The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale
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Looking carefully round, the Jew at length discovered the objects of his search,—Francisco, Lucien, and Mariano Rimini. The two first were seated side by side, eating their meagre meal. Mariano lay near them, heavily laden with irons, and also endeavouring to eat.
“Friends,” said Bacri, approaching them.
“Villain!” cried Mariano, starting up into a reclining attitude, despite the agony that the act occasioned, and fixing his eyes on the Jew.
“You do me injustice, young man,” said Bacri, seating himself on the basement of a pillar.
“It may be that he does you injustice,” said Lucien sternly, “nevertheless we have all of us good reason to believe that you are a friend of the pirate Hassan, and no friend of ours.”
“Whether friend or foe, say thy say, man, and be gone,” cried the bluff Francisco, whose spirit suffered even more than his body from the indignities to which he had been subjected that day.
“Listen, then,” said Bacri impressively. “You know my name and nation, but you do not know that I am the chief of the Jews in this city of devils. I and my people are regarded by these followers of Mohammed as worse than the dogs in their streets, yet, while they treat us with the utmost indignity, they know that we are good traders, and as such bring riches within their walls. I have power—the power of wealth—to help you at a pinch; indeed I have helped you, for it was only by means of a promise of gold that I induced Sidi Hassan to spare your lives when his men were bent on taking them. But that is not what I came to tell you to-night. I came to say that the poor captive girls with whom you voyaged to this place are for the present out of danger.”
“Say you so?” exclaimed Mariano eagerly. “How can that be? Did I not see Angela led to the slave-market this very afternoon?”
“You did, and I purchased her for the purpose of protecting her. She is now in my house. Her sister and the infant have been sent as a temporary gift or loan to the British consul, under whose care she is safe for the present. But be not too sanguine,” added Bacri, seeing that Mariano’s countenance brightened; “the whim of the Dey, or a change of government, which latter is common enough here, may totally alter the state of affairs. If the Dey willed it, I could not hold anything that belongs to me for an hour. They call us dogs, and treat us as such.”
“They are themselves dogs!” cried Mariano indignantly.
“Christians have called us by the same name,” returned the Jew calmly, “thereby proving the falsity of their own faith.”
“Say not so!” cried Lucien with animation. “Many, calling themselves Christians, have undoubtedly treated your race ill, but those who really love the Lord Jesus cannot help respecting the people from whom Himself sprang. I side not with those who disgrace themselves by vilifying the Jews.”
Lucien extended his hand as he spoke, and Bacri grasped it kindly.
“Bah! you are fools; all of you arrant idiots!” cried a wild-looking ragged man in the neighbouring cell, starting up and glaring at them as he clenched his fists. “What avails Christianity, or Judaism, or anything else here? ’Tis a world of fiends!—ha, ha! murderers, tormentors, hypocrites,—ha! ha!”
Here the man gave vent to a burst of wild ferocious laughter, so loud that even the careless and callous warder was disturbed, and rattled his keys as if about to enter. The sound appeared to send a chill to the heart of the captive; an expression of terror overspread his thin haggard features, and he shrunk together as he retired quickly to the remotest corner of his cell.
“A maniac, I fear,” said Francisco in a low tone, observing that the Jew regarded him with a look of pity.
“No, not quite mad,” replied Bacri in the same low tone, “but sometimes very near it, I think. Poor man, I know him well. He has been fifteen years a prisoner in Algiers. When first brought here he was as fine a specimen of a Genoese youth as I ever saw. His name is Lorenzo Benoni. He was captured with his wife and two children, all of whom died before the first year was out. Of course, although in the same city, he was never again permitted to see wife or children. He was very dangerous at first, attacking and nearly killing his guards whenever he got a chance, and frequently attempting to take his own life, so that they were obliged to make him work constantly in heavy irons, and, I need scarcely add, bastinadoed and tortured him until his body became a mass of bruises from head to foot. They subdued him, in the course of years, to a condition of callous and brutal indifference to everything, and at last his great strength began to give way. He is now considered incapable of doing much injury to any one, and seems almost tamed. The Turks think that this has been brought about by sickness and starvation; it may be partly so, but I cannot help thinking that, despite the contempt which, in a sudden burst of passion, he poured on it just now, religion has something to do with it, for I have noticed a considerable change in him since he began to listen to the voice of an old man who has been a true friend of the poor slaves since long before I came here. The old man professes, at least he teaches, your religion; but I know not to what sect he belongs. Indeed, I think he belongs to none. This, however, am I sure of, that he holds equally by our Scriptures and your Testament as being the whole Word of God.”
