The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale

Approaching the door of the bath, he observed a tall dignified and very powerful Arab sauntering in front of it.

Rais Ali seemed troubled by the sight of him, paused, advanced, halted, and again advanced, until the tall Arab, catching sight of him, stalked forward with solemn dignity and held out his hand.

“What for yoo comes here?” demanded Rais rather testily.

The tall Moor slowly bent his hooded head and whispered in his ear—“Faix, it’s more than I rightly know mesilf.”

“Yoo’s mad,” said Rais, drawing the tall Arab into the porch of the bath, where they could avoid the observation of passers-by. “Did not I tell yoo for to keep close?”

“So ye did, Rais Ally,” said Ted Flaggan, for it was he, “and it’s close I kep’ as long as I cu’d, which was aisy enough, seeing that ye brought me purvisions so riglar—like a good feller as ye are; but body o’ me, man, I cudn’t live in a cave all me lone for iver, an’ I got tired o’ lookin’ out for that British fleet that niver comes, so I says to mesilf wan fine evenin’, ‘Go out, Ted me boy, an’ have a swim in the say—it’ll do ’ee good, and there’s not much chance of any wan troublin’ ye here.’ No sooner said than done. Out I wint round beyont the Pint Pescade, an’ off wid me close an’ into the say. Och! but it was plisint! Well, just as I was coming out, who should I see on the rocks above me but a big thief of an Arab? I knew at wance that if I was to putt on close he’d guess, maybe, who I was, so I came out o’ the wather an’ ran straight at him naked—meanin’ to frighten him away like. An’ sure enough he tuk to his heels like a Munster pig. I don’t know how it is, but I have always had a strong turn for huntin’. From the time whin I was a small gosoon runnin’ after the pigs an’ cats, I’ve bin apt to give chase to anything that runned away from me, an’ to forgit myself. So it was now. After the Arab I wint, neck an crop, an’ away he wint like the wind, flingin’ off his burnous as he ran; but I was light, bein’ naked, d’ye see, an’ soon overhauled him. For a starn-chase it was the shortest I remember. When I came up wid him I made a grab at his head, an his hake—is that what ye calls it?—comed away in me hand, leaving his shaved head open to view, wid the tuft o’ hair on the top of it.

“I laughed to that extint at this that he got away from me, so I gave him a finishin’ Irish howl, by way o’ making him kape the pace goin’, an’ thin stopped and putt on the hake. By and by I comes to where the burnous was, and putts it on too, an faix, ye couldn’t have towld me from an Arab, for the bare legs an’ feet and arms was all right, only just a taste over light in colour, d’ee see? Thinks I to mesilf, Ted, me boy, ye cudn’t do better than remain as ye are. Wid a little brown dirt on yer face an’ limbs, yer own mother wouldn’t know ye. An’ troth, Rais, I did it; an’ whin I lucked at mesilf in a smooth pool on the baich, it was for all the world as if somebody else was luckin’ at me. To be short wid ye, I’ve bin wanderin’ about the country for the last three or four days quite free an’ aisy.”

“Nobody see yoo?” asked Rais in great surprise.

“Och! lots o’ people, but few of ’em tuk a fancy to spake to me, an’ whin they did I shuck me head, an’ touched me lips, so they thought I was dumb.”

“But why you comes to town?” asked Rais Ali, in a remonstrative tone.

“Just bekaise I’m hungry,” replied the seaman, with a smile. “Ye see, Ally Babby, the gale of day before yesterday sint a breaker into the cave that washed away all the purvisions ye brought me last, so it was aither come here and look for ’ee or starve—for the British fleet has apparently changed its mind, and ain’t goin’ to come here after all. I meant to go d’rec’ to yer house, but knowin’ yer fondness for baths, and rememberin’ that this was yer day, I thought it betther to cruise about here till you hove in sight.”

While Ted Flaggan was relating all this, his friend’s countenance expressed alternately doubt, disapproval, anxiety, amusement, and perplexity.

When he had finished, Rais informed him that instead of the fleet having changed its mind, there was great probability of its sudden appearance at any moment. He also mentioned the arrest of the British consul and the boat’s crew of the “Prometheus,” and explained that the most energetic measures were being taken to place the city in a state of defence.

