CHAPTER FIVE.
THE MAIDEN'S STORY--PETER THE GREAT AND THE MIDDY GO FOR A HOLIDAY ANDSEE AWFUL THINGS.
During the conversation detailed in the last chapter the young Englishgirl had spoken with her veil down. She now threw it carelessly back,and, sitting down on a bench opposite our midshipman, folded her handsin her lap and remained silent for a few seconds, during which GeorgeFoster said--not aloud, but very privately to himself, "Although youreyes are swelled and your little nose is red with crying, I never--no Inever--did see such a dear, sweet, pretty little innocent face in all mylife!"
All unconscious of his thoughts, and still giving vent now and then toan irresistible sob, the poor child--for she was little more--looked upand began her sad tale.
"About eight months ago my dear father, who is a merchant, resolved totake me with him on a voyage to some of the Mediterranean ports. Myfather's name is Hugh Sommers--"
"And yours?" asked Foster.
"Is Hester. We had only just entered the Mediterranean when one ofthose dreadful Algerine pirates took our vessel and made slaves of usall. My darling father, being a very big, strong, and brave man, foughtlike a tiger. Oh! I never imagined that his dear kind face _could_have looked as it did that awful day. But although he knocked down and,I fear, killed many men, it was all of no use, they were so numerous andour men so few. The last I saw of my father was when they were loweringhim into a boat in a state of insensibility, with an awful cut all downhis brow and cheek, from which the blood was pouring in streams.
"I tried to get to him, but they held me back and took me down into thecabin. There I met our owner, who, when he saw me, threw a veil over myhead and bade me sit still. I was too terrified and too despairingabout my father to think of disobeying.
"I think Ben-Ahmed, our owner, must be a man of power, for everybodyseemed to obey him that day as if he was the chief man, though he wasnot the captain of the ship. After a time he took my hand, put me intoa small sailing boat, and took me ashore. I looked eagerly for myfather on landing, but he was nowhere to be seen, and--I have not seenhim since."
"Nor heard of or from him?" asked Foster.
"No."
At this point, as there were symptoms of another breakdown, our middybecame anxious, and entreated Hester to go on. With a strong effort shecontrolled her feelings.
"Well, then, Ben-Ahmed brought me here, and, introducing me to hiswives--he has four of them, only think!--said he had brought home alittle wife for his son Osman. Of course I thought they were joking,for you know girls of my age are never allowed to marry in England; butafter a time I began to see that they meant it, and, d'you know--By theway, what is your name?"
"Foster--George Foster."
"Well, Mr Foster, I was going to say that I _cannot_ help wishing andhoping that their son may _never_ come home! Isn't that sinful?"
"I don't know much about the sin of it," said Foster, "but I ferventlyhope the same thing from the very bottom of my heart."
"And, oh!" continued Hester, whimpering a little, "you can't think whata relief it is to be able to talk with you about it. It would have beena comfort to talk even to our big dog here about it, if it could onlyhave understood English. But, now," continued the poor little creature,while the troubled look returned to her eyebrows, "what _is_ to bedone?"
"Escape--somehow!" said Foster promptly.
"But nothing would induce me to even try to escape without my father,"said Hester.
This was a damper to our midshipman. To rescue a little girl seemed tohim a mere nothing, in the glowing state of his heroic soul at thatmoment, but to rescue her "very big, strong, and brave" father at thesame time did not appear so easy. Still, something _must_ be attemptedin that way.
"Tell me," he said, "what is your father like?"
"Tall, handsome, sweet, ex--"
"Yes, yes. I know. But I mean colour of hair, kind of nose, etcetera;be more particular, and do be quick! I don't like to hurry you, butremember the possible scourging to death that hangs over me!"
"Well, he is very broad and strong, a Roman nose, large sweet mouthalways smiling, large grey eyes--such loving eyes, too--with iron-greyhair, moustache, and beard. You see, although it is not the fashion inEngland to wear beards, my dear father thinks it right to do so, for heis fond, he says, of doing only those things that he can give a goodreason for, and as he can see no reason whatever for shaving off hismoustachios and beard, any more than the hair of his head and eyebrows,he lets them grow. I've heard people say that my father is wild in hisnotions, and some used to say, as if it was very awful, that," (shelowered her voice here), "he is a Radical! You know what a Radical is,I suppose?"