The three captives listened to this narration with sinking hearts, for it opened up a glimpse of the terrible and hopeless future that lay before themselves, so that for some time they sat gazing in silence at their visitor, and at the miserable beings who were devouring the last crumbs of their black bread around them.
“I came to see you,” continued Bacri, “partly to assure you of the comparative safety of the girls who interested us all so much on board the vessel of Sidi Hassan, and partly to say that I will do what lies in my power to alleviate your sad condition. With Lucien’s education and knowledge of languages, it may be possible to get him into the immediate service of the Dey, in which case he will be able to aid his father and brother.”
“Have you, then, much influence with the Dey?” asked Francisco.
“None,” replied the Jew, with a sad smile. “I have already told you that the pirates detest us; that we are tolerated only because of our money-making powers, and the ease with which they can bleed us when they want gold. But I have some influence with others in the city who have power to move the Dey. There is one thing, however,” here the Jew glanced pointedly at Mariano, “in regard to which I would give you most earnest counsel, namely, that you should at once dismiss all idea of rebellion. It will be utterly unavailing. You may, like the caged lion, if you will, dash yourselves to death against your prison bars, but you cannot break them. Countless thousands of bold and brave spirits have attempted this plan, with no good result, in time past. The Turks are well acquainted with and quite prepared for it. Your only chance of mitigating the woes of your condition lies in submission.”
“It were better and nobler to die than to submit,” said Mariano gloomily.
“It were better and nobler to bow to the will of the Almighty than to commit suicide,” retorted Bacri, somewhat sternly. “It is selfishness and pride which induces us to seek deliverance from sorrow and suffering in death. There are men who have thought that truest nobility lay in choosing a life in the midst of suffering and woe for the purpose of alleviating it, and who have acted on their opinion. This lesson, however, is not so frequently learnt by us through precept as in the school of sorrow.”
Mariano felt abashed, yet at the same time rather nettled.
“Truly, then,” he said, with a glance at his blood-stained shirt, “it seems to me that I have at all events begun my lesson in the right school. However, I believe thou art right, Bacri, and I bear thee no ill-will for the rap thou didst bestow on my skull, which, luckily, is a thick one, else thy ponderous fist had split it from the cranium to the chin.”
“We had misjudged you, Bacri,” said Francisco, extending his hand, as the Jew rose to depart.
“We will lay your advice to heart; and we thank you, meanwhile, for coming to see us in this foul den, which I dislike less because of moisture and dirt—these being familiar to me—than because of the lively reptiles which hold their nightly revels in it.”
There was mingled humour and bitterness in Francisco’s tone, as he uttered this sentence, which he concluded with a heavy sigh. Immediately after, the rusty bolts of their prison-door grated harshly on their ears, and they listened sadly to the retreating footsteps of one whom they now esteemed their only friend, as they died away in the distance.
Chapter Seven.
Some New Characters walk, glide, and furiously gallop into the Tale, and otherwise introduce themselves to Notice
In the interior court of a beautiful Moorish villa not far from the city, sat Mrs Langley, wife of Colonel Langley, British consul at the “Court” of Algiers.
The lady of whom we write was unusually romantic, for her romance consisted of a deep undercurrent of powerful but quiet enthusiasm, with a pretty strong surface-flow of common-sense. Her husband was a man of noble mind and commanding presence—a magnificent representative John Bull, with the polish of a courtier and the principles of a Christian; one who had been wisely chosen to fill a very disagreeable post, full of responsibility and danger.
On a stool at the feet of Mrs Langley sat a sunny second edition of herself, about eight years of age, named Agnes. In the cradle which Agnes had formerly occupied reposed a remarkably plump and dimpled representative of the Colonel. When respectfully addressed he was called Jim, but he was more familiarly known as Baby.
A small negress from beyond the Zahara, and blacker than any coal, rocked Jim violently. For this—not the rocking, but the violence—she had been unavailingly rebuked by Mrs Langley, until that lady’s heart had nearly lost all hope.
