CHAPTER XII.
TO THE HOUSE OF BEN TALEB.
Algiers!
The sunset gun is just booming over the African hills as the steamerdrops anchor off the wonderful city where the French have gained afoothold and seem determined to stay.
John Craig is in a fever to go ashore. He has had news that from Maltahis mother went to Algiers on a mission, and his one object in life isto follow her until the time comes when he can see face to face thewoman to whom he owes his being, toward whom his heart goes out, andwhom he believes to have been dreadfully wronged.
Most of the passengers are going farther, but as the steamer will remainin the harbor until morning, there is no need of any going ashore.
John, however, cannot wait.
He engages a boatman--there are many who at once come out to the steamerfor various purposes--tells his friends where they may find him, andwith his luggage is away, just before darkness sets in, for it comesvery soon after sunset in this country.
Upon landing, John secures a guide, and makes for the central squareknown as the _Place du Gouvernement_, where he knows of a good hotel,recommended by the captain.
The air is fragrant with the odor of flowers.
In his walk he meets strange people, Arabs, Moors, Kabyles from thedesert, long-bearded Jews, Greeks, negroes, Italians, and, of course,French soldiers.
_Al Jezira_, as the natives call their capital, is undoubtedly the mostinteresting city for a traveler's eyes, exceeding even Constantinopleand Cairo.
Part of the city is modern, the rest just as it might have been acentury ago, when the Algerian pirates made a reign of terror sweep overthe Mediterranean.
Omnibuses are seen, and even street-cars run to Birkadeen, a suburb. Thehouses on the terraces of Mustapha Superieur are peopled with the nicestof French and English families, who spend the winter in this charmingplace.
Still, if one enters the native quarter, ascending the narrow streetswhere no vehicle can ever come, where the tall, white houses, with theirslits for windows, almost meet above, shutting out the cheery sunlight,where one meets the Moor, the Arab, the gipsy, the negro porter, thenative woman with her face concealed almost wholly from view, it wouldbe easy to believe the city to be entirely foreign and shut off fromEuropean intercourse.
Within a stone's throw how different the scene--the wide streets, thefine houses, the people of Paris and London mixing with the picturesquecostumes of the natives, the bazaars, music in the air coming from theKasbah, once the stronghold of the merciless Janizaries, now thebarracks for French zouaves, the bric-a-brac merchant with hisextraordinary wares spread out, while he calmly smokes a cigarette andplays upon the mandolin.
No wonder the pilgrim in Algiers is charmed, and lingers long beyond histime.
John has glimpses of these things on his way to the hotel, and althoughhis mind is hardly in a condition to take much notice of such matters,they nevertheless impress him to a certain degree.
Dull, indeed, must be the man who cannot grasp the wonderful beauty ofsuch a scene. At another time John would have been charmed.
He reaches the hotel, and at once engages a room. Supper is ready, andhe sits down to a meal one can hardly procure outside of Paris itself,and served in French style.
If any one were watching John, his nervousness would be perceptible.
From the table he seeks the office of the hotel.
"What can I do for monsieur?" asks the polite attendant, seeing himstanding there expectantly.
"I desire to procure a guide."
"To-morrow?"
"Now--at once."
The clerk looks at him curiously. He cannot understand what suchimpetuosity means.
He realizes that he is dealing with one who is different from the usualrun of travelers.
"Monsieur does not, perhaps, know the danger involved in the night;foreigners do not often invade the old town after dark."
"Pardon me, my business is very important. Can you procure me a reliableguide, one who speaks English?"
"It can be done. First, I would recommend that you seal up your watchand valuables in this envelope."
"A good idea. You will keep them in your safe," suiting the action tothe word.
"Now; monsieur will write his name."
"Done."
"Also the address."
"Eh? I don't quite understand."
"To which he would have them sent."
"Sent?"
"In case we see monsieur no more."
"Ah! Now I catch on," with a smile, as he adds the words: "Chicago,Ill., U.S.A."
"Chicago, I have heard of it; quite a place," remarks the clerk.
"Rather," dryly. "The cicerone, please."
Then the clerk beckons to a man who has been lounging not far away.
John sweeps his eyes over him.
He sees an Arab gipsy, a swarthy fellow of stalwart build, dressed inthe attractive costume of his race. John reads human nature fairly well,and he believes he sees a man who can be depended on.
"This, monsieur, is Mustapha Cadi. You can depend upon him always," andthe clerk goes to his regular work.
The Arab makes the ordinary salutation, crossing his hands over hisbreast, and bowing.
These people are very ceremonious, never entering a room or being seatedbefore a guest.
"You speak English?" asks John.
"Oh, yes!" smiling.
"I want to engage you in my service for some days, Mustapha Cadi."
