“When I was able to walk again, after my wounds were healed, I went into one 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 appellation.  Some, indeed, varied their wit by calling me Murad with the purse of pebbles.

“All that I had yet suffered is nothing compared to my succeeding misfortunes.