“Oho!” exclaimed Flaggan, in a low tone, “that clears up wan or two things that’s been puzzlin’ me. I’ve bin thinkin’ that the ship I saw lave the port was British, but the weather bein’ thick I cudn’t quite make out her colours. Then, I’ve been sore perplexed to account for the flocks of armed Arabs that have bin steerin’ into the town of late, an’ whin I passed the gates this mornin’ I was troubled too, to make out what was all the bustle about. It’s all clare as ditch-wather now.—But what’s to be done with me, Rais? for if the cownsl an’ the British gin’rally are in limbo, it’s a bad look-out for Ted Flaggan, seein’ that I’m on the black list already.”

Rais Ali appeared to ponder the case for a few seconds.

“Come an’ have one bath,” he said, with sudden animation; “after that we go brikfast togidder.”

“Av we cud ‘brikfust’ fust, Ally Babby, it would be plisinter,” returned the hungry seaman; “but, I say, I dursn’t go into the bath, ’cause what would they think of a man wid dark-brown arms, legs, an’ face, an’ a pink body? Sure, they’d take me for a spy or a madman, an’ hand me over to the p’leece!”

“Wash here, fust,” said Rais, leading his friend to a small fountain in a retired angle of the court. “Ebbery body here too bizzy ’joyin’ theirselfs to look to yoo. An’ des corner dark. Me stan’ ’tween you an’ dem.”

“But who ever heard of a white Moor?” objected Ted.

“Oh, lots of ’em—’alf-castes, almost white as you,” said Rais.

“But I ain’t got a shaved skull with a top knot,” returned the seaman, still objecting.

“Nebber mind; sailors of France, Denmark, an’ odder places what hav consuls here, when waitin’ for ship carry dem home comes here for fun—”

“Ay, but they don’t come disguised as Moors,” said Flaggan, “and I niver was inside a Turkish bath before. Don’t know more nor a child what to do.”

“Yoo don’ go in bath dressed—go naked,” returned Rais, growing impatient. “Do noting in bath, only let ’em do what dey pleases to yoo.”

“Very good, plaze yersilf, Ally Babby,” said Ted, resignedly plunging his arms into the cistern; “only remimber, I give ye fair warnin’, av the spalpeens attempts to take me prisoner, I’ll let fly into their breadbaskets right an’ left, an’ clear out into the street, naked or clothed, no matter which,—for I’ve said it wance, an’ I means to stick to it, they’ll niver take Ted Flaggan alive.”

“All right,” returned Rais Ali, “yoo wash yours faces an’ holds your tongue.”

After removing as much as possible of the brown earth from his visage and limbs, the seaman drew the hood of his burnous well over his face, and—having assiduously studied the gait of Moors—strode with Oriental dignity into the outer court, or apartment, of the bath, followed his friend into an unoccupied corner and proceeded to undress.

“Musha! it’s like a house-full of Turkish corpses,” whispered Ted as he surveyed the recumbent figures in white around him.

There were some differences between this genuine Turkish bath and our British imitation of it which merit notice.

The court or hall in which the friends unrobed served the purpose of a drying-chamber as well as a dressing-room. Hence those bathers who entered to commence the operation of undressing had to pass between rows of the men who had gone through the bath, and were being gradually cooled down. They were all swathed from head to foot in white sheets, with large towels or pieces of linen tied turban-fashion round their heads, and as they lay perfectly straight and still, their resemblance to Turkish corpses was disagreeably strong. This idea was still further carried out in consequence of the abominable smell which pervaded the place, for Algerines were at that time utterly indifferent to cleanliness in their baths. Indeed, we may add, from personal experience, that they are no better at the present time than they were then! A few of the corpses, however, possessed sufficient life to enable them to smoke and sip tea or coffee.

This outer court was the immediate vestibule to the bath, or stewing-room—if we may be allowed the name. There was no passing, as with us, from a private undressing-box, through a mild cooling room, and thence into the hot and the hottest rooms. The Moors were bold, hardy fellows. The step was at once made from the cooling into the hot room, or bath, and in taking the step it was necessary to pass over one of the open sewers of the town—to judge from the smell thereof. But this last was a mere accidental circumstance connected with the bath, not an essential part of it. Thus it will be seen there were but two apartments in the establishment, with an outer lobby.