"I have just come with a party from the wine caves of Chateau Hydra andthe cemetery on Bouzareah. I am now free, and in monsieur's service."
"Good! Your terms?"
"Two duros a day."
"I will make it four."
"Great is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet. I shall not complain."
"There is a condition."
"Name it."
"I am very anxious to see some one whom I have reason to believe is inthis city."
"Of course."
"You must take me to him to-night."
Mustapha Cadi looks a little anxious.
"Does this illustrious person live in new or old Al Jezira?"
"I cannot say, it is for you to tell."
"His name?"
"Ben Taleb."
The Arab shrugs his shoulders, a French trick that follows theirconquests, and is so very suggestive.
"The Moorish doctor; he lives in the heart of the old town."
"But many Europeans visit him, he has a reputation abroad."
"They never dare go at night."
"I am willing to take the risk."
Mustapha Cadi looks at the young man admiringly--curiously, for hecannot imagine what would cause such haste. He sees a specimen ofhealthy manhood, so that it can hardly be for medical advice he takessuch chances to see the old Moor.
"Monsieur, I consent."
"It is well."
"I, too, have conditions."
"Ah! that may alter the case," suspiciously.
"My reputation is dear to me."
"Naturally."
"It is my means of earning much money. Listen to me. I have takenFranks everywhere through this country, to Oran and even the far-awaylead mines of Jebel Wanashrees; yes, once even to the city of Fez, inMorocco; yet never has anything serious happened to those in my charge.We have been attacked by robbers in the desert, but we dispersed themwith gun and yataghan. Here in Al Jezira, many times, beggars forbacksheesh have become impudent, and tried to enforce their demands,but I have taken them before the cadi, and had them punished with thebastinado. Ah! they know Mustapha Cadi, the guide, and give him a wideberth _by daylight_. But, monsieur, what might happen in the streets ofthe old town should a Frank go there at night, I am afraid to say."
"Still, you promised."
"Ay, and will keep my word, if the monsieur agrees to the condition."
"Let me hear it!"
"I will procure a burnoose, you shall put the robe on, and be an Arabfor to-nig
ht."
John draws a breath of relief, he smiles.
"Willingly, Mustapha. Let us lose no time, I beg of you!"
"Then, monsieur, come!"
As he passes the clerk that worthy bends forward to say:
"Does monsieur know these people who have come from the steamer?"
John sees a list of names under his own.
Professor Sharpe and wife.Lady Ruth Stanhope.Colonel Lionel Blunt.Miss Pauline Potter.
There they are, all present, and he hears the voice of Aunt Gwen in thedining-room, even at the moment of his reading her name, gently chidinga waiter for not serving the professor more promptly, always in a hurry,but generally good-natured withal.
"They are friends of mine," he says, and then follows his Arab guide.
Once on the street John observes what is passing around him, and thescene on the grand square is certainly lively enough, with the garrisonband discoursing sweet music, the numerous lights from _cafe_ and_magasius de nouveautes_, and crowds moving about.
Presently they come to a bazaar, where every article known to orientalingenuity, from Zanzibar carpets, embroideries of Tunis, Damascuscutlery, and odd jewelry to modern novelties can be found.
Here they enter.
The guide selects what he needs, and John pays for it, wondering whatsort of clumsiness he will display in the wearing of an Arab costume.
Until they reach the border of the old town upon the hill-side, there islittle need of his donning the ridiculous affair.
He casts many inquisitive glances upon his guide and other Arabs whomthey meet to see how they wear the burnoose.
"I reckon John Craig won't disgrace Chicago, if he isn't to the mannerborn," he concludes.
"Now, monsieur will allow me," says his tall guide, leading him into adark corner.
There is some little difficulty experienced, but in the end John turnsArab.
"Say not one word--if saluted, I will reply," is the last caution hereceives.
Then they move on.
Now their road ascends.
They are in Al Jezira, the old Arab town.
The passage is so narrow that at times John could easily touch the wallsof the spectral houses on either side by extending his arms.
Every little while there is a short step. Now and then an arch fromwhich hangs a queer lantern, burning dimly. Over a door, here and there,a light marks the residence of some Moor or Arab of note. But for thesethe passage-way would be totally dark, even on the brightest moonlightnight.
They meet bearded and turbaned Arabs, who stalk majestically along,proud as Lucifer, even without a piastre in their purses--even womenvailed as usual, wearing anklets, and with their nails stained withhenna.
The men salute, and Mustapha replies, while the disguised young Americanmerely bows his head, which he has hidden after the manner of one whomourns.
Thus they advance.
Presently they turn sharply to the left, and enter a dark passage.
"We will wait here a few minutes."
"But why?" asks the impatient doