morning, and
their crews forced to abandon them; and when
the sun began to sink in the evening sky, scarce
ly a single advantage had been achieved by the
assailing ariny. The shore was strown with
arms, and dead and dying men, and many
wrecks of the dismantled vessels drifted high
upon the beach, and were speedily made use of
as intrenchments for the brave islanders.

“If my gallant people fight thus to-morrow,”
said Selim, “we shall teach these marauders a
lesson they will never forget. As it is, I doubt
if they venture against our capital, after these,
vere treatment they experience at the seaport.”

“Our brave citizens fight well indeed,” said
the officer to whom the king spoke. “And I
doubt not we shall be able to beat off the enemy.
But another assault is approaching, even now
it is here.”

This assault, as it soon appeared was led by
the king of Xanda in person, who, enraged at the
constant repulses which his troops had received,
during the greater portion of two days, was now
resolved to retrieve his disasters by leading a
final attack that he doubted not would carry
everything before it. For this purpose he had
gathered all his choicest soldiers and mariners, a
reserved force, and inspiring them with the
promise of unchecked pillage, advanced in a
semi-circle of boats, in order to concentrate his
assault upon the very centre of the town.

King Selim on his part collected all his
veterans of the previous conflicts, together with
such forces as he could withdraw from the roads
leading toward his capital, and marshalling them
behind the defences of the port, prepared to lead
them against the king of Xanda. He did not
seek to inflame their courage by an harangue,
for he could see in their determined looks the
resolution which they felt to beat off the foemen,
or perish before their young monarch's eye.
Staying therefore only till the Xandians had begun
to disembark, he waved his sword above his
head, and led the way towards them.

The presence and example of both monarchs
produced a great effect upon the action of their
troops. They rushed to the conflict with such
determination and energy, that very soon the
battle became bloody and desperate. The two
kings met in the first shock, and for a long time
their swords mingled in contest. At length, a
fortunate stroke of Selim, who was an accomplished
swordsman, disabled the king of Xanda's
arm, and he was forced backward immediately
by the impetuous young prince. His followers

perceiving their leader giving way, began to
slacken their blows, so that the men of Guzan
soon obliged them to take once more to their
boats and draw off for some distance into the
stream.

Selim, almost exhausted by his exertions in
the combat, now retired also from the beach,
and drew up his followers in good order at the
entrance of the town. But scarcely had he removed
his armor for a moment's repose, when
a tumult was heard among his guard, and the
next instant a man, half-robed and dripping
with water, rushed into his presence, pursued by
a dozen soldiers with drawn weapons.

“Sire! prince! it is you I seek!” cried the
fugitive, as he sank overpowered at the king's
feet. “Look on me! I am Moussa!”

Selim in astonishment recognized the voice
and features of the faithful corsair, whom he believed
at this time to be far away on his mission
to the “Isle of Eagles.” He saw at once that
all hope of succor from Ali-Naro must now be
abandoned, as it was evident that his messenger
had been intercepted.

“How! why are you here?” cried the young
king, in a tone of surprise and concern.

“Alas, my prince! it is fate which has done
this,” answered the corsair, bowing his head.
“I have done all that mortal could, but it was of
no avail.”

“Speak, then, and let me know how you are
here, instead of at the `Isle of Eagles?' ”

“Prince! I was attacked, and my small
vessel was forced to yield. Three ships against
a craft like mine were not to be beaten away.
They made prisoners of all of us, and—”

“How then did you escape? Why are you
pursued by my soldiers?”

“We found him climbing the beach, and
thought him a spy,” here interposed the leader
of those who had pursued Moussa into the king's
presence.

“It is true,” rejoined the corsair; “and I
had just escaped from the enemy's shipping, by
swimming ashore during the conflict. Nor have
I arrived without a wound,” continued Moussa,
placing his hand upon his breast, whilst his face
began to grow deadly pale.

“Wounded!” cried Selim. “My faithful
Moussa!”

“I would speak to you—alone—my prince!”
said the corsair, in a faint voice, as he rose slow
ly from the ground. “ 'Twas—for that—I risked
my life.”

The king made a signal for those around him
to retire, and then extended his hand to the almost
fainting corsair.

“Moussa!” he said—“my friend! are you
hurt seriously?”

“No matter, my prince?” answered the follower
of Ali-Naro. “I am here—in your presence—it
is enough! Listen, O my king—I
have much to say—in a few moments.”

“Loan upon me!” cried Selim, supporting
the frame of Moussa, which grew weaker every
moment. “Speak, my friend.”

“You are—betrayed!” murmured Moussa,
speaking with great difficulty. “There are traitors
in your capital, who meditate your overthrow
this very night.”

“Moussa! what say you?”

“It is true, my prince! Before this last assault,
while I lay a prisoner in the king of Xanna's
ship, I overhead the plot. Your brothers,
Osmyn and Nadab, landing secretly, have already
reached the city, and stand ready, with many
traitors there, to turn the inhabitants against
their king. This last assault, had it been successful,
would have forced your army back from
the seaport, in which case the traitors were to
close the capital against your retreat.”

“Is that their plot—wretched men!” cried
Selim, indignantly. “Have they no pity for
their countrymen? But we shall yet foil them.
I will ride at once to my capital, and—”

“Do not, if you value your life, my dear
prince,” cried Moussa. “Alas, you know not
how far the treachery has gone. The princes
have gained thousands to their cause, and even
now they hold the city in their possession! There!
behold, my prince! there is the traitors' signal!”

As he spoke, Moussa pointed in the direction
of the capital, and Selim looking thitherward
beheld a column of flame and smoke shoot up
from the city, and cast a lurid gleam over all
the plain. At the same instant lights were discovered
ascending to the mast heads of all the
enemy's vessels lying before the town.

“This was to be the signal that Osmyn and
Nadab had succeeded in tampering with those
left in defence of the city,” continued Moussa.
“And, look! the king of Xanda is about to recommence
the battle—his boats are making for
the shore!”

“It is true! But we will meet them!” cried
Selim, in an undaunted voice. “We can at
least die in defence of our country. Come, my
brave friend! come, Moussa! you shall be nearest
to me in the fight.”

“Alas! my prince!” gasped the corsair. “It
is too—late! My battles are—ended.” With
these words, he fell suddenly to the ground, the
crimson blood gushing from his mouth in a rapid
stream.

“Farewell—my—dear prince!” murmured
the dying corsair, who had, by the force of his
will sustained his failing energies to this moment,
though an arrow-wound in his breast had been
draining his life-blood for some time—“tell the
captain—I died—doing my duty.”

These were the last words of poor Moussa.
The next instant his body lay motionless in
death.

The young monarch, summoned away to meet
the new assault, could cast only one look backward
as he said:

“May Allah rest thee, faithful follower of Ali-Naro.
I go to avenge thy death!”

10. CHAPTER X.
FLIGHT AND SHIPWRECK OF SELIM.

Treachery is more fatal than open war.
Selim had hardly gained the shore, where his
enemies were again trying to effect a lodgement,
than he saw that symptoms of fear had become
wrought for the first time among the islanders, and
though they advanced at his word, and presented
apparently as bold a front as on former occasions,
it was evident to his mind that there was
not the same alacrity in their movements as before.
Nevertheless, the first brunt of the contest
was sustained gallantly. The foe were
obliged to retreat, and their old spirit began to
animate the defenders, when a sudden alarm in
the direction of the capital, awakened all the
worst apprehensions of the young king. A
trumpet-blast was heard at a great distance,
and shortly after a troop of horsemen, who had
been stationed on the inland highway, appeared
riding at full speed, as if pursued by an enemy.
They clattered into the fort, their steeds white
with foam, and their garments covered with
dust. The leader, throwing himself from his
horse at Selim's feet, cried out in trembling
accents:

“My king—all is lost!”

“Speak!—what has occurred?”

“The city is in possession of insurgents, who
are making sorties in all directions. We have
been driven from our post by a troop of re
bels, headed by Prince Osmyn, who proclaims
himself king of Guzan!”

Scarcely were these ill-omened words uttered,
than a new disturbance was noticeable at the out
skirts of the town, and a straggling throng of
soldiers and citizens appeared, making with
great speed for the fort. The defenders, who
surrounded Selim, were seized with a panic at
beholding this sight, and hearing the news from
the capital; and then terror became soon communicated
to all who occupied the shore. In a
few moments the cry ran through the ranks
that all resistance would be useless.

Selim in vain strove to arrest the progress of
fear among his people. The tidings of treachery
and rebellion seemed to paralyze at once all their
previous resolution, and it became no longer
doubtful that the fall of Guzan was inevitable.
The king saw that all hope of defence must be
abandoned; but his prudence and self-possession
did not desert him. He called to him a few
of the bravest men who still clustered near their
monarch, and exclaimed.

“If Guzan must yield to traitors, let us seek
a country elsewhere. We must preserve our
lives for future struggles! Who will follow me
through yonder hostile fleet?”

A hundred of the brave islanders sprang forward
at the words of their prince, and declared

their willingness to die for him. Hastily arraying
them in close order, Selim then announced
his project of escape.

“We will make an onset upon the invaders
as they attempt to land, and as soon as they
gain the shore, seize upon their boats, and push
off. We shall then be enabled to assault and
carry the king of Guzan's ship, which is nearest
the shore, and in that vessel force our way to
sea.”

The proposal was seconded with a loud shout,
and Selim lost no time in carrying his plan into
execution. The besiegers were about to make
their final attempt at a landing, while from the
parties of flying villagers, who could be seen
entering the inland side of the fort, it was evident
that the insurgents were approaching rapidly
from the capital. The crisis was at hand,
and Selim gave the signal for battle by waving
his sword and rushing to the head of his devoted
followers.

Whatever had been the determined energy of
previous engagements, this last struggle of the
islanders was the most desperate. Following
their prince, they bore down upon the Xandians
with terrific impetuosity, and drove many who
had landed backward into the water. But they
wasted not their strength in hand-to-hand conflict.
Their object was escape, and gallantly
did they achieve it. Almost before the invaders
could recover from the fury of the islanders' onset,
they beheld their boats in the latter's possession,
and far beyond the possibility of re-capture.

Too late the king of Xanda became aware
of the stratagem by which his prey was about to
escape, and though a thousand spears and arrows
were hurled from the shores against the
boats, no stop could be put to their progress
against the ships, to which they were evidently
shaping their course.

The large force which had landed, under the
command of the king of Xanda, in order to
make the powerful attack upon Guzan, had left
the monarch's fleet almost defenceless, and had
Selim a sufficient force, he might have captured
the entire fleet, without a possibility of the latter's
receiving succor from the shore. But his
hundred gallant followers had been reduced
nearly one half in the desperate melee upon the
beach, and therefore he directed the attack upon
the king of Xanda's ship, without attempting
aught against the rest. It was not a difficult
task to carry the vessel, for scarcely a dozen
men had been left on board, and in a brief space
King Selim had exchanged his sovereignty of
Guzan for the command of an armed bark, which,
through the midst of her late consorts, was
steered safely from the harbor, and ere morning
had sailed far away from the conquered island
of Guzan.

The first intention of the dethroned prince
was to shape his voyage for the Isle of Eagles,
the bearings of which he remembered, in hopes
of falling in with one of Ali-Naro's vessels, or,
perhaps, the corsair himself. But though man
may propose to himself a course, it is Heaven
above which can determine the event; and the
misfortunes of Selim were not yet to have a
close.