“There—you have done it again, Zubby,” said Mrs Langley, referring to a push that well-nigh rolled Master Jim, (as a sea-captain once said), out at the starboard side of the cradle.
Zubby confessed her guilt, by looking abashed—and what a solemn look an abashed one is in a negress with very large eyes!—as well as by rocking more gently.
Agnes vented a sudden little laugh at the expression of Zubby’s face; and, the door opening at that moment, Colonel Langley entered the court, and sat down beside his wife under the giant leaves of a small banana-tree, whose life was drawn from a boxful of earth about three feet square.
“My dear,” said the Colonel, “I have two rather amusing things to lay before you this evening. One is a gift from the Dey, the other is a letter. Which will you have first?”
“The gift, of course,” replied the lady.
“Let her come in, Ali,” called the Colonel to his interpreter, who stood in the passage outside.
Rais Ali, a Moor clad in the usual Turkish garb, but with a red fez or skull-cap on his head instead of a turban, threw open the door leading out of the court, and ushered in poor Paulina Ruffini with her child.
“Is this the Dey’s gift?” asked the astonished lady, rising hurriedly.
“It is; at least she is lent to us, and we are bound to accept her.—Address her in French, my dear; she does not understand English. In fact, you’d better take her to your own room and have a talk.”
Mrs Langley addressed to the poor captive a few reassuring words, and led her away, leaving the Colonel to amuse himself with Agnes.
“What has she been sent to us for?” asked Agnes.
“To be a serv— a companion to you and baby, my pet.”
“That was kind of the Dey, wasn’t it?” said the child.
“Well—ye–es; oh yes, doubtless, it was very kind of him,” replied the Colonel.
We fear that the Colonel did not fully appreciate the kindness that resulted in the gift either of Paulina Ruffini as his servant, or of Sidi Hassan as his attendant, for he saw clearly that the former was unaccustomed to menial work, and he knew that Sidi Hassan was a turbulent member of the community. However, being a man of prompt action, and knowing that it was of the utmost importance that he should stand well in the good graces of the Dey, he resolved to receive Paulina into his establishment as governess of the nursery and companion to his wife, and to leave Sidi Hassan very much to the freedom of his own will, so long as that will did not interfere with the interests of the consulate.
On the return of his wife he listened to her pathetic account of Paulina’s sad history, and then produced the letter to which he had referred on first entering.
“This letter necessitates my riding into town immediately. It is a curious document in its way, therefore lend me your ear.”
Opening it he began to read. We give it verbatim et literatim:—
“To the brittish Cownsul algeers.
“7 teenth Jully, 18—
“Sur i’m an irishman an a sailer an recked on the cost of boogia wid six of me messmaits hoo are wel an arty tho too was drowndid on landin an wan wos spiflikated be the moors which are born divls an no mistaik. I rite to say that weer starvin but the Kaid as they cals the guvner Here says heel take a ransum for us of 150 spanish dolars the Kaid has past his word in yoor name to the moors for that sum or theyd hav spiflikate us too. I hope yer onor has as much to spair in yer pokit, an will luke alive wid it, for if yoo don’t its all up wid me mesmaits inkloodin yoor onors obedent humbil servint to comand ted flagan.”
“Well, I hope, with poor Flaggan,” said Mrs Langley laughingly, “that you have as much to spare in your ‘pokit,’ for if not, it is plain that the poor fellows will be led into captivity.”
“I would readily advance a larger sum for so good an end,” replied the consul, folding the letter. “I shall at once ride into town to make arrangements, and as it is so late, will pass the night in our town house. I shall send our new attendant, Sidi Hassan, on this mission, and leave you for the night under the guardianship of Rais Ali.”
The consul left immediately, and next morning Sidi Hassan set out for Bugia with the necessary ransom.
In regard to this we need say nothing more than that he accomplished his purpose, paid the ransom, and received the seven British seamen, accompanied by whom he commenced the return journey, he and his men riding, and driving the sailors on foot before them as though they had been criminals. On the way, however, they were attacked, not far from Algiers, by a body of predatory Arabs from the Jurjura mountains.
These bold villains, at the very first onset, killed more than half of the Turkish escort, and put the rest to flight. Six of the sailors they captured and carried off, but Ted Flaggan, who was an exceedingly active as well as powerful man, proved himself more than a match for them all. During the mêlée he managed to throw himself in the way of one of the best-mounted among the Arabs, who instantly charged him, but Ted sprang aside and let him pass, ducking low to avoid a cut from his curved sword.