"Oh yes," said Foster, with the first laugh he had indulged in duringthe interview, "a Radical is a man who wants to have everything his ownway; to have all the property in the world equally divided amongeverybody; who wants all the power to be equally shared, and, in short,who wants everything turned upside down!"
"Hush! don't laugh so loud!" said Hester, looking anxiously round, andholding up one of her pretty little fingers, "some one may hear you andfind us! Strange," she added pensively, "surely you must be under somemistake, for I heard my dear father try to explain it once to a friend,who seemed to me unwilling to understand. I remember so well the quietmotion of his large, firm but sweet mouth as he spoke, and the look ofhis great, earnest eyes--`A Radical,' he said, `is one who wishes andtries to go to the root of every matter, and put all wrong things rightwithout delay.'"
What George Foster might have said to this definition of a Radical,coming, as it did, from such innocent lips, we cannot say, for theabrupt closing of a door at the other end of the garden caused Hester tojump up and run swiftly out of the bower. Foster followed her example,and, returning to the scene of his labours, threw off his coat and beganto dig with an amount of zeal worthy of his friend the incorrigible"hyperkrite" himself.
A few minutes later and Ben-Ahmed approached, in close conversation withPeter the Great.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the latter, in stern tones, as they came up, "whatyou bin about, sar? what you bin doin'? Not'ing done since I was heremore an hour past--eh, sar?"
The midshipman explained, with a somewhat guilty look and blush, that hehad been resting in the bower, and that he had stayed much longer thanhe had intended.
"You just hab, you rascal! But I cure you ob dat," said the negro,catching up a piece of cane that was lying on the ground, with which hewas about to administer condign chastisement to the idle slave, when hismaster stopped him.
"Hurt him not," he said, raising his hand; "is not this his firstoffence?"
"Yes, massa, de bery fust."
"Well, tell him that the rod shall be applied next time he is foundidling. Enough, follow me!"
With a stately step the amiable Moor passed on. With a much morestately port Peter the Great followed him, but as he did so he bestowedon Foster a momentary look so ineffably sly, yet solemn, that the latterwas obliged to seize the spade and dig like a very sexton in order tocheck his tendency to laugh aloud.
Half an hour later the negro returned to him.
"What you bin do all dis time?" he asked in surprise. "I was more'nhalf t'ink you desarve a lickin'!"
"Perhaps I do, Peter," answered the young slave, in a tone so hearty andcheerful that the negro's great eyes increased considerably in size.
"Well, Geo'ge," he said, with a sudden change in his expression, "Iwouldn't hab expeck it ob you; no, I wouldn't, if my own mudder was totell me! To t'ink dat one so young, too, would go on de sly to derum-bottle! But where you kin find 'im's more'n I kin tell."
"I have not been at the rum-bottle at all," returned the middy, restingon his spade, "but I have had something to raise my spirits and brace myenergies, and take me out of myself. Come, let us go to the bower, andI will explain--that is, if we may safely go there."
"Go whar?"
"To the bower."
"Do you know, sar,
" replied Peter, drawing himself up and expanding hisgreat chest--"do you know, sar, dat I's kimmander-in-chief ob de army indis yar gardin, an' kin order 'em about whar I please, an' do what Ilike? Go up to de bower, you small Bri'sh officer, an' look sharp ifyou don't want a whackin'!"
The slave obeyed with alacrity, and when the two were seated hedescribed his recent interview with Hester Sommers.
No words can do full justice to the varied expressions that flittedacross the negro's face as the midshipman's narrative went on.
"So," he said slowly, when it was concluded, "you's bin an' had a longprivit convissation wid one ob Ben-Ahmed's ladies! My! you know whatdat means if it found out?"
"Well, Miss Sommers herself was good enough to tell me that it wouldprobably mean flogging to death."
"_Floggin'_ to deaf!" echoed Peter. "P'r'aps so wid massa, for he's akind man; but wid most any oder man it 'ud mean roastin' alibe ober aslow fire! Geo'ge, you's little better'n a dead man!"
"I hope it's not so bad as that, for no one knows about it except thelady and yourself."
"Das so; an' you're in luck, let me tell you. Now you go to work, an'I'll retire for some meditation--see what's to come ob all dis."