When the two friends had unrobed and wrapped a piece of striped calico round their loins, they were led by a young Moor in similar costume towards the stewing-room.

“Don’ be frighted,” whispered Rais Ali; “it’s pretty hottish.”

“I’ll try to be aisy,” replied the seaman with a quiet smile, “an’ av I can’t be aisy I’ll be as aisy as I can.”

Although he treated the idea of being frightened with something of contempt, he was constrained to admit to himself that he was powerfully surprised when he stepped suddenly into a chamber heated to an extent that seemed equal to a baker’s oven.

The apartment was octagonal, and very high, with a dome-shaped roof, from which it was dimly lighted by four small and very dirty windows. Water trickled down the dirty dark-brown walls; water and soap-suds floated over the dirty marble floor. In the centre of the floor was a mass of masonry about three feet high and seven feet square. This was the core of the room, as it were—part of the heating apparatus. It was covered with smooth slabs of stone, on which there was no covering of any kind. There is no knowing how much lurid smoke and fire rolled beneath this giant stone ottoman.

It chanced that only two men were in the place at the time. They had advanced to a certain stage of the process, and were enjoying themselves, apparently lifeless, and in sprawling attitudes, on the hot sloppy floor. The attendant of one had left him for a time. The attendant of the other was lying not far from his temporary owner, sound asleep. One of the Moors was very short and fat, the other tail and unusually thin; both had top-tufts of hair on their shaven crowns, and both would have looked supremely ridiculous if it had not been for the horrible resemblance they bore to men who had been roasted alive on the hot ottoman, and flung carelessly aside to die by slow degrees.

“Do as I doos,” said Rais to Flaggan, as he stretched himself on his back on the ottoman.

“Surely,” acquiesced Ted, with a gasp, for he was beginning to feel the place rather suffocating. He would not have minded the heat so much, he thought, if there had only been a little fresh air!

Rais Ali’s bath-attendant lay down on the slab beside him. Flaggan’s attendant looked at him with a smile, and pointed to the ottoman.

“Och, surely,” said Ted again, as he sat down. Instantly he leaped up with a subdued howl.

“W’y, what wrong?” asked Rais, looking up.

“It’s red-hot,” replied Flaggan, rubbing himself.

“Nonsense!” returned Rais; “you lie down queek. Soon git use to him. Always feel hottish at fust.”

Resolved not to be beaten, the unfortunate Irishman sat down again, and again started up, but, feeling ashamed, suddenly flung himself flat on his back, held his breath, and ground his teeth together. He thought of gridirons; he thought of the rack; he thought of purgatory; he thought of the propriety of starting up and of tearing limb from limb the attendant, who, with a quiet smile, lay down beside him and shut his eyes; he thought of the impossibility of bearing it an instant longer; and then he suddenly thought that it felt a little easier. From this point he began to experience sensations that were slightly pleasurable, and a profuse perspiration broke out over his whole body.

Evidently his attendant was accustomed to deal occasionally with white men, for he watched his huge charge out of the corner of a wicked eye for some time. Seeing, however, that he lay still, the fellow went off into a peaceful slumber.

“’Tis an amazin’ place intirely,” observed Ted, who felt inclined to talk as he began to enjoy himself. “If it wasn’t so dirty that an Irish pig of proper breedin’ would object to come into it, I’d say it was raither agreeable.”

Rais Ali being in the height of enjoyment, declined to answer, but the seaman’s active mind was soon furnished with food for contemplation, when one of the attendants entered and quietly began, to all appearance, to put the tall thin Moor to the torture.

“Have I to go through that?” thought Flaggan; “well, well, niver say die, owld boy, it’s wan comfort that I’m biggish, an’ uncommon tough.”