Scarcely had the expatriated defenders of Guzan
recovered sufficiently from the excitement of
their escape to take counsel concerning their future
movements, when a new danger began to
threaten them. The weather grew boisterous,
the skies began to lower, and everything betokened
the coming of one of the terrible tempests
which are so fatal in the Indian Ocean. At the
same time a violent fever broke out among the
people, occasioned by the crowded state of the
vessel, and in consequence of there being many
wounded men among those who had escaped
from Guzan. Storm and disease thus added
their horrors to the exile, into which the brave
followers of Selim had thrown themselves, after
their noble but unavailing defence of their invaded
country.

It would be painful to detail all the trials of
that wretched company on board the storm tossed
ship, or to depict the grief of Prince Selim
in witnessing the sufferings and death of his
people. One by one the survivors of battle fell
before the insidious attacks of disease, until at
length but a third remained of all who had escaped
from Guzan.

In this condition of affairs, when the vessel,
deprived of her able-bodied seamen, became
often completely unmanageable during heavy
gales, a violent tempest suddenly arose, and
filled the breast of Selim with the direst apprehensions.
The waves rolled mountain high in
the ship's path—lightnings and thunders made
fearful the skies, and in the intervals of the red

flashes, a thick darkness settled upon the ocean's
face.

The few mariners who could sustain the
hardships of the watch, were unable to control
the helm, and in fact lost all reckoning of their
course; and at last the forlorn prince of Guzan
beheld the inevitable destruction of his ship—
she struck upon a reef of sharp rocks, and the
billows dashed in fury upon her decks, carrying
away masts and cordage, and sweeping nearly
all the crew to a watery doom.

Prince Selim had only time to offer what he
deemed a dying prayer to Allah, when the
wreck, parting in two, was whirled high upon
the shoals, and the few men who yet lived were
swept away upon the greedy waves. The young
monarch closed his eyes, and became insensible,
while the fierce waters hurling him forward upon
their crests, cast him high upon a ledge of rocks,
and returning, left him apparently bereft of
life.

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.

12. CHAPTER XII.
THE KING OF XANDA.

It may be fancied that the prince of Guzan
did not pass a very quiet night, after the incidents
which had occurred—the recognition of
his brother Nadab, the death of his old friend
the dervish, and the discovery of his brother
Osmyn's body, were events well calculated to
banish repose from his mind. A thousand disordered
thoughts oppressed him; the strangeness
of the two princes being present like himself in
Vashnor, when he had left them only a few
months since apparently in full possession of the
conquered island of Guzan; the fearful knowledge
he had obtained that one brother had fallen
by the other's hand; and lastly, the uncertainty
which seemed to surround himself, bringing
misfortunes continually upon his path—all these
reflections effectually prevented sleep from visiting
his wearied senses; and at the earliest dawn
he started from his pallet, and sought the open
air, with the intention of offering his morning
prayers in presence of the dead who lay before
the cave.

His devotions concluded, Selim contemplated
the silent forms of those who the day previous
had been active with life.

“O, Allah!” he cried, “how inscrutable are
all thy ways! My brother Osmyn triumphed in
my defeat, and here he lies slain by him with
whom he conspired my overthrow, whilst I have
been preserved from every form of death.”

Then, as he turned toward the dervish, with
the tears rushing to his eyes, the young prince
exclaimed:

“And you, kind preserver of my life—alas!
how gladly would I have given it back that you
might be preserved to usefulness! But it was
not thus to be; and now nought is left me but to
perform the last offices for the dervish who loved
—the brother who hated me.”

Saying this, Selim brought from the care a
mattock, which the poor hermit had often used
in the simple husbandry which had helped to
supply his few material wants, and prepared to
hollow out a grave not far from the little streamlet,
which glided still as clear and silently as if
no deed of violence had disturbed the quiet of
the scene around. But the prince had scarcely
struck the rude implement into the soil, when
he heard a sudden noise behind him, and the
next instant found himself in the grasp of a
dozen soldiers, headed by an officer with a drawn
sword.

“Bind him, and bring him quietly away, if he
attempts not to resist.”

“Who does this outrage? What ruffians are
ye?” demanded the prince of Guzan, struggling
to free himself.

“We are no ruffians, but officers of the law,”
answered the man with the sword.

“Of what do you accuse me?” cried Selim.

“Let your victims answer, wretched man,”
replied the officer, pointing with his weapon at
the bodies upon the ground. Then, motioning
to his followers, he directed them to secure the
prince safely, and in a few moments the latter
found himself pinioned and gagged, and carried
a prisoner from the quiet valley.

And while he is borne to the city of Vashnor,
there to be judged by the inflexible governor, we
will ask the reader's company back to the island
of Guzan, in order to learn the cause of Osmyn
and Nadab having reached the island on which
Selim had been shipwrecked.

The daring escape of the prince of Guzan in
his enemy's ship, though it filled the king of
Xanda with intense rage, did not prevent him,
of course, from pursuing his advantage over the
islanders. In fact, after the flight of Selim, the
invaders found little to oppose their progress,
and that very night the victorious monarch reposed
in the royal palace of the capital.

Osmyn and Nadab, whose treachery had been
the means of changing the fortunes of the day,
set no limits to their arrogance when they found
the island securely, as they deemed, in their
possession. Organizing a sort of council, ministry
and body guard, out of the traitors with
whom they had tampered for the overthrow of
their country, the two princes gave full rein to
all the promptings of revenge or hatred. Singling
out, in the first place, every citizen who had
distinguished himself in the defence of the island,
and likewise those who, on the occasion of
the trial at archery, had appeared to favor their
younger brother, these wicked men began to
perpetrate outrages upon all classes of the people.
Venerable councillors, nobles of the former
court, and grave citizens were dragged from
the bosoms of their families, and after being
condemned by corrupt judges, creatures of the
two princes, were hurried away to instant execution.
Property was confiscated, families outlawed
and exiled, and a reign of terror commenced,
which threatened to plunge Guzan into
greater trouble than ever.

The king of Xanda, intent only on plundering
the coffers of the conquered kingdom, did not at
first give much heed to the course of the two
princes; but so soon as he perceived that their
enormities were so flagrant that the people were
nearly excited to rebellion, he interposed his
power at once, and ordered Osmyn and Nadab
to discontinue their excesses.

“And why shall we do so?” demanded Osmyn,
insolently. “Guzan is our sovereignty, and we
are but punishing the rebels who disputed our
rights.”

“Whether Guzan be your sovereignty or not,”
answered the king of Xanda, “it is very evident
that I conquered it, and that it is now under my
authority.”

“We are willing to allow you a share in the
government,” said Osmyn, “or to pay all the
expenses of the war, and account to you liberally
for your assistance.”

“As for the expenses,” answered the old king,
“I shall take care that the country pays that,
and for a share in the government, I need not
stipulate, since I intend to govern alone!”

“Alone!” echoed both the princes.

“Will your majesty explain your meaning?”
asked Nadab.

“I do not understand such language,” cried
Osmyn.

“I shall make myself well understood shortly,”
said the king of Xanda. “The plain truth of
the matter is, that I have conquered this island,
and intend to keep it. It has long been an eye-sore
to me, and occasioned me much trouble.
Now that I am in possession, I do not mean to
give up my rights to any nonsensical claims
which may be urged on your part, my dear
princes.”

“But this is unjust—you do not keep faith
with us!”

“I keep quite as good faith as my neighbors,”
replied the monarch; “and if your consciences,
my good princes, do not trouble you, be so kind
as to let mine alone. Treachery admitted me to
Guzan, and one traitor is more than equal to
two, in this case.”

The baffled princes looked at one another in
dismay, while the king of Xanda turned leisurely
away, saying:

“Anything I can do to advance your fortunes,
my young friends, will be cheerfully performed.
There are posts in the army—or navy.”

Saying this, the monarch left them to their
reflections.

Osmyn and Nadab stormed and swore, but to
no purpose. The king of Xanda had them
completely in his power, for Xandian officers
commanded all the posts, and Xandian soldiers
garrisened the city. Besides, the treachery and
subsequent cruelties of the two princes had embittered
most of the native population against
them, and, in truth, they possessed no friends in
their own land, save the wretches who had been

their instruments or dupes. In this state of affairs,
they could only quarrel with one another
in regard to the past.

“Had it not been for you, Osmyn, we need
not have broken with Selim,” said Nadab.
“Your violence ruined all my plans.”

“And what is your cunning worth against the
power of this Xandian?” cried Osmyn, angrily.
“Had I been left to myself, I would have made
him give me the command of the army. I could
then have defied him.”

“He would never have trusted it to you,” retorted
Nadab. “No! The course I first advised
was the true one. Had we temporized
with Selim, his good nature would have very
soon put him in our power. You might have
had command of the port of Guzan, while I
could have managed the council, till an opportunity
offered to rid ourselves of the boy. But
you—you spoiled all with your hot-headedness,”
he added, in anger.

“Have a care, Nadab, or my hot head may
burn your cool one!” cried Osmyn, in a threatening
tone.

“I doubt not you would be rid of me,” muttered
Nadab; “but we shall see!”

Thus these wretched brothers continued to
quarrel with one another, losing day by day
their ground, both with the king of Xanda and
the few of their countrymen who continued to
follow them. But they abated neither their pretensions
nor their insolence, and to such an extent
did they carry the latter, that the despotic
monarch of Xanda resolved at length to bear
with them no longer. Without any preliminaries
they were one morning summoned to the
royal presence.

“Princes, I am tired of you both!” said the
old king. “I therefore give you the choice—to
leave the island of Guzan at once, or to be imprisoned
forthwith. If you go, you shall have a
ship fitted out, and all attendance and means
suited to your condition. If you stay, you will
need neither ship nor attendants. Choose!”

Osmyn and Nadab were quite taken aback,
but they dared not murmur, and could not resist.
Consequently, in less than three months
from the capture of Guzan by the Xandians, the
two princes, who had brought the invasion upon
their country, were exiled from it forever, and
condemned to wander in foreign climes.

However, as they were furnished with a stout
ship, and permitted to take all their personal
treasures, and as many reckless spirits were
found who were quite willing to follow them in
any adventure, the desperate princes consoled
themselves with the hope of being able to pursue
some scheme of plunder which would enable
them to acquire wealth and strength in the future.
The life of a pirate was just suited to
Osmyn's temperament, and Nadab was full as
unscrupulous as his brother regarding what
might be their career, so long as it might lead to
power. In this view of the case, the princes
pretended to be very grateful to the old king of
Xanda, and accepting his offer, they gathered
together a band of reckless followers, collected
their treasures, and bade adieu to their native
land, without any one regretting their sudden
departure.

Having thus related the events which led to
the appearance of Osmyn and Nadab at the
island of Vashnor, which was one of the first
places at which their ship touched, after leaving
Guzan, we will now, gentle reader, return to our
unfortunate Prince Selim, whom we left in the
hands of strange officers, and, though totally
innocent, accused of a terrible crime.

13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE GOVERNOR OF VASHNOR.

Concerning the governor of Vashnor, as before
noticed, he was reported to be a ruler of
great integrity, who administered justice with the
most impartial strictness, causing the laws to
bear equally on high and low. From one of the
agents of his police, he had early in the morning
received intelligence of a murder having been
committed in the mountains, at some distance
from the city. How the information had reached
Vashnor, was not known, but on hearing the
news, the governor immediately despatched a
force of soldiers to the place indicated, which
action resulted, as we have seen, in the disovery
and arrest of Selim.