Truly the changes that take place in the feelings and mind of man arenot less sudden and complete than the physical changes which sometimesoccur in lands that are swept by the tornado and desolated by theearthquake. That morning George Foster had risen from his straw bed amiserable white slave, hopeless, heartless, and down at spiritual zero--or below it. That night he lay down on the same straw bed, a free man--in soul, if not in body--a hero of the most ardent character--up atfever-heat in the spiritual thermometer, or above it, and all becausehis heart throbbed with a noble purpose--because an object worthy of hisefforts was placed before him, and because he had made up his mind to door die in a good cause!
What that cause was he would have found it difficult to define clearlyin detail. Sufficient for him that an unknown but stalwart father, withRadical tendencies, and a well-known and lovely daughter, were at thefoundation of it, and that "Escape!" was the talismanic word whichformed a battery, as it were, with which to supply his heart withelectric energy.
He lived on this diet for a week, with the hope of again seeing Hester;but he did not see her again for many weeks.
One morning Peter the Great came to him as he was going out to work inthe garden and said--
"You git ready and come wid me into town dis day."
"Indeed," returned Foster, as much excited by the order as if it hadbeen to go on some grand expedition. "For what purpose?"
"You 'bey orders, sar, an' make your mind easy about purpisses."
In a few minutes Foster was ready.
No part of his original costume now remained to him. A blue-stripedcotton jacket, with pants too short and too wide for him; abroad-brimmed straw hat, deeply sunburnt face and hands, with a pair ofold boots two sizes too large, made him as unlike a British navalofficer as he could well be. But he had never been particularly vain ofhis personal appearance, and the high purpose by which he was nowactuated set him above all such trifling considerations.
"Is your business a secret?" asked Foster, as he and his companiondescended the picturesque road that led to the city.
"No, it am no secret, 'cause I's got no business."
"You seem to be in a mysterious mood this morning, Peter. What do youmean?"
"I mean dat you an' me's out for a holiday--two slabes out for aholiday! T'ink ob dat!"
The negro threw back his head, opened his capacious jaws, and gave ventto an almost silent chuckle.
"That does indeed mound strange," returned Foster; "how has such awonderful event been brought about?"
"By lub, Geo'ge. Di'n't I tell you before dat hub am eberyt'ing?"
"Yes; and my dear old mother told me, long before you did, that `love isthe fulfilling of the law.'"
"Well, I dun know much about law, 'xcep' dat I b'lieve it's a passel o'nonsense, for what we's got here an't o' no use--leastwise not forslabes."
"But my mother did not refer to human laws," returned Foster. "Shequoted what the Bible says about God's laws."
"Oh! das a _bery_ diff'rent t'ing, massa, an' I s'pose your mudder wasright. Anyway it was lub what obercame Ben-Ahmed. You see, I put it to'im bery tender like. `Massa,' says I, `here I's bin wid you night an'day for six year, an' you's nebber say to me yet, "Peter de Great, goout for de day an' enjoy you'self." Now, massa, I wants to take datsmall raskil Geo'ge Fuster to de town, an' show him a few t'ings as'llmake him do his work better, an' dat'll make you lub 'im more, an' sowe'll all be more comfrable.' Das what I say; an' when I was sayin' it,I see de wrinkles a-comin' round massa's eyes, so I feel sure; for w'endem wrinkles come to de eyes, it is all right. An' massa, he say,`Go'--nuffin more; only `Go;' but ob course das nuff for me, so I hoed;an' now--we're bof goin'."
At this point in the conversation they came to a place where the roadforked. Here they met a number of Arabs, hasting towards the town in asomewhat excited frame of mind. Following these very slowly on a mulerode another Arab, whose dignified gravity seemed to be proof againstall excitement. He might have been the Dey of Algiers himself, to judgefrom his bearing and the calm serenity with which he smoked a cigar.Yet neither his occupation nor position warranted his dignified air, forhe was merely a seller of oranges, and sat on a huge market-saddle,somewhat in the lady-fashion--side-wise, with the baskets of goldenfruit on either side of him.
Going humbly towards this Arab, the negro asked him in Lingua Franca ifthere was anything unusual going on in the town?
The Arab replied by a calm stare and a puff of smoke as he rode by.
"I 'ope his pride won't bust 'im," muttered Peter, as he fell behind andrejoined his companion.