It would be tedious to prolong the description of the Irishman’s bathe that morning. Suffice it to say that, after he had lain on the ottoman long enough to feel as if the greater part of him had melted away, he awoke his attendant, who led him into a corner, laid him on the sloppy floor, and subjected him to a series of surprises. He first laid Ted’s head on his naked thigh, and rubbed his face and neck tenderly, as though he had been an only son; he then straightened his limbs and baked them as though he had been trained to knead men into loaves from infancy; after that he turned him on his back and on his face; punched and pinched and twisted him; he drenched him with hot water, and soused him with soap-suds from head to foot, face and all, until the stout mariner resembled a huge mass of his native sea-foam; he stuck his hair up on end, and scratched his head with his ten nails; and tweaked his nose, and pulled his fingers and toes till they cracked again!

All this Ted Flaggan, being tough, bore with passing fortitude, frequently saying to the Moor, internally, for soap forbade the opening of his lips—

“Go ahead, me lad, an’ do yer worst!”

But although his tormentor utterly failed to move him by fair means, he knew of a foul method which proved successful. He crossed Ted’s arms over his breast, and attempted to draw them as far over as possible, with the view, apparently, of tying them into a knot.

“Pull away, me hearty!” thought Flaggan, purposely making himself as limp as possible.

The Moor did pull; and while his victim’s arms were stretched across each other to the uttermost, he suddenly fell upon them, thereby almost forcing the shoulder-joints out of their sockets.

“Och! ye spalpeen!” shouted Ted, flinging him off as if he had been a feather. Then, sinking back, he added, “Come on; you’ll not ketch me slaipin’ again, me honey!”

The amused Moor accepted the invitation, and returned to the charge. He punched him, baked him, boxed him, and battered him, and finally, drenching him with ice-cold water, swathed him in a sheet, twisted a white turban on his head, and turned him out like a piece of brand-new furniture, highly polished, into the drying-room.

“How yoos like it?” asked Rais Ali, as they lay in the Turkish-corpse stage of the process, calmly sipping tea.

“It’s plis’nt,” replied Ted, “uncommon plis’nt, but raither surprisin’.”

“Ha,” responded Rais.

At this point their attention was turned to the little fat Moor who had been their fellow-bather, and to whom Ted in his undivided attention to the thin Moor had paid little regard.

“Musha!” whispered Ted, “it’s the capting of the port.”

The captain of the port it was, and if that individual had known who it was that lay cooling within a few yards of him, he would probably have brought our nautical hero’s days to a speedy termination. But although he had seen Ted Flaggan frequently under the aspect of a British seaman, he had never before seen him in the character of a half-boiled Moor. Besides, having been thoroughly engrossed and lost in the enjoyment of his own bath, he had paid no attention to those around him.

“Turn yoos face well to de wall,” whispered Rais Ali. “He great hass; hims no see yoo.”

“Great ‘hass,’ indade; he’s not half such a ‘hass’ as I am for comin’ in here,” muttered the sailor, as he huddled on his Arab garments, keeping his face carefully turned away from the captain of the port, who lay with his eyes shut in a state of dreamy enjoyment.

In a few minutes the two friends paid for their bath, and went out.

“I feels for all the world like a bird or a balloon,” said Ted, as his companion hurried him along; “if I don’t git some ballast soon in the shape o’ grub, I’ll float away intirely.”

Rais Ali made no reply, but turned into a baker’s shop, where he purchased two rolls. Then hurrying on down several narrow streets, the houses of which met overhead, and excluded much of the light of day, he turned into a small Moorish coffee-house, which at first seemed to the sailor to be absolutely dark, but in a few minutes his eyes became accustomed to it, and he saw that there were several other customers present.

They were nearly all in Arab costume, and sat cross-legged on two benches which ran down either side of the narrow room. Each smoked a long pipe, and sipped black coffee out of a very diminutive cup, while the host, a half negro, stood beside a charcoal fire, in the darkness of the far interior, attending to an array of miniature tin coffee-pots, which exactly matched the cups in size. A young Moor, with a red fez, sat twanging a little guitar, the body of which was half a cocoa-nut, covered with parchment.

This musician produced very dismal tones from its two strings, but the Arabs seemed content, and sat in silent, not to say dignified, enjoyment of it.

“Eat away now,” whispered Rais to Flaggan, as they entered—“cross yoo legs, look solemn, an’ hold yoos tongue. Me goes git shave.”