The bodies of Osmyn and the hermit, with
every article which could be found in the cave,
were likewise conveyed to the city, and with the
prisoner, deposited in a guard-house, till such
time as the governor should arrive to dispose of
the case. Selim endeavored to sustain himself
under this new dispensation of Providence, with
all the faith he could summon. He doubted not
that his arrest had been caused through some
secret machinations of Nadab, as he was aware
that the wicked prince had recognized him before
his flight. But he had been preserved through
so many trials and dangers thus far, that he retained
a lively trust in the protection of Heaven,
and therefore resigned himself cheerfully to whatever
destiny might be in store for him.

A few hours only elapsed before the accused
was summoned before the stern governor of
Vashnor. There the testimony of those who had
apprehended Selim was taken by the judge, and
the body of Osmyn identified as that of one of
the foreign princes whose vessel now lay in the
harbor. Nadab, the brother of the murdered
man, was produced as a witness of this fact, and
confronted his injured brother with all the assurance
imaginable. He affected the most heartfelt
grief for the loss of his brother, and invoked the
governor of Vashnor to visit the murderer with
a just punishment.

Prince Selim was so thunderstruck at the
audacity of Nadab, that for some moments he
was unable to speak. At length, however, composing
his faculties, he fixed upon his unworthy
brother a look of mingled anger and sorrow.

“Nadab!” he exclaimed, “why do you still
dare the judgments of Allah upon your impiety?
Does not your conscience appall you when you
thus endeavor to fix a crime upon the innocent?”

“My lord governor!” said Nadab, looking at
the magistrate without returning a reply to Selim,
“who is this criminal? He seems to know
my name, though I am a strauger in Vashnor.”

“Great Heaven!” cried the accused prince of
Guzan. “How is this wicked man permitted to
utter such falsehoods, even to pretend ignorance
of his own brother?”

“What is that he says?” demanded the
governor.

“The man surely raves!” rejoined Nadab.

But Selim turned toward the magistrate, and
drawing up his majestic figure to its full height,
stretched forth his arm with a gesture of dignity,
and spoke in a calm voice:

“Governor of Vashnor I have heard of your
integrity and impartiality in justice. Hear me
now, and judge if I be guilty of the crime imputed
to me. And in the first place, let me inform
you that I am a prince, and the rightful monarch
of Guzan, whence I was lately driven by the invading
king of Xanda. This unfortunate man,”
continued Selim, pointing to the body of Osmyn
which with that of the hermit had been brought
to the court—“was my brother, as is this other
prince, who would now deny all knowledge of
one whom he has so deeply injured.”

Selim paused a moment, glancing at the wicked
Nadab, who pretended to be greatly astonished
at the words of his brother. But, at a signal
from the governor, the prince continued:

“Cast ashore by shipwreck upon this island
of Vashnor, I have dwelt for two months amid
yonder quiet mountains, nursed during a severe
illness, by the good dervish whose mortal remains
now lie before us. Yesterday, returning from a
short journey, I beheld my venerable host attacked
by ruffians. I flew to his relief, but not
in time to prevent his receiving a fatal wound.
The villain, however, fled from our valley, leaving
upon the ground a man whom they had slain
before the eyes of the dervish. That man I recognized
with horror, to be my brother Osmyn.
Governor of Vashnor! this is all that I have to
relate!”

Nadab who believed that Selim would accuse
him at once of the murder, had already prepared
his answer. Perceiving, however, that the prince
paused, without revealing anything further concerning
the crime, he smiled triumphantly, and
remained silent, till the magistrate should have
spoken.

“Prince!” said the governor. “You have
heard this prisoner's defence, and his assertion
that yourself and brother are of the same mother
as himself—that he, like you, is a prince of Guzan.
What say you to this?”

“Governor!” cried Nadab, apparently with
much agitation of feeling; “I ask justice at your
hands upon the assassin of my dear brother
Osmyn. The daring of this man, in asserting
himself our brother, satisfies me of his guilt.”

Saying this, Nadab covered his face with his
robe, and knelt at the feet of the governor, who
regarding Selim with a terrible look, cried in a
loud voice:

“Wretched youth! what defence can you
make? What you have said is capable of no
proof. The prince of Guzan knows you not,
and there is no doubt of your criminality.”

“Am I then to be condemned without proof?”
asked Selim. “Listen! I again declare that I
am the prince of Guzan, and that this man is my
unworthy brother. Heaven will yet prove the
truth of my words.”

“Let him be conducted back to prison!” said
the governor. “Prince Nadab, to your care I
commit your brother's body. This poor dervish
must likewise be buried.”

“And the murderer!” cried Nadab, eagerly.

“We will have justice done,” answered the
magistrate, “and the guilty man shall die!”

Thereupon the council was broken up, and
Nadab, taking charge of his brother's remains,
left the court, followed by the sympathizing spectators,
while Selim was conducted once more to
his dungeon, and the corpse of the dervish was
taken away for burial.

But, though the governor of Vashnor was resolved
that justice should have her dues, his
mind was not altogether satisfied regarding the
guilt of the accused. Selim's unswerving declaration
of his relationship to Nadab, and the
account he had given of the dervish's death, were
calculated to make the cautious judge pause ere
he decided upon so important a matter. He had
therefore remanded the prince to prison, in order
to examine him there without witnesses, and
form his own judgment of his guilt or innocence.
Accordingly, the magistrate soon presented himself
in the dungeon where Selim was confined.

“Young man,” he said, in a severe tone, as
the prince advanced to meet him, “I come to
hear your story in private, that no wrong may be
done, and that you may have every opportunity
to clear yourself of the grave charges against
you.”

“Allah! I thank thee!” cried Selim, sinking
on his knees, and raising his eyes to Heaven—
“thou hast heard my prayer, and wilt deliver
me!”

The governor looked with surprise upon the
young man, whose countenance was illumined
with confidence and hope; but he was cautious,
and knew very well that piety could be counterfeited
as well as innocence. He therefore said

nothing, but waited for the accused to speak.

“I am grateful to Allah,” said Selim, rising,
and looking earnestly at the magistrate; “because
he is ever my friend in adversity.”

“But, have you nought further to reveal concerning
this crime of which you are accused?”

“I am innocent, and what I have stated is the
simple truth. Returning yesterday from a visit
to the seashore, I found my friend the hermit,
struggling with two men, whilst the body of
another lay at their feet. I attacked the assailants
who fled, after I had disarmed the foremost,
maiming his hand, as I believe, by the blow.”

“Maiming his hand and disarming him? What
say you?” demanded the magistrate.

“His sword fell upon the ground, and if my
eyes deceived me not, a finger of his right hand
was severed.”

“What is this you tell me, young man?” cried
the governor, sternly. “You say that you disarmed
an assailant and maimed him severely?
Where, then, is the weapon? where the finger
which was severed? my soldiers have brought
from the scene of murder every object which
they could find—and neither sword nor maimed
finger are among them.”

“And yet I myself beheld the weapon of which
I disarmed the murderer, taken from the ground
by one of my captors.”

The governor, on hearing this, looked steadfastly
at Selim, as if to detect him in falsehood.
But the young prince's countenance was clear
and open.

“Could you recognize the soldier?” asked he.

“Of that I have no doubt.”

The governor clapped his hands, and a guard
appeared at the door of the dangeon.

“Bring immediately before me,” commanded
the magistrate, “all the soldiers who took part
in the arrest of this prisoner.”

The guard disappeared, and the governor,
folding his arms, began to pace the dangeonfloor,
whilst Selim remained standing, silent and
composed. In a few moments, the soldiers, with
their leader, were brought in, and ranged against
the wall.

“Now, point out the man!” said the magistrate,
quickly.

Selim fixed his eye upon a sinister-looking
fellow in the rank, and at once identified him as
the one in whose possession he had that morning
beheld the missing weapon.

“Where is the sword you have stolen?” cried
the governor, turning to this man, and speaking
in a voice of thunder. The soldier immediately
threw himself upon his knees at the magistrate's
feet.

“Pardon! pardon!” he cried—“I have it
not!”

“Where then is it?”

“The—captain,” ejaculated the wretch, looking
at his officer, who was trembling violently.
“I gave to him both the ring and sword, and he
bade me say nothing concerning them.”

“Ha!” cried the governor. “Is there such
villany as this in Vashnor? Wretch, where are
the sword and ring?” he demanded, fixing his
eyes upon the terrified officer.

“Spare me!” gasped the latter. “I will restore
them. The weapon is at my dwelling—
but here—here is the ring!”

And casting himself upon the ground, the
wretched man presented a glittering jewel to the
magistrate.

But a sudden change had come upon the governor.
His forehead, a moment before dark
with anger, now grew deadly pale. His lips
were compressed, his eyes seemed starting from
their sockets, as they gazed at the ring which
he received from the soldier's hand.

“O, just Heaven! this is fearful!” he cried,
and his limbs shook, so that he must have fallen,
had not Selim sprang forward to support him.
But, apparently with a great exertion, he seemed
to recover himself, and waved his hand to the
guard.

“Take them away—let the robbers be imprisoned!
Go,” he cried, and then as the soldiers
were marched away, he leaned heavily upon
Selim's arm.

“O, young man! Heaven's judgments are
terrible. I now know that you are innocent!”

Saying this, the governor recalling his strength
and resolution, took the arm of the prince and
led him from the prison.

14. CHAPTER XIV.
SELIM AND ABNER.

THE next morning all the inhabitants of Vashnor
heard strange news. The son of the governor
had been arrested on the previous night,
and thrown into prison, accused by his own
father of the crime of murder. It was reported
that a sword and ring found near the murdered
bodies had been identified as belonging to Abner,
the magistrate's son, and that on being charged
with the crime he had confessed it to his father,
and submitted at once to arrest, at the same
time revealing the name of his accomplice.

It was rumored likewise that the strange prince
Nadab, brother to one of the murdered men, had
been implicated in the crime, but on being sought,
was found to have escaped, his vessel taking advantage
of the night to sail from the port of
Vashnor.

All there stories were soon ascertained to be
true, and when the governor appeared in his
court of judgment, at the usual hour, an immense
concourse of the citizens had gathered to behold
him. It was not difficult to perceive what must
have been the sufferings of the stern magistrate
during the night he had passed since the discovery
of the ring which revealed to him the real
murderers of Osmyn and the hermit. His face,
it is true, exhibited, as it was turned upon the
citizens, the same calm and inflexible appearance
as usual, and he proceeded to the transaction of
business as was his wont, without outward symp
toms of emotion. But to those who watched
him closely, it was evident that the governor's
heart was filled with agony, for the son whom
he loved, his first-born, was guilty of an awful
crime, and the stern judge must forget in his duty
the feelings of a father.

Abner, the son, had been long known in Vashnor
as a wild and reckless youth, too much addicted
to dissipation, and consorting oftentimes
with persons in no good repute. But though
liable to the charge of much irregularity and
looseness of life, he had never until now, been
deemed capable of the commission of violent
deeds. It was evident that bad associations and
long habits of disorder had led the youth at last
to this step of wickedness which now threatened
him with punishment.

