ne of the tents distinguished by a red flag, having been told that these
were coffee-houses. Whilst I was drinking coffee I heard a stranger near
me complaining that he had not been able to recover a valuable ring he
had lost, although he had caused his loss to be published for three days
by the public crier, offering a reward of two hundred sequins to whoever
should restore it. I guessed that this was the very ring which I had
unfortunately found. I addressed myself to the stranger, and promised to
point out to him the person who had forced it from me. The stranger
recovered his ring, and, being convinced that I had acted honestly, he
made me a present of two hundred sequins, as some amends for the
punishment which I had unjustly suffered on his account.

"Now you would imagine that this purse of gold was advantageous to me.
Far the contrary; it was the cause of new misfortunes.

"One night, when I thought that the soldiers who were in the same tent
with me were all fast asleep, I indulged myself in the pleasure of
counting my treasure. The next day I was invited by my companions to
drink sherbet with them. What they mixed with the sherbet which I drank
I know not, but I could not resist the drowsiness it brought on. I fell
into a profound slumber, and when I awoke, I found myself lying under a
date-tree, at some distance from the camp.

"The first thing I thought of when I came to my recollection was my purse
of sequins. The purse I found still safe in my girdle; but on opening
it, I perceived that it was filled with pebbles, and not a single sequin
was left. I had no doubt that I had been robbed by the soldiers with
whom I had drunk sherbet, and I am certain that some of them must have
been awake the night I counted my money; otherwise, as I had never
trusted the secret of my riches to any one, they could not have suspected
me of possessing any property; for ever since I kept company with them I
had appeared to be in great indigence.

"I applied in vain to the superior officers for redress: the soldiers
protested they were innocent; no positive proof appeared against them,
and I gained nothing by my complaint but ridicule and ill-will. I called
myself, in the first transport of my grief, by that name which, since my
arrival in Egypt, I had avoided to pronounce: I called myself Murad the
Unlucky. The name and the story ran through the camp, and I was
accosted, afterwards, very frequently, by this appellat