Obedient to instructions—as British seamen always are—Ted took his place on one of the narrow benches, and, crossing his legs à la Turk, began with real zest to eat the rolls which his friend had provided for him, and to sip the cup, or thimbleful, of coffee which mine host silently, by order of the same friend, placed at his side.

Meanwhile, Rais Ali submitted himself to the hands of the host, who was also a barber, and had his head and face shaved without soap—though a little cold water was used.

During this operation a boy ran hastily into the café and made an announcement in Arabic, which had the surprising effect of startling the Arabs into undignified haste, and induced Rais Ali to overturn his coffee on the barber’s naked feet, while he seized a towel and dried himself violently.

“What’s to do, old feller?” demanded Flaggan, with a huge bite of bread almost stopping up his mouth.

“De British fleet am in sight!” shrieked Rais Ali.

“Ye don’t mean that?” cried Ted, in his turn becoming excited. “Then it’s time that I was out o’ the city!”

“Yis, away! go to yous cave! Only death for Breetish in Algiers—off! away!”

The Moor dashed out and hastened to his post on the ramparts, while Ted Flaggan, drawing his burnous well round him, made straight for the northern gate of the town, casting an uneasy glance at his now white legs, of which at least the ankles and beginning of the brawny calves were visible. We use the term “white” out of courtesy, and in reference to the distinct difference between the bold seaman’s limbs and those of the brown-skinned Arabs. In reality they were of a very questionable neutral tint, and covered with a large quantity of hair.

Their appearance, however, signified little, for by that time the whole town was in an uproar of active preparation and excitement.

Men of various colours—black, brown, and yellow, with every intermediate shade, and in many different garbs—were hastening to the ramparts, while anxious women of the lower orders, and frightened children, were rushing to and fro, either engaged in some duties connected with the defence, or simply relieving their feelings by violent action: while bodies of janissaries were hastening to their various stations, or came trooping in from all the outposts of the surrounding country.

In the midst of such confusion our tall Arab attracted no notice. He passed through the streets unmolested, and out at the Bab-el-Oued gate unchallenged.

It was little more than daybreak at the time, for Arabs are early risers at all times, and on the present occasion they had reason to be earlier than usual.

The moment our tar caught sight of the sea, his heart gave a wild bound of exultation, for on the horizon appeared a few white specks, like sea-mews, which he now knew to be the British fleet.

Without any definite intention as to what he meant to do, Flaggan sped along the road leading to his cave at Point Pescade, his chief feeling being a strong desire to get out of the sight of natives, that he might meditate alone on his future movements, which he felt must be prompt and decisive.

Before quite reaching his destination fortune favoured him. Coming round a rocky point of the coast, he observed a boat with one man in it rowing close inshore.

“That’ll do,” whispered Ted to himself, as he went behind a rock and hastily smeared his face and limbs with earth.

When the boat approached he went to the edge of the sea and made signs to the fisherman, for such he was, to approach, at the same time pretending to take something out of a wallet at his side, to which he pointed with eager interest, as though he had something important to say about it.

The man lay on his oars a moment, and then pulled in, but cautiously, for he suspected the stranger. When within about four or five yards of the rocks the man again stopped.

“Arrah come on, won’t ’ee?” exclaimed the impatient Irishman, gesticulating wildly.

The fisherman had evidently seen and heard enough, for he at once dipped his oars with the intention of rowing off, when Ted made a sudden spring, and went with a heavy plunge into the water within a yard of the boat, which was a very small one.

Unfortunately for the fisherman, instead of pulling away he raised an oar with the intention of striking Flaggan when he should rise. It was a fatal mistake. He did indeed strike him, and on the head too; but that was the most invulnerable part of the Irishman’s body. Ted grasped the oar, caught the gunwale of the boat, and in a moment overturned it and its occupant on his shoulders.

Diving clear, he rose and watched for his adversary. The man also rose a moment later, and Ted, who was a splendid swimmer, went at him like a small steamboat, caught him by the neck, and half throttled him; then dragging him ashore, untwisted his turban, and therewith tied his arms and legs fast, after which he carried him into a small cave near at hand, and left him to his meditations.

This accomplished, he returned to the little boat, swam off and righted her, baled her out, shipped the oars, and rowed straight out to sea.