The prince of Guzan, who had been hospitably
entertained during the night at the palace of
the governor, was now present in the court,
though, in consequence of the full acknowledgment
made by the unhappy Abner, his testimony
in the case was unnecessary to the trial. From
the confession, it appeared that the governor's
son had been one of the first to make the acquaintance
of the two exiled princes on their arrival
at Vashnor. Finding him of easy and
reckless character, with but little principle, they
soon obtained an ascendency over him, which
was doubtless designed to serve their purposes in

the future. Abner on his part was flattered by
attentions from persons of the rank of Osmyn
and Nadab, and entered at once into their way of
life, which was akin to his own, giving full rein
to all kinds of folly and dissipation. For a week
or two back, he had been continually in their
company, and was a participant of the unfortunate
expedition to the mountains, on which
Osmyn lost his life by the hand of his brother.
Abner stated that the two brothers were in the
habit of wrangling constantly between themselves,
and that on the occasion of their visit to
the hills they had all disputed and quarrelled so
fiercely as to lose control of their tempers, so
that drawing their swords against one another,
an unlucky stroke had pierced Osmyn to the
heart, at the very moment when, alarmed by the
conflict, an aged hermit had rushed from his
cave to separate the combatants.

Nadab at first was paralyzed with what he had
done, but perceiving that the hermit had witnessed
all, he at once proposed to Abner that they
should kill the old man, and then charge him
with the homicide; declaring it was the only
method of clearing themselves, and promising
to the governor's son, that, as he, Nadab, was
now the only prince of Guzan (for the brothers
had represented themselves as the sovereigns of
that island), Abner should be raised to great dignity
under the government.

The weak young man assented to this nefarious
proposal, whereupon they laid hands
upon the dervish, and in the struggle with him,
dealt blows that afterwards proved fatal; but
they had not accomplished their purpose before
the appearance and assault of Selim caused them
to take to flight, not, however, till the governor's
son had been disarmed, and deprived of a finger,
together with the ring which so soon after became
the means of discovering the whole
wickedness.

And behold how Heaven had disposed these
cruel young men to become the instruments of
their own detection! In order to render their
plot completely successful, as they thought,
Nadab and Abner took steps, as soon as they
returned to the city, to give secret information to
the police that a murder had been committed on
the hills, and thus, by a measure which they
deemed very cunning, the arrest of Selim was
brought about, and the subsequent disclosures
produced which developed all the transaction.
Short-sighted indeed are the shrewdest, when
crime is on their consciences!

The wretched Abner, as he stood shuddering
before the spectators, who had most of them
known him from infancy, and as, looking up to
his father, he beheld the stern countenance that
met his, presented a picture of horror and despair.
Unlike the gay and reckless deportment
which he usually wore, the manner of the young
man now was dejected and crushed, as by fear
and remorse. His right hand was muffled with
a scarf, to conceal the loss of his forefinger, and
he leaned against a pillar of the hall, with pallid
features and trembling limbs.

And reason enough had Abner for terror and
despair. The judge who was to decide his fate,
was, it is true, his father; but there was no
stranger in the assemblage, to whose mercy he
could appeal with less hope than to the just governor
of Vashnor. A great struggle was taking
place in the magistate's breast, but to those
who knew him best, it was manifest that his
mind was settled in regard to duty. His son
Abner—his first born—must die!

The judgment fell like a thunderbolt upon the
wretched criminal. He uttered a piercing shriek,
and threw himself at his father's feet, imploring
mercy in the most piteous accents. Selim, too,
knelt before the judgment-seat, and many of the
councillors and citizens of Vashnor pressed forward
to add their supplications. But the governor
was inexorable. The doom of Abner had
been pronounced.

The prince of Guzan, shocked at the stern
necessity of justice, which seemed to compel the
action of the magistrate, could not but sympathize
deeply with the evident sorrow that bowed
the father's heart. And when, in obedience to
the governor's command, a couple of guards
drew near, and prepared to bind the hands of
Abner, the good Selim could not refrain from
tears.

“Ah, you weep, my friend?” said the governor.
“Would that tears might flow for my relief!”

Then, descending from his chair, the magistrate
approached poor Abner who stretched out
his pinioned hands to embrace him. For a moment
the father and son remained locked in each
other's arms, and then, releasing himself, the
governor drew back, and making a signal to the
guards, Abner was led forth to execution.

That evening, while Selim was meditating
upon the strange events which had taken place,
and marvelling at the mysterious providence
which appeared to watch over his wanderings,

the old governor of Vashnor suddenly appeared
before him.

“Prince!” said the magistrate. “Deem me
not inhospitable if I entreat you to tarry no longer
upon this island. I am a heart-broken
father, though my duty to my countrymen makes
me seem a harsh ruler! The form of my unhappy
and misguided boy never leaves my sight,
and your presence heightens continually my
misery, besides occasioning murmurs among the
citizens.”

“Governor of Vashnor!” replied Selim.
“Believe me, when I assure you of my deepest
pity and sympathy. I will at once obey your
wishes, and depart from this place.”

“I know that you are not to blame in this
matter,” resumed the magistrate; “nevertheless,
the populace seem unable to attribute my poor
boy's fate to his own crime, but charge it upon
the prince of Guzan.”

“Say no more,” replied Selim. “I will leave
Vashnor, as soon as a passage can be obtained
in some vessel.”

“A ship is about to weight anchor,” said the
governor. “Prince, do not condemn me for my
apparent inhospitality, but pity the wretched
parent. Here is gold, for I know you are not
prepared with means to travel—take it, and thus
confer upon me a favor.”

Saying this, the magistrate pressed upon Selim
a well-filled bag of zechins. And then, hurriedly
pressing the prince's hand, he left the
apartment, after summoning a slave to attend
the prince to the ship which was about to sail.
That night, the prince disguised as a merchant
laid his head to rest in the cabin of a vessel, and
ere morning, was far away from the island of
Vashnor.

But hardly had the sun risen above the horizon,
when a new evil seemed preparing for the wandering
prince of Guzan. A sail appeared in
sight, which, after a while, was discovered to be
a large armed vessel filled with men, and as,
evidently in full chase of the merchantman, it
drew rapidly nearer, the terror-stricken captain
avowed his belief that it was a pirate.

“Pirate!” cried the second in command, who
was examining the movements of the pursuing
vessel. “I believe it is no other but the ship
which lay a few days since in Vashnor harbor—
that belonging to the stranger princes—”

“The princes of Guzan—ah, say you so? It
relieves me greatly!” exclaimed the captain, in
a less alarmed tone of voice.

But the information was far from relieving
Selim. He knew very well, that, if the strange
bark should prove to be what the second officer
asserted, a danger threatened himself of the most
serious nature. Nadab on board that vessel was
doubtless lord paramount, with many reckless
followers at his command. And Selim knew
that from his wicked brother's hatred he had
everything to dread.

Nevertheless, the prince's courage did not
forsake him, though he perceived that every moment
was lessening the distance between the two
ships. He spoke calmly to the merchant captain,
who now appeared quite at his case.

“What think you, are the intentions of those
who man yonder vessel?” asked he, of the
skipper.

“O, doubtless, to inquire the news from Vashnor,”
answered the man carelessly. But the
next instant a cry from his second officer brought
a return of all his previous trepidation. Selim
turned and beheld the mate pointing toward
the strange ship, which had suddenly run a black
flag up to her topmast.

“Pirates! pirates!” The cry ran from mouth
to mouth of the merchant-crew, and the captain
wringing his hands, rushed wildly to the mate.

“You said it was the vessel of the Guzan
prince!” he cried, in a trembling voice.

“And I say so still,” answered the officer.
“I can swear to the rigging and hull of that
craft out of a thousand.”

“What are we to do?” cried the captain.

“Fight or give up!” replied the mate, bluntly.

“But, we cannot fight—we have no arms, and
that ship is full of men.”

“Then we must either submit, or scuttle the
ship,” said the second officer. “I see no way of
escape!”

All farther doubt concerning the character or
identity of the strange vessel was now at an end,
for as she came looming up behind the slow-sailing
merchantman, with the black flag of
piracy streaming from her topmast, Selim beheld
upon her deck the well-known form of Nadab
his brother.

The captain and crew of the trader, powerless
to resist so formidable an enemy, slackened sail
and brought the vessel to at once, whilst the
pirate, ranging alongside, poured a fierce gang
over the decks of his prize. Sclim, on the first
attack, had drawn his sword, and placed himself
on the defensive, resolved to sell his life dearly,
rather than yield to the marauders. Perceiving

his resolute attitude, the foremost plunderers
avoided him, but growing bolder, as their numbers
increased, a dozen speedily rushed upon the
prince, endeavoring to despatch him at once,
while a score or more scoured the ship, killing
without mercy the captain and every mariner
who would not at the dagger's point swear to
join their band.

Selim made good use of his weapon, for two
fell to the deck with the first sweep which he
made of his gleaming blade. But the pirates
pressed vigorously forward, to avenge their comrades,
and the prince would inevitably have fallen
beneath their combined attack, had not his
situation at that instant caught the eyes of Nadab,
who stood at the bows of the other ship. The
felon prince recognized immediately the features
of Selim, and a cry of triumphal hatred escaped
his lips.

“Kill him not, men! on your lives slay him
not!” he exclaimed, fearful lest the weapons of
his followers should anticipate his own revenge.
“A hundred pieces of gold, if he is taken
alive!”

The pirates, hearing these words from their
leader's voice, paused a moment, and then, stooping
to avoid Selim's blows, darted at his feet, and
grasping them, threw the prince upon his back;
then, calling for ropes, they bound his hands, and
took away his sword.

This operation, witnessed by Nadab from his
secure position on the other deck, penetrated that
wicked young man with the keenest emotions of
joy. He beheld the brother whom he had pursued
with so much virulence, and over whose
safety Heaven had appeared especially to watch,
now lying powerless upon the deck of the prize,
and completely, as it seemed, at his mercy. He
could not forbear the exultation of his gratification,
by calling out to the defenceless Selim in
insolent tones:

“How now, dog; who is master now? What
power can release you from Nadab, my pious
Selim?”

“The power that ever overrules the intentions
of the wicked,” answered Selim, quietly.

“Ha, ha! we shall see presently!” cried Nadab,
laughing triumphantly. “I am king here,
you will find, my sweet brother.”

Thus the unworthy prince continued to taunt
the noble Selim, but the latter, satisfied with his
own trust in God, replied no more to his malicious
words. In the meantime the pirate crew
had slain many of the poor merchant sailors,
and dispersed themselves about the ship, plundering
her valuables and destroying her cargo.

The merchant vessel was laden with great
stores of spices and fruits, but the object of the
marauders was money or jewels, and having possessed
themselves of all such that they could lay
their hands upon, the signal for recall was made,
and they returned to their own vessel, after first
setting fire to the prize. Selim, pinioned and
helpless, was conveyed over the vessel's side,
and carried to the pirate's deck, where stood his
brother, in all arrogance and authority; and the
lashings which had connected the two barks being
presently cast off, a wide gap of water soon
separated them. The pirate shot ahead, and the
merchantman, wreathed in smoke and flame, fell
far astern.

It was now noonday, and the high sun poured
its vertical rays down on the unsheltered head of
Selim, who was left tied upon the burning
planks, whilst Nadab retired to his cabin to carouse
with his comrades over this their first entire
success in the piratical course on which they
had entered. Very soon the prince could, hear
the sound of uproarous laughter, mingled with
blasphemous words and ribald songs, and he
knew that the captain and crew were revelling
below.

“O, my father!” murmured Selim; “O, venerable
sire! how is thy memory dishonored in
the conduct of my wretched brother! Merciful
Allah, harden not his heart so terribly! O, may
he repent of his crimes!”

But little hope of repentance on his brother's
part could Selim cherish, when he remembered
the long-pursued schemes of wickedness in which
Nadab had been engaged. He called to the few
mariners who had been left above as a guard to
him, to bring him a draught of water; but these
men had sought the sheltered hatchways, and
were eagerly listening to the songs of the revellers
below.