Before he could turn, the Irishman ran close to his side, seized him by the burnous, at the same time grasping his bridle, and pulled him out of the saddle with such sudden violence that he fell headlong to the ground, where he lay quite stunned by the fall. Flaggan instantly sprang into the saddle, as if he had been an accomplished cavalier, though in reality he knew no more about horses than an Esquimaux. However, a man who was accustomed to hold on to a top-sail-yard in a gale was not to be easily shaken off by an Arab charger. He clung to the high saddle-bow with one hand, and with the other grasped his clasp-knife, which he opened with his teeth. Therewith he probed the flanks of his fiery steed to such an extent that he not only distanced all his Arab pursuers, but overtook and passed his own escort one by one, until he reached Sidi Hassan himself. He then attempted to pull up, but the clasp-knife had fired the charger’s blood in an unusual degree. With a wicked snort and fling that lifted Flaggan high out of the saddle, it rushed madly on, left the pirate captain far behind, and at length dashed through the Bab-Azoun gate of Algiers, despite the frantic efforts of the guard to check or turn it. Right onward it sped through the street Bab-Azoun, scattering Turks, Moors, Jews, negroes, and all the rest of them like chaff; passed the Dey’s palace, straight along the street Bab el-Oued; out at the water-gate, with similar contempt of the guards; down into the hollow caused by the brook beyond; up the slope on the other side, half-way towards the summit, on the opposite side of Frais Vallon, and was not finally pulled up until it had almost run down the British consul, who chanced to be riding leisurely homeward at the time.
“You seem to have had a pretty sharp run, my man,” said the consul, laughing, as the Irishman thankfully jumped off, and grasped the bridle of the now thoroughly winded horse.
“Faix an’ I have, yer honour; an’ if I haven’t run down an’ kilt half the population o’ that town, wotever’s its name, no thanks to this self-opiniated beast,” replied Flaggan, giving the bridle a savage pull.
“You’re an Irishman, I perceive,” said the consul, smiling.
“Well, now, yer right, sur; though how ye came to persaive is more nor I can understand.”
“Where have you come from? and how in such a plight?” demanded the consul in some surprise, observing that a troop of janissaries came galloping up the winding road, near the top of which they stood.
“Sorrow wan o’ me knows where we touched at last,” replied the seaman in some perplexity; “the names goes out o’ me head like wather out of a sieve. All I’m rightly sure of is that I set sail four days ago from a port they calls Boogee, or so’thin’ like it, in company with a man called Seedy Hassan; an’ sure he’d ha bin seedy enough be now if his horse hadn’t bin a good ’un, for we wos attacked, and half his party killed and took, forby my six messmates; but—”
“Your name is Ted Flaggan?” inquired the consul hastily.
“It is,” said the seaman, in great surprise; “sure yer honour must be—”
The sentence was cut short by the arrival of the janissaries, who pulled up with looks of considerable astonishment on finding the mad fugitive engaged in quiet conversation with the British consul.
“Gentlemen,” said Colonel Langley, with much urbanity of tone and manner, “I suppose you wish to make a prisoner of this man?”
The soldiers admitted that such was their desire and intention.
“Then you will oblige me,” continued the Colonel, “by allowing me to be his jailer in the meantime. He is a British subject, of whom I can give a good account at the fitting time and place. Sidi Hassan, under whose charge he has been by my orders, will doubtless soon arrive in town, and further enlighten you on this subject.”
Without waiting for a reply the Colonel bowed, and wheeling his horse round rode quietly away, followed by the Irishman, who regarded his new jailer with a very puzzled look, while a touch of humour further tended to wrinkle his remarkably expressive countenance.
Chapter Eight.
Ted Flaggan and Rais Ali proceed on a Mission, and see Impressive Sights
Two days after the events narrated in the last chapter, Mrs Langley, being seated on her favourite couch in the court under the small banana-tree, sent Zubby into the garden to command the attendance of Ted Flaggan. That worthy was gifted with a rare capacity for taking the initiative in all things, when permitted to do so, and had instituted himself in the consul’s mansion as assistant gardener, assistant cook and hostler, assistant footman and nurseryman, as well as general advice-giver and factotum, much to the amusement of all concerned, for he knew little of anything, but was extremely good-humoured, helpful, and apart from advice-giving—modest.