"Do you think anything has happened, then?"
"Dere's no sayin'. Wonderful geese dey is in dis city. Dey seem tot'ink robbery on the sea is just, an' robbery ob de poor an' helpless isjust; but robbery ob de rich in Algiers--oh! dat awrful wicked! not tobe tololerated on no account wa'somever. Konsikence is--de poor an' dehelpless git some ob de strong an' de clebber to go on dere side, an'den dey bust up, strangle de Dey, rob de Jews, an' set up anotherguv'ment."
"Rob the Jews, Peter! Why do they do that?"
"Dun know, massa--"
"Please don't call me massa any more, Peter, for I'm _not_ massa in anysense--being only your friend and fellow-slave."
"Well, I won't, Geo'ge. I's a-goin' to say I s'pose dey plunder de Jews'cause dey's got lots o' money an' got no friends. Eberybody rob deJews w'en dere's a big rumpus. But I don't t'ink dere's a row jus'now--only a scare."
The scare, if there was one, had passed away when they reached the town.On approaching the Bab-Azoun gate, Peter got ready their passports toshow to the guard. As he did so, Foster observed, with a shudder, thatshreds of a human carcass were still dangling from the large hooks onthe wall.
Suddenly their steps were arrested by a shriek, and several menimmediately appeared on the top of the wall, holding fast a strugglingvictim. But the poor wretch's struggles were vain. He was led to theedge of the wall by four strong men, and not hurled, but dropped over,so that he should not fail to be caught on one of the several hooksbelow.
Another shriek of terror burst from the man as he fell. It was followedby an appalling yell as one of the hooks caught him under the armpit,passed upwards right through his shoulder and into his jaws, while theblood poured down his convulsed and naked limbs. That yell was the poorman's last. The action of the hook had been mercifully directed, andafter a few struggles, the body hung limp and lifeless.
Oh! it is terrible to think of the cruelty that man is capable ofpractising on his fellows. The sight was enough, one would think, torouse to indignation a heart of stone, yet the crowds that beheld thisdid not seem to be much affected by it. True, there were several facesthat showed traces of pity, but few words of disapproval were uttered.
"Come, come!" cried our midshipman, seizing his companion by the arm anddragging him away, "let us go. Horrible! They are not men but devils.Come away."
They passed through the gate and along the main street of the city aconsiderable distance, before Foster could find words to express hisfeelings, and then he had difficulty in restraining his indignation onfinding that the negro was not nearly as much affected as he himself wasby the tragedy which they had just witnessed.
"We's used to it, you know," said Peter in self-defence. "I's seen 'emhangin' alibe on dem hooks for hours. But dat's nuffin to what some on'em do. Look dar; you see dat ole man a-sittin' ober dere wid de smallt'ings for sale--him what's a-doin' nuffin, an' sayin' nuffin, an'almost expectin' nuffin? Well, I once saw dat ole man whacked fornuffin--or next to nuffin--on de sole ob his foots, so's he couldn'twalk for 'bout two or t'ree mont's."
They had reached the market-square by that time, and Foster saw that theman referred to was the identical old fellow with the blue coat andhood, the white beard, and the miscellaneous old articles for sale, whomhe had observed on his first visit to the square. The old Arab gavePeter the Great a bright look and a cheerful nod as they passed.
"He seems to know you," remarked Foster.
"Oh yes. He know me. I used to carry him on my back ebery mornin' tohis place here dat time when he couldn't walk. Bress you! dar's lots o'peepil knows me here. Come, I'll 'troduce you to some more friends, an'we'll hab a cup o' coffee."
Saying this, he conducted our middy into a perfect labyrinth of narrowstreets, through which he wended his way with a degree of certainty thattold of intimate acquaintance. Foster observed that he noddedfamiliarly to many of those who crowded them--to Jews, Arabs,water-carriers, and negroes, as well as to the dignified men who keptlittle stalls and shops, many of which shops were mere niches in thesides of the houses. So close were the fronts of these houses to eachother that in many places they almost met overhead and obscured much ofthe light.
At last the middy and his friend stopped in front of a stair whichdescended into what appeared to be a dark cellar. Entering it, theyfound themselves in a low Arab coffee-house.
The Middy and the Moors: An Algerine Story Page 5