Selim, gasping for breath, began to fear that
he must shortly perish from the dreadful heat
and thirst which tortured him.

But first he resolved to make an effort to release
himself from the cords which confined his
wrists behind his back. They had been tightly
drawn and secured, but the prince's struggles
soon loosened them sufficiently to admit of his
using his fingers, when, exerting his utmost
strength, he succeeded in untwisting several
strands of the rope, so that with a sudden wrench
they parted, and he found himself free.

But scarcely had this been effected, when a
sudden shout from the helmsman, who was the
only man attentive to his duty, announced that
a sail was heaving in sight, and the cry being
passed below, was answered by a yell of drunken
mirth from the carousing pirates. Then a rush
was heard, and Nadab, followed by a score of
revellers, appeared upon the deck.

Nadab's eyes were bloodshot, his face inflamed
and his whole appearance denoted the debauch
in which he had engaged. He flourished a sword
in his hand, and staggered toward his prostrate
brother, uttering frenzied exclamations.

“Ha! caitiff! dog! slave!” he cried, making
passes as if he would cut Selim in pieces. “Now
I shall have my reckoning with you! Get up,
slave, and beg your life. Ho, one of you, bring
a whip that I may lash this dog of mine!”

Selim listened to the raving of his wicked brother
with unmoyed calmness, but he moved his
fingers nervously behind his back, so as to be
sure that nothing should impede his hands in the
struggle which he feared must come. But another
warning from the lookout arrested the fury of
the drunken prince.

“A sail on our larboard—two sails on our weather
bow,” was the cry.

“What do they look like?” cried a dark,
fierce-looking man, who now advanced and took
his station near Nadab. This person was the
captain who commanded the ship of the pirate
prince, and who seemed comparatively
sober.

“One large, and two small vessels—armed, I
think,” answered the mariner.

“Let us crowd sail,” cried the captain. “Away,
men, to your stations!” he continued, waving a
trumpet which he carried, whilst Nadab, who
had been silent a few moments, began once more
his threats.

“Ho, Selim! Selim the prince!” he muttered
savagely. “Bring me the whip—hear ye not?”

A man at this instant brought forward a long
goad, which the drunken Nadab snatched away
immediately, exclaiming:

“Now, dog, beg for your life.”

But ere the lash could descend, the prostrate
Selim sprang to his feet, and leaping forward,
grasped his wicked brother, and hurled him to
the deck. Then, snatching the heavy sword from
his hand, the brave prince fell back against the
vessel's side, and prepared to defend himself.

The sudden overthrow of Nadab, and Selim's
threatening attitude, intimidated for a moment
the entire piratical crew. But as the baffled Nadab
rose foaming to his feet, and called upon them
to slay the prince, they made ready to rush together,
and pin him to the bulwark.

Selim commended himself to Heaven, and east
one look around, as if to bid adieu to ocean and
sky. As he did so, a cry of joy trembled on his
lips; for as he stood he could plainly behold the
ships which the helmsman had descried, and in
the foremost he recognized the well-remembered
“Green Bird” of the corsair, Ali-Naro.

The next moment, the pirates attacked him,
and he struck the first who neared him to the
deck. But his object was not now to sell his
life. The sight of Ali-Naro's vessel had inspired
him with a sudden hope of eseape; and watching
his opportunity, he swept the sword which he held
with furious strength upon a second of his assailants
and then, dropping his blade, sprang
over the ship's side into the sea.

Nadab shrieked with rage as he beheld his
brother's daring act, and called for spearmen and
arehers to hurl their weapons upon the prince.
But the ship was at her speed, and before, an arrow
could be fitted, or a dart poised, Selim was
far astern, breasting manfully the rolling waves.

15. CHAPTER XV.
ABDUCTION OF AZNA-ALWAZ.

The Princess Azna-Alwaz, after the evening
when she had witnessed from her hiding-place
at the fountain, the landing of the mariners for
water, did not wear the same quiet and indifferent
look as she had in previous days exhibited.
A thoughtful expression took possession of the
maiden's features, and her deep, lustrous eyes
seemed to grow sad in their abstracted gaze.
She smiled not now as formerly, and many who
prided themselves on their wisdom, said, on
hearing of her approaching nuptials with the
prince of Coranor, “It is a love-match. One
can see plainly that the princess is dying for
him.”

But, indeed, so far from dying for the prince
of Coranor, Azna-Alwaz began to conceive for
this lover a sort of aversion which she could not
surmount. The attentions, which in right of his
position the prince felt himself privileged to pay
to his affianced bride, became repagnant to her
feelings, and she avoided his presence as much
as possible. The king of Divonduron could not
but remark the change that had taken place in
his daughter, which grieved him the more because
he could attribute no cause for it. Azna-Alwaz
had consented to his proposed matrimonial arrangement
with so little apparent reluctance,
and the prince of Coranor was in truth so eligible
a husband for almost any princess, that the
old king was at his wits' end to account for the
maiden's singular dejection, which all the court
had begun by this time to notice.

“Beloved Azna-Alwaz,” he said to her one
day, “I have observed with great concern that of
late you seem not to be so happy as formerly.
You sigh often, and appear to court solitude.
Your eyes, my dear child, are not so brilliant
as they were, and the roses on your cheeks are
becoming paled. Tell me, Azna-Alwaz, what
has troubled you?”

“My dear sire,” answered the princess, “I am
a foolish girl, and I should not give way to oppressive
thoughts.”

“Oppressive thoughts! What, my dear child,
can oppress your tender mind?”

“In truth, nothing, my father. You are kind
and indulgent beyond my desert. I have really
nothing to trouble me.”

“Banish, then, these gloomy fits,” said the old
king. “They are unbecoming one who is soon
to be united to a noble husband.”

Azna-Alwaz, on hearing this, burst into a flood
of tears, and covered her lovely face in the folds
of her veil. Her father was surprised and
alarmed at this singular manifestation, and drew
her at once to his side, at the same time speaking
in a gentle tone:

“Strange, girl,” he said; “is, then, this marriage

distasteful to you? Why did you not tell
me so when I first proposed the prince of Coranor
for your acceptance? But I swear to you,
even now, if there is another prince more agreeable
to your choice, I will find means to break
my engagement with Coranor.”

“O, no—no, dear father!” cried Azna-Alwaz,
in a broken voice. “It shall be as you command.
I may as well marry the prince of Coranor
as any of my suitors, who are all alike
repugnant to me.”

“This is but wilfulness, child,” cried the king
of Divonduron. “You would trifle with me, I
fear, and I must not submit to it.”

Poor Azna-Alwaz knew not what to say. Her
father's displeasure terrified her, and she could
only hide her eyes and weep. At length the
king grew really angry, and said to her harshly:

“Retire, now, and endeavor to wear a more
cheerful demeanor when we meet again. And
prepare, I command you, to become the wife of
the prince within ten days.”

The princess bowed her head, and withdrew
to her solitary walk in the garden of the palace,
her bosom filled with a variety of emotions,
among which the memory of that majestic stranger
whom she had seen upon the terrace was ever
uppermost.

It was evening again, and the sunset splendors
of sky and water fixed the maiden's gaze, and
for a time cheated her of desponding reflections.
Away beyond the garden terraces the great ocean
stretched, as far as the eye could reach, its surface
crimson with the beams of parting day.
Here and there a white sail could be descried,
relieved against the horizon; and Azna-Alwaz,
recalled to her silent recollections, wondered
whither, upon the great deep, the bark of him
whose image still occupied her heart, was now
directing its course, and whether, in the future
which was to come, another orison so bright
would ever visit her as that which had spelled
her senses near the terrace fountain.

Wrapped in these fancies, Alna-Alwaz gave
no heed to aught around her, nor knew that she
was observed by strangers near. In fact, from
the first appearance of the princess in the garden,
on this evening, she had been the unconscious
object of attention to a party of men who
approached from a distant part of the sea-shore,
where they had landed in a small boat from a
ship which was hidden by a jutting point of
beach from the view of any one upon the garden
terraces.

These men were all heavily armed, and their
appearance betokened a lawless course of life,
for their countenances bore the unmistakeable
traces of vice and dissipation. They were commanded
by a young man, who was distinguished
by ornaments and by a finer garb, but whose
features were not less unpleasant than those
whom he led, a mixture of cunning and brutality
making repulsive what had originally been a
face of some pretension to beauty.

Azna-Alwaz, awakened from her reverie by
voices near at hand, turned her alarmed gaze
toward the strangers, and met the glance of their
leader fixed upon her with an expression that
greatly terrified her. She rose immediately from
her seat, and endeavored to gain the path which
conducted to the palace gardens, but ere she
could do so, a rude hand was laid upon her garments.

“Not so fast, beautiful lady,” said a loud and
confident voice; “good company must not part
so soon.”

Azna-Alwaz attempted to cry out, but fright
prevented her uttering an audible sound. She
could only struggle violently, and gasp for
breath.

“Why so fluttering, pretty dove?” cried the
man who had caught her garments, and who
now, confining her delicate hands, drew her nearer
to him, and gazed with bold admiration upon
her lovely features. “You have nothing to fear,
beautiful one.”

O, release me!—let me depart,” murmured
Azna Alwaz, in a faint voice, still struggling to
free herself.

“Not yet—not yet, I promise you,” answered
the ruffian who detained her. “Come, let us be
friends. Whither would you fly?”

“I pray you to release me!” cried the maiden.
“My father will punish you severely.”

“Your father is not here, pretty one.”

“But he is near. Unhand me, sir! I am a
princess, and unused to such violence,” cried
Azna-Alwaz, regaining somewhat of her courage,
and speaking in a resolute tone.

“O, you are a princess. Well, sweet lady, I
am a prince; so you perceive we are on equal
terms. Come, let your father alone, my beauty,
and go with me!”

Saying this, the villain attempted to life the
princess in his arms, but she eluded his grasp,
and shricking violently, fled toward the gardens.

“By Eblis, she shall not escape me!” cried the
ruffian, as he darted in pursuit, followed by his

comrades, and quickly reaching the flying maiden,
caught her once more in his arms. But her
cries, resounding through the gardens, had by
this time aroused the people of the palace, and
lights began to glimmer amid the trees now enveloped
in the dusk of evening.

“Quick to the shore! Let us gain the boat!”
cried the villain, as he turned from the garden
path, firmly grasping the now silent and fainting
princess. And as the torch-lights began to multiply
around the grounds, and cries of alarm
sounded from the gloom, the daring abductors
rapidly descended the terraces, and with their
prize soon succeeded in reaching the boat.

The sun had now entirely disappeared, and
the waterside was hidden by a thick mist, through
which the boat was pushed off, and rowed swiftly
toward a large vessel which lay at anchor near
the extremity of the sandy promontory. Azna-Alwaz,
muffled in the mantle of her captor, and
deprived of consciousness, was lifted without
difficulty on the deck of the ship, and thence
borne to a cabin, where she awoke to life only to
behold herself completely in the power of the
daring wretches who had kidnapped her.

16. CHAPTER XVI.
“THE GREEN BIRD.”

When Prince Selim, after his last blow
against the marauding followers of Nadab, had
flung himself into the sea, trusting to Heaven
for his preservation, it was not without a calculation
as to his chances of escape. He had
recognized the ship of Ali-Naro, and knew
that the speed of the corsair bark would soon
bring her near enough to serve him, could he
succeed in sustaining himself in the wake of the
other vessel. The sea, it is true, was rather
rough, but the prince was an excellent swimmer,
and felt confident that, as it was in the broad
light of day, he could soon make signals which
might be seen from the pursuing ship. Animated
with this hope, he at first struck boldly
out, and then, husbanding his strength, only endeavored
to keep himself above the water, whilst
he tore away a portion of his dress and waved
it to and fro above his head.