“Flaggan,” said Mrs Langley, when the stout seaman appeared, hat in hand, “I want you to accompany our interpreter, Rais Ali, into town, to bring out a message from a gentleman named Sidi Omar. Ali himself has other duties to attend to, and cannot return till evening, so take particular note of the way, lest you should miss it in returning.”
“I will, ma’am,” replied Ted, with a forecastle bow, “Does Mister Ally onderstand English?”
“Oh yes,” returned Mrs Langley, with a laugh. “I forgot that he was absent when you arrived. You will find that he understands all you say to him, though I’m not quite sure that you will understand all he says to you. Like some of the other Moors here, he has been in the British navy, and has acquired a knowledge of English. You’ll find him a pleasant companion, I doubt not. Be so good as to tell him that I wish to see him before he leaves.”
Obedient to the summons, Rais Ali quickly appeared. The interpreter was a stout, tall, dignified man of about thirty-five, with a great deal of self-assertion, and a dash of humour expressed in his countenance.
“Ali,” said Mrs Langley, “you are aware that Sidi Omar is to be married to-morrow. I have been invited to the wedding, but have stupidly forgotten the hour at which I was asked to see the bride dressed. Will you go to Sidi Omar, or some of his people, and find this out? Take the sailor, Mr Flaggan, with you, and send him back with the information as soon as possible.”
“Yis, mum,” replied the interpreter; “an’ please, mum, I was want too, tree days’ leave of absins.”
“No doubt Colonel Langley will readily grant your request. Have you some particular business to transact, or do you merely desire a holiday?”
“Bof,” replied the Moor, with a mysterious smile. “I’se got finished the partikler bizziness of bein’ spliced yesterdays, an’ I wants littil holiday.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs Langley in surprise, “you have been very quiet about it.”
“Ho yis, wery quiet.”
“Where is your bride, Ali? I should like so much to see her.”
“Her’s at ’ome, safe,” said Rais Ali, touching a formidable key which was stuck in his silken girdle.
“What! have you locked her up?”
“Yis—’bleeged to do so for keep her safe.”
“Not alone, I hope?” said Mrs Langley.
“No, not ’lone. Her’s got a bootiflul cat, an’ I means buy her a little nigger boy soon.”
Having arranged that Mrs Langley was to visit his bride on her way to Sidi Omar’s wedding the following day, Rais Ali set out on his mission, accompanied by Mr Flaggan.
The Irishman soon discovered that the Moor was a conceited coxcomb and a barefaced boaster, and ere long began to suspect that he was an arrant coward. He was, however, good-humoured and chatty, and Ted, being in these respects like-minded, rather took a fancy to him, and slily encouraged his weakness.
“Ye must have seed a power o’ sarvice in the navy, now,” he said, with an air of interest; “how came you to git into it?”
“Ha! that wos cos o’ me bein’ sitch a strong, good-lookin’ feller,” replied Ali, with an air of self-satisfaction.
“Just so,” said Flaggan; “but it’s not common to hear of Moors bein’ taken aboard our men o’ war, d’ee see. It’s that as puzzles me.”
“Oh, that’s easy to ’splain,” returned Ali. “The fac’ is, I’d bin for sev’l year aboord a Maltese trader ’tween Meddrainean an’ Liverp’l, and got so like a English tar you coodn’t tell the one fro’ the oder. Spok English, too, like natif.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Ted, nodding his head gravely—“well?”
“Well, one night w’en we was all sleeperin’ in port, in a ’ouse on shore, the press-gang comes round an’ nabs the whole of us. We fight like lions. I knock seven men down, one before the tother, ’cause of bein’ very strong, an’ had learn to spar a littil. You know how to spar?”
“Well,” returned Ted, looking with a smile at his huge hands, “I can’t go for to say as I know much about the science of it, d’ee see; but I can use my fists after a fashion.”
“Good,” continued the Moor. “Well, then, we fights till all our eyes is black, an’ all our noses is red, an’ some of our teeths is out, but the sailirs wos too many for us. We wos ’bleeged to gif in, for wot kin courage do agin numbers? so we wos took aboord a friggit and ’zamined.”
“An’ what?” asked the seaman.
“’Zamined. Overhauled,” replied the Moor.