Nadab's vessel, in the meantime, had been
kept on her course, for her captain was apprehensive
that the ships which followed him might
not be very agreeable consorts, so Selim even
had the satisfaction of beholding the dark craft
from which he had escaped gradually disappearing
upon the waters, whilst with equal joy he
perceived the advance of the “Green Bird”
directly towards him. It soon became apparent,
likewise, that Ali-Naro's people observed his sig
nals, for as the vessel approached, he could perceive
a kind of tumult upon her decks, and,
presently beheld her rounded to, and a boat leaving
her sides. His heart was so elated at this
sight that the prince almost lost his senses, and
when, at length, the boat neared him, and he recognized
many well-remembered faces among the
rowers, he had barely strength to make a grasp
at the prow, and then lapsed into a death-like
swoon.

But he had been seized opportunely by the
strong-handed mariners, and lifted safely into the
boat, which was immediately rowed with all
speed toward the ship. And when, under the
restoring attentions of his old friends, Prince
Selim awoke again to animation, it was to behold
the grave face of Ali-Naro bending over him, and
hear the corsair's manly voice welcome him with
all the affection of a father.

Tenderly nursed by the old captain, Selim
soon regained his strength and spirits, and was
able to relate to his host the various fortunes
which had befallen him since they parted. Ali-Naro
was shocked to hear of the treachery of
Osmyn and Nadab, which had admitted an enemy
into their native country, but when the prince
proceeded in his narrative to recount his shipwreck,
and sojourn with the dervish, and the particulars
of Osmyn's death and the subsequent

accusation which had been made against himself
by the wicked Nadab, the indignation of Ali-Naro
knew no limits.

“Villain!” he cried. “He deserves not to
exist upon the earth. What place is now infested
with his presence?”

“Hear me to the end,” cried Selim, and went
on to explain the providential circumstances by
which he had been cleared of the charge against
him, and the crime fixed upon its real authors.
He depicted the agony of the governor of Vashnor,
on discovering his son to be a murderer, and
related with tears how the magistrate had condemned
his first born to death, while the guilty
Nadab had escaped from the port.

“And he yet curses these seas?” interrupted
Ali-Naro. “Would that I might encounter
him!”

“You have been very near it,” remarked Selim.
“It was from his ship that I leaped into
the sea!” and he concluded his recital by an account
of the destruction of the merchantman, his
capture by the pirate Nadab, and the cruel treatment
which he had afterwards received, up to
the moment of his desperate attempt at escape,
which had happily been successful.

“O, this evil brother of yours—he must be
pursued!” exclaimed Ali-Naro, as his friend
finished his story. “But you are saved, thanks
be to Heaven! Great must be the love of Allah
to you, my son, since he has so especially manifested
his power for your constant protection.
Perhaps the many sins of Ali-Naro may be forgiven
through your prayers, my prince.”

“Say rather through your own, my friend,”
answered Selim, solemnly. “Allah never is deaf
to earnest supplication.”

“I have sought to pray much of late,” said
the corsair, leaning his forehead upon his hand,
and fixing his eyes upon the deek. As he thus
sat, Selim had an opportunity of observing the
captain's features, and saw that a great change
had taken place since he had last beheld them.
The old man's cheek was sunken, his hair which
had been black, was silvered, and there was an
air of deep melancholy in all his manner, as
though a weight pressed continually on his
spirits. The prince of Guzan was much affected
on noticing this, and clasping his friend's
hand, he said:

“Ali-Naro! I perceive that you dwell too
much on the past! Let me counsel you to turn
your hopes to the future—to an existence better
and nobler than your previous life. Do I offend
you, my friend?”

“No, go on, prince! Let me listen to you!”
cried Ali-Naro. “I have need of your counsel
and sympathy!”

The prince of Guzan saw that the corsair's
heart was altered greatly from its former state of
despairing indifference or recklessness. The
blow which had deprived him of his son had, at
first hardened his feelings and rendered him desperate
of the future, but time and thought, joined
to his intimacy with Selim, had awakened softer
emotions in his bosom, and he was now prepared
to profit by the gentle monitions of his young
friend. The prince did not fail to draw a parallel
between the case of Ali-Naro and that of the
governor of Vashnor, in both of which a beloved
son was lost to a devoted father; and perhaps,
the most quiet slumber which the corsair had
ever experienced, visited his wearied senses when
he sought his pillow that night, after listening
to the story, and being soothed by the counsels
of the pious prince of Guzan.

The ship of Nadab, owing to the delay which
was necessary in rescuing Selim, had, in the
meanwhile, succeeded in gaining such an advance,
that, at the setting in of night, no glimpse
of her was to be seen in all the line of horizon;
so that Ali-Naro was forced very reluctantly to
give up the pursuit, and recall his two smaller
vessels to alter their course, and proceed, with
the “Green Bird” to the Isle of Eagles.

The next morning the old captain announced
to his crew the death of their comrade Moussa,
and Prince Selim, at the same time, paid a
tribute to the poor fellow's memory, which gained
him new favor with all his old friends the
corsairs. Soon afterwards, they reached the
well-known island, in which the prince of Guzan
had sojourned so pleasantly after his former preservation
by Ali-Naro. Everything here remained
as before; the castle crowned its wood-encircled
hill, the streamlets danced in beauty to the
plain, and the radiant flowers greeted Selim with
their former luxuriousness and fragrance. The
prince welcomed the rest and peace of the quiet
isle with a gladness which is only felt by those
who have experienced the trials and perils which,
had been his lot since his previous visit.

Ali-Naro also seemed to share in the satisfaction
of his friend. His countenance wore a
cheerful look, and he replied with animation to
the warm greetings of his friends upon the isle.
Selim was rejoiced at these signs of his friend's

returning peace of mind, as they argued happiness
yet in store for the old corsair.

A few weeks' stay at the Isle of Eagles sufficed
to recruit the health of the adventurers, and
Ali-Naro then avowed his intention of setting
forth once more in pursuit of the pirate Nadab.

“In my youthful days,” said the corsair, “I
allowed no murderous villains to infest these seas.
An open freebooter myself, with a sovereignty of
my own in this rocky isle, I made war and exacted
tribute in my own way, but no one can
say that Ali-Naro ever shed blood wantonly, or
disturbed the peaceful trader who paid tithes in
recognition of his claims as ocean-king. It shall
not be said that, in my age, I permit a marauder
to disturb those whom I protect in these seas.
Therefore I am resolved to pursue this pirate-brother
of yours.”

“But, my friend, Ali-Naro,” said Selim.
“You will not pursue this unhappy man to
avenge my injuries? Much as Nadab has wronged
me, I cannot forget that he is my father's
son.”

“He deserves no mercy at your hands,” cried
Ali-Naro, something of his ancient spirit gleaming
in his eye. “And were I to judge him, the
death of Moussa might make me relentless. I
will leave him to you, prince, should he fall into
our hands.”

The “Green Bird” left the Isle of Eagles,
with a fair breeze, and all her crew in the best
of spirits. Ali-Naro seemed to have recovered
the life and vigor of youth, and passed much of
his time in relating to Selim the various adventures
that had marked his eventful career, both
on sea and land. In this manner many days
were agreeably passed whilst cruising up and
down the Indian Ocean, until at last, one day,
the mariner stationed at the topmast announced
a strange sail, resembling the vessel he had before
pursued.

Ali-Naro immediately crowded all the canvass
that his ship could carry, and in a brief
space of time hauled closely into the track of the
other craft, which, with great exultation, he
soon decided to be the very bark which had before
escaped him.

Selim, too, recognized the vessel as the one
which had captured the merechantman, and his
assurance of the fact stimulated the “Green
Bird's” company to still greater exertion in order
to overtake the chase, which was almost as
swift a sailer as the corsair's ship itself. Every
shred of canvass was bent upon the masts, and
the great oar-sweeps, used to assist the speed of
vessels in those seas, were manned by the corsairs
with alacrity. The result was that about
midday, the “Green Bird” ran alongside and
cast her grapnels upon the ship of Nadab, which
had run up the black flag, and seemed resolved
to resist an attempt at capture.

Ali-Naro rejoiced at this, for he had feared
that Nadab was too cowardly to make a stand,
and that the pirates would therefore fall too easy
a prize, in which case he might find it necessary
to deal out that vengeance in cool blood which
he would rather should be wreaked in the heat of
conflict; for the corsair was determined that an
example should be made of these his pirate-rivals,
which should effectually deter others
from following their example of plunder in the
Indian Seas. The old captain considered himself
not only paramount, but, inasmuch as his
power had long been recognized, and the tribute
which he claimed cheerfully paid by most of
the Indian merchants, he felt it his duty to protect
their commerce from the attacks of new
marauders.

It was, therefore, with much of his ancient
fiery spirit, that he shouted the war-cry to his
crew, and rushed at their head to board the
pirate vessel. The corsairs, eager for the conflict,
climbed in a moment over the ship's sides,
and engaged in battle with their enemies. In
vain did the captain of Nadab's bark, and even
the pirate-prince himself, fight at the head of
their followers, and dispute the deck with unexpected
determination. The corsairs not only
outnumbered them, but were men who had never
known defeat, and they speedily swept like a
torrent along the main deeks of the vessel, cutting
down and trampling over the pirates in
every direction. Ali-Naro saw presently that the
fight was decided, and the victory his own. Dozens
of the foemen were lying dead and wounded
on the planks, whilst others, disarmed and bound
implored mercy, and others, escaping to the hold,
sought only to delay their destruction by a despairing
resistance. The captain of the pirates
lay at the old corsair's feet, struck down by the
first blow which Ali-Naro had dealt, and of all
the ferocious followers of Nadab, none could
now avert the fate which threatened the wicked
prince.

Selim looked around, to discover his wretched
brother, but the latter was not to be seen; and
it was not till all the pirate-crew, who survived
the combat, had been safely secured in the ship's

hold, that the felon-prince was at last recognized,
garbed as a slave, in which disguise he had been
dragged from a hiding-place in the cabin.

But his disguise availed not the treacherous
Nadab. Dragged to the deck of the “Green
Bird” he lifted up his eyes only to encounter the
bright glance of Selim fixed sternly on his pallid
face.

Ali-Naro, standing beside his friend, while
the fierce corsairs stood ready to obey the slightest
motion of either, looked frowningly upon the
defeated pirate, and then, turning to Selim,
said:

“Prince, I have promised you that this man's
fate should be decided by yourself. He is in
your hands, and you know that my followers are
likewise yours!” Saying this the corsair folded
his arms, and awaited the action of Selim.

Nadab heard the words of the old chief which
informed him that his doom was to be decided
by the brother whom he had so greatly injured,
and whose life he had lately attempted to take.
But this cunning prince knew the magnanimous
nature of Selim, and he did not despair of moving
his compassion. Pausing but a moment to
meditate his course, he clasped his hands together,
and then threw himself at the feet of the
prince of Guzan.

“O, forgive—forgive me, Selim!” he cried,
in accents of terror. “Forget not we are sons
of the same father—that the same mother gave
us nourishment from her breasts.”

“Wretch!” cried Selim, as he heard these
words of his unnatural brother. “How have you
remembered your relationship to me? Degraded
prince! by what right do you invoke the memory
of our noble father!”

“But, we are yet of the same blood!” cried
the ingrate. as he grovelled upon the deck at
his brother's feet. “You will not doom me to
death unprepared. I promise to be your slave,
Selim—to serve you faithfully!”

“I cannot trust a traitor to his country,” returned
the prince.

“Alas, the deeds of Osmyn were not mine!”
cried Nadab. “It was his treachery that—”

“O, wretch! would you then blacken the
memory of him you slew?” cried Selim.

“But I am wretched—I am agonized!” murmured
Nadab. “My poor brother's death has al
most crazed me—I would repent—I would
repent.”

On hearing these words, uttered wildly by the
unhappy man at his feet, Selim was moved with
compassion. He believed that Nadab was indeed
penetrated with remorse for his crimes, and
the conviction made him desirous of easing the
wretched brother's terror.

“Do you then swear, Nadab, to amend you?
life, and seek to make reparation for the misery
you have inflicted upon others? Answer me
this.”

“I do! I do!” gasped Nabab. “I swear to
change my course of life, and seek to repent of
my manifold crimes.”

“Rise, then, and be faithful to your oath!”
said Selim, extending his hand to his brother,
who crouched upon the deck. “Rise, I pardon
you!”

Hardly had this scene been thus concluded,
when a commotion on board the pirate-bark,
which yet remained fast to the “Green Bird,”
announced that something important was taking
place. Ali-Naro immediately advanced toward
the other vessel, whilst Prince Selim gave the
trembling Nadab in charge of one of the crew,
with orders to treat him well.

The tumult which Ali-Naro had heard now
subsided into low murmurs, and, the mariners
making way for their commander as he approached,
opened a way to the cabin of Nadab's
ship, where, in a curtained recess that had been
concealed from view during the first search,
throughout the vessel, reclined upon a pile of
silken cushions a maiden, beautiful as an angel,
who, with closed eyes, seemed either wrapped in
sleep or death. The old corsair pressed forward,
and tenderly approaching the unconscious lady,
raised her white hand from the bosom which it
pressed, and discovered that the pulse yet throbbed
with life.

“Hasten! bring cordials hither!” cried the
chief, “and bid the Prince Selim to come!”

A mariner immediately sprang to obey his captain's
orders, and at the same moment Selim
made his appearance on the deck of Nadab's
ship. A short consultation was held regarding
the lovely female who it was evident, had been
plunged into a deadly swoon, doubtless terrified
by the fierce conflict which had raged above. Selim,
on his part, could searcely withdraw his
glance from the lady's countenance, which,
though pale, was yet transcendently lovely. She
lay before him, half-buried in the silken pillows,
like a vision of some houri asleep in the halls of
Paradise; and, as with trembling fingers, he
sprinkled upon her forehead some perfumed
water brought by the mariner, and applied to her

beautiful lips a few drops of cordial, he almost
feared lest, on opening her eyes, she should vanish
at once from his enraptured sight.

Thus the prince of Guzan knelt beside the fair
unknown, watching anxiously for some sign of
returning animation, and holding closely within
his own her delicate right hand; and thus he
gazed upon her face, when the princess of Divonduron,
for it was she, opened her lustrous eyes
and turned them upon a countenance whose
majestic features she well-remembered. The
sight accomplished more than cordials or restoratives
to recall her scattered senses. She uttered
a low cry, and pressed her eyes with her
white fingers, as if fearful that their vision deceived
her. Then, starting suddenly from the
cushions, she clasped her hands together, and
threw herself at Selim's feet.

“O, leave me not! O, protect me from these
cruel men!” she murmured. “O do not go
from me!” And she gazed up into the prince's
face with a look so earnest and pleading, that
Selim felt the tears rush to his eyes with the sudden
emotion that thrilled his heart.

“Leave you?” he cried, as he clasped the
gentle hands which were twined supplicatingly
together. “Beautiful being—I will never leavs
you!”

17. CHAPTER XVII.
SELIM AND AZNA-ALWAZ.

How short had been the lawless career of the
wicked Nadab after his expulsion from the island
which he had betrayed into the power of a foreign
tyrant; yet, in the brief space during which
he sailed upon the ocean, he had become an instrument
in the hands of Providence to bring
good fortune to the very person whom, of all
others, he would have injured—his innocent
brother Selim; for had it not been for the abduction
of the fair Azna-Alwaz by the pirate-prince,
she would probably never have again
looked upon the stranger who had so greatly interested
her heart, and Selim would have remained
ignorant of the very existence of the princess
of Divonduron, for whom he now conceived the
most devoted passion.

These two young people indeed seemed formed
for one another. Both were eminently handsome,
amiable, and possessed of noble souls, and
it is no wonder that they should become inspired
with mutual affection, or that their meeting on
board of Nadab's ship should lead to an intimacy
sweet and holy to their gentle hearts. Very soon
their confidence in one another was as unbounded
as if years had cemented their attachment,
and Ali-Naro saw with delight, that his young
friend was destined to the enjoyment of the greatest
happiness in the possession of the love of such
an adorable maiden as Azna-Alwaz.

The princess related to her lover how she had
seen him on his visit to the island of Divonduron,
and how a hopeless passion had thenceforward
sprung up in her heart, which robbed
her of health and tranquillity, until the period
when, wandering, as we have narrated, in the
palace gardens, she had been seized and carried
away by Nadab, on the night preceding the very
day Ali-Naro pursued and captured the pirate.

“You were not then long in the power of the
wicked man?” cried Selim, eagerly.

“O, do not call him wicked,” said Azna-Alwaz,
with a sweet smile, “since through his
means I was brought to my beloved. But, O,
Heaven be thanked, that you rescued me so soon,
for fearful had been my fate on board that dreadful
vessel!”

“O, my Azna-Alwaz!” cried the prince,
“Allah has indeed blessed me beyond all my
sufferings!”

But when Selim recounted to his princess all
the strange vicissitudes of his life since setting
out with his brothers upon their expedition to
the astrologer Rahbek, Azna-Alwaz folded her
beautiful arms about his neck, and said in her
tender voice, which sounded like music to him.

“Dearly-loved Selim! Heaven has sent an
angel to me in the form of my glorious prince!
O, may we nevermore be parted”

“Never—never!” cried Selim, drawing her
to his bosom, and pressing her pure forehead
with a kiss of love.

But, if the happiness of Selim was thus perfect,
it may well be fancied that the malicious
Nadab was tormented with envy and chagrin.
After the pardon that had been extended to him
by his magnanimous brother, the felon prince
was allowed his liberty, having been deprived of
his arms, and, though Ali-Naro was strongly
opposed to it, was permitted by Selim to enter
sometimes into the principal cabin of the ship.
He appeared very much oppressed and dejected,
and in his interviews with his brother, wrought
powerfully upon the generous mind of that good
youth, by an affectation of sincere sorrow for his
past life of wickedness. But the old corsair,
though he admired Selim for his noble confidence,
did not share at all in the belief as to Nadab's
contrition. He could not help feeling that the
defeated pirate was still bad in heart, and cherished
still the same hatred against his brother.
But, as Selim had promised the prisoner that he
should be set on shore at some convenient port,
and furnished with sufficient means to begin a
better course of living, the captain thought best
to keep his suspicions to himself, and await the
dismissal of Nadab, which he resolved, however,
should take place at the first inhabited island
which could be reached.

“And yet,” he said one day to Selim, “I very
much fear that no good will come of your lenity
to this man.”

“Let us hope for the best,” answered the
prince. “Nadab appears truly repentant, and
it may be that his heart will yet be changed.”

Ali-Naro shook his head and turned away,
and Azna-Alwaz, to whom Selim had revealed
the relationship of her abductor to himself, looked
at the young prince with a sweet smile, and
murmured:

“How is it possible not to love my Selim,
who believes that good is in every one?”

“And yet my brothers loved me not,” said her
friend.

“Ah, they were unnatural brothers,” replied
the princess.

“But should I not have forgiven Nadab?”
asked the prince of Guzan.

“Whatever you do is right, beloved Selim,”
cried Azna-Alwaz, hiding her beautiful face in
his bosom. “Allah directs the actions of my
prince!”

Thus these two gentle natures communed
with one another, and grew hourly more attached
by the tender chain of sympathy and affection.
But a cloud was about to come over the
heaven of their happiness.

Ali Naro, after his second meeting with Selim,
appeared, as we said, to have regained more
tranquillity of mind and resignation than he had
previously known. Nevertheless, his thoughts
often dwelt upon the fate of his only son, and
he could not banish from his memory the incidents
of his last quarrel with the young Ali, and the
discovery afterwards of the poor youth's skeleton
on the “Isle of Death”—the latter sad spectacle
being constantly brought to his recollection by
the presence of his friend, the prince of Guzan.
It was after indulging one night, as he sought
his couch, in a train of reflections upon the subject,
that the corsair was visited by a dream or
apparition which impressed itself so vividly on
his mind that he sprang from his cot in fearful
agitation.

Ali-Naro thought that he beheld his lost son
suddenly present himself at the side of his bed,
and pronouncing his name, point solemnly with
his finger in the direction of the cabin which the
prince of Guzan occupied. The phantom's features
were grave and composed, and there was
a calm smile upon his lips, though his eyes seemed
filled with serious import. So real did the
presence appear to Ali-Naro, it was with much
emotion that he could recover from his trepidation
or calm his nerves sufficiently to permit of
his seeking slumber once more.

But scarcely had he again closed his eyes,
when the word “father,” seemed uttered close to
his ear, and the form of Ali seemed bending over
him, with the same strange look of meaning,
and hand extended toward Selim's cabin.

Again he opened his eyes and half-rose from
his pillow, and again disposed himself to slumber,
though the sweat stood in beaded drops
upon his forehead, and his heart throbbed with
violent emotions. And now for a third time
that supernatural whisper thrilled upon his ear,
seeming to say:

“Ali-Naro—father—hasten!”

The corsair hesitated no longer to obey the
strange summons whencesoever it might come.
He sprang hurriedly from the couch, grasped his
sword, and advanced through the darkness to
the cabin of his guest.

All was still, and Ali-Naro, as he reached the
curtained pallet on which the prince lay, could
hear his regular breathing, as if in peaceful

slumber. Almost ashamed of his terror, he was
about to return to his own bed, when a sudden
impulse led him just to approach the sleeper,
and lay his hand upon his forehead. But nought
was there to alarm him—the pulse was gentle
and the flesh cool, and Ali-Naro smiled at his
own causeless fear.

But, at this instant, a muffled footstep sounded
close by the bed, and the curtains were grasped
by a cautious hand. Ali-Naro became aware
that another figure was standing beside him, and
a moment afterwards he felt an upraised arm
brush his own. He started suddenly forward,
bending over Selim, and seized the intruder with
a fair hold. But it was too late—the blow of a
dagger fell, and the corsair sank upon the bed,
pierced through the bosom by the sharp steel, yet
still retaining his clasp of the midnight assassin.

The prince of Guzan, aroused by the noise and
struggle, started from his couch, uttering a loud
cry, which was answered by the appearance of a
dozen of the crew, who rushed from the deck,
with weapons and lights.

But what a spectacle was presented! Ali-Naro
stabbed in the breast, leaned against the
bedside, grasping by his robe the villain Nadab,
whose hand still clutched the dagger with which
he had struck the murderous blow. At the
sight, a yell of fury broke from the corsair crew,
and with one movement they rushed upon the
assassin, and with their swords pierced him in a
dozen places. The wretch fell to the floor, muttering
a last curse as his breath fled the body.

But who can picture the anguish of Selim at
beholding his friend Ali-Naro perishing by the
stroke which had been intended for his own
bosom. He threw himself on his knees beside
the corsair, and clasped his hands.

“Ali-Naro! my friend!” he cried, in accents
of the deepest sorrow. “O, my preserver! how
do I behold thee—slain for me!”

“It is better thus!” murmured the old chief,
in a feeble voice. “My life was well-night spent,
and I go to join my lost Ali! He beckons me!
He calls—”

And Ali-Naro stretched forth his arms, as if
to a phantom-form before his gaze. Then, clasping
Selim's hand, he raised himself from the bed,
and stood erect.

“Comrades!” he cried, addressing the crew,
who now crowded from all parts of the vessel to
look upon their loved commander—“companions
of my wanderings, I must leave you. But
I leave you a new chief. Promise me to obey
the Prince Selim!”

The brave corsairs raised their swords, and
said with one accord—“We promise, Ali-Naro.”

“Farewell, my men! farewell, prince! Ali—
my boy—I come to thee!”

With these words, Ali-Naro the corsair-chieftain
sank gently back, and closed his eyes forever.
Selim, turned with a sorrowing look, from the
murdered captain, and met the tearful gaze of
Azna-Alwaz fixed upon his countenance.

“O, my princess,” he cried, “we have lost
our friend!”

“But he has gained many friends!” murmured
Azna-Alwaz, raising her lovely eyes to
heaven.

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PRINCE-CORSAIR.

The body of the wicked Nadab was thrown
by the enraged corsairs into the ocean, whilst
that of their venerated captain was embalmed and
wrapped in fine linen to be conveyed to his
peaceful Isle of Eagles, whither the “Green
Bird” now pursued her course. Arrived there,
the simple obsequies of the old corsair were participated
in by all the inhabitatus of the place,
whilst Selim offered a prayer over the father, as
he had before done over the son's remains. Ali-Naro
was laid beside his boy, and the women and
children of the Isle of Eagles planted flowers
and green trees to mark the spot, and hallow it
to the recollections of their descendants.

This duty performed, Selim permitted all of
the crew who wished to remain upon the island,
to receive their dismissal from his chief officer,
and then acquainted the rest with his desire to
proceed immediately to the kingdom of Divonduron,
there to demand the Princess Azna-Alwaz
in marriage from her father. The mariners
gladly expressed their willingness to follow the
prince of Guzan as they had their former chief,
and shortly after, Selim set sail with the three
vessels, and shaped his course for the country of
his beloved. But yet another change was to
take place in the prince's checkered fortunes.

In pursuing his voyage from the Isle of Eagles
to Divonduron, it became necessary to pass
within a few leagues of the island of Guzan, and
Selim could not resist the desire to show to
Azna-Alwaz the distant mountains of his native
land. For this purpose he ordered the helmsman
to steer as close as possible to the entrance
of the port, that a view might be obtained of the
kingdom which had been lost to him through
the treachery of his brothers—now punished
finally for their many crimes.

The “Green Bird” soon arrived in sight of
Guzan, and Selim pointed out to his princess
the passage whence he had escaped by breaking
through the king of Xanda's fleet. Azna-Alwaz
gazed with moist eyes, and trembled as she clung
to her hero-lover.

“But, see,” she cried, “yonder is a small
vessel, coming from the harbor.”

“It is a fishing vessel,” answered the prince;
“but, if my eyes deceive me not, it is making
signals to us. What say you?” he continued,
addressing his chief officer, who stood near.

“I have noticed their signals. But we have
nothing to fear, my prince, from a craft like
that.”

“Let us slacken sail, then, and learn their
wishes,” said Selim; and at his order, the vessel's
speed was decreased, and the fishing-vessel
permitted to come within hail. She appeared
filled with mariners.

“What is your business?” demanded the
chief officer, of one of the fisher's crew, and Selim
listened anxiously for a response.

“Our island is in insurrection against the
tyranny of a foreign usurper!” replied the person
addressed, whose voice was instantly recognized
by the prince as that of one of the brave nobles
who with him had defended the port of Guzan,
bravely.

“And what would you of us?” asked the corsair
officer.

“Are not these the ships of Ali-Naro, the renowned
corsair?” asked the islander in reply.
“If so, we would speak with that brave chief.
He loved our lost king Selim, and will gladly
assist us for his sake!”

The prince of Guzan, on hearing these words,
could resist his feelings no longer. Tears gushed
from his eyes, and leaving the side of Azna-Alwaz,
he rushed to the bulwarks of the vessel,
and showed himself in full view of the fisherman's
people.

“I am here, my countrymen!” he cried.
“Behold your king is before you!”

A shout of wild joy rung from all on board
the fishers' bark, many of whom were the patriots
who had fought under Selim in his defence of
Guzan. They crowded to the deck of the “Green
Bird,” which they had approached closely, and
threw themselves at the feet of their recovered
prince, covering his hands with kisses, and pronouncing
his name with every manifestation of
delight. Azna-Alwaz, on beholding these marks
of the love borne to her prince by his people,
wept with renewed happiness.

“Arise, my friends, and tell me what has occurred!”
cried Selim, to the powerful noble
whom he recognized.

“The people of Guzan are in insurrection,
and have shut up the usurper in the capital!”
answered the noble, hurriedly. “We hold possession
of the port and harbor, and recognizing
these ships at a distance, as the vessels of Ali-Naro,
set out at once to implore his aid!”

“And my brave people are fighting for their
country!” cried Selim, enthusiastically. “O,
let me fly to lead them on!”

“Your presence, noble prince, will animate
their souls to dare everything!” answered the
nobleman. “And if Ali-Naro will—”

“Ali-Naro is no more!” said Selim, mournfully.
“I command these ships now, and my
brave followers will not refuse to strike a blow
for Guzan. What say you?” he cried, to the
corsairs who clustered around—“will you follow
me to regain my throne and kingdom?”

A shout of enthusiasm rose from all the crew,
and the chief officer exclaimed:

“We will die for you, Prince Selim!”

“Then let us lose no time!” cried the prince
of Guzan; and giving the signal, all the ships
ranged closely for entering the harbor.

Selim conducted Azna-Alwaz to a secure cabin
of the “Green Bird,” and setting a strong guard
to protect her, imprinted a kiss upon her lips, and
uttered a hasty farwell.

“I go,” he cried—“I go, my Azna-Alwaz, to
win a kingdom for my bride!”

19. CHAPTER XIX.
SELIM WINS HIS KINGDOM.

THE joy of the people of Guzan when they became
assured, not only of succor from Ali-Naro's
ships, but of the return and presence of their
long-lost king was without bounds. They crowded
the beach to greet the landing boats, and
made the air resound with their shouts of joy.
Selim with difficulty managed to calm the exuberance
of their feeling, and, mounting a horse,
rode up and down the ranks of citizens and
mariners.

“Men of Guzan!” he cried, “are you resolved
to free your country from the tyrant? Will you
follow your prince to victory?”

A thousand voices responded with enthusiasm—“We
will!”

“Then let us advance at once!” cried the
young monarch, waving his sword, and then,
surrounded by his body-guard of corsairs, and
by the multitude of armed islanders, he led the
way from the port to the capital in which the
king of Xanda had fortified himself.

The old tyrant, who had witnessed with dismay
the increased numbers of the insurgents,
and recognized the flag of the corsair Ali-Naro
waving beside the banner of Guzan, began to
fear that his position was becoming hazardous,
and he therefore sent out messengers to meet the
advancing army, with proposals for a parley.

“Go back,” said Selim to your master, “and
tell him that the king of Guzan demands his
crown and kingdom.”

The messengers returned to the tyrant, and
informed him of Selim's reply.

“Then,” cried the old Xandian, “he must
fight for them.” And he prepared to resist the
insurgents.

But the tyrant had much better have sought
to make terms, for scarcely had the messengers
been dismissed from his presence, than he heard
the tumult of assault upon the capital. Hastily
placing himself at the head of his troops, he led
them to meet the enemy, and the battle speedily
began.

Selim, surrounded by his gallant corsairs,
was the first object that met the gaze of the
Xandian king, and he recognized immediately
the hero who had so determinedly defended
Guzan against his invasion. He remembered
well the prince's prowess, and felt that there was
no hope of gaining the day unless the death of
the young king could be effected. Resolved,
therefore, to set the victory upon a hazard, he
spurred his horse at once toward Prince Selim.

The battle had in the meantime become general,
and Xandians and islanders were mingled
in close conflict, so that the tyrant found no
difficulty in reaching the spot where Selim rode,
and daring him to single combat.

“If you demand your crown,” he roared, in
a contemptuous voice—“come and take it! It
is on my head!”

The prince of Guzan heard, and at once spurred
to meet his antagonist. Their weapons
crossed immediately, flashing fire, and for a few
moments the combat raged without advantage
on either side. But Selim fought for his country,
and relied on Heaven to aid him in the
strife, whilst the king of Xanda, conscious of
the injustice of his cause, and only intent on
maintaining a desperate conflict, soon gave way
before the impetuosity of his assailant. Almost
at the same instant when a mighty shout from
the islanders announced that they were driving
the defeated Xandians through the streets of the
capital, a terrible blow from Selim's sword fell
upon the usurper's head, and crushing the crown
which he wore, dashed him to the earth, whilst
his steed, flying wildly away, dragged the lifeless
body of the tyrant across the plain.

The victory was gained, and Selim was once
more king of Guzan.

Anxious had been the hours passed by Azna-Alwaz
in the lonely cabin of the “Green Bird,”
whence she could hear the tumult of the troops
departing for the capital of Guzan. After that,
however, all remained silent, and the heart of
the poor princess throbbed with apprehension
lest aught of evil should befall her hero prince.
A thousand times, during the long hours that
followed the army's march, did she wish herself
at the side of her lord, to shield him, if possible,
with her arms, or if he should fall, to die beside
him. But at length the suspense was over—a
courier came riding to the beach, and leaping
into a boat, rowed rapidly toward the “Green
Bird.”

“The battle is decided—our people are
triumphant!” cried the messenger, on coming
within hail.

“And the king—my prince?” cried Azna-Alwaz.

“Safe and unwounded! He will be here to-night!”
answered the courier; and Azna-Alwaz
sank back upon her couch, overpowered with
thankfulness and joy.

The restoration of the prince of Guzan to the
throne of his ancestors, to which he was doubly
entitled by his own prowess, removed all difficulty
which might have been experienced by the
crownless Selim in obtaining the consent of the
king of Divonduron to his espousal of Azna-Alwaz.
The chief obstacle had already been
removed in the death of the prince of Caranor,
who had taken the loss of his betrothed so deeply
to heart, as to have survived but a few months
after her abduction. Consequently when the
ambassadors of the young king of Guzan informed
the father of Azna-Alwaz, not only of
his daughter's safety, but of the wonderful train
of circumstances which had united her to Selim,
the old king of Divonduron was disposed to recognize
the hand of Heaven in the whole affair, and
accorded cheerfully his consent to the marriage.
The nuptials accordingly took place immediately,
and Azna-Alwaz became the cherished partner
of her hero-husband, the king of Guzan, and
chief of the Isle of Eagles.

And if the early youth of Selim was tried by
Heaven in the furnace of affliction, his maturity
and age were rewarded by all the smiles of an
indulgent Providence. He lived in blissful union
with his beloved, and reigned long over Guzan
and Divonduron revered by his people and beloved
by his friends—a bright example of the
reward which Allah bestows upon those who
trust in his mercies and obey his will without
murmuring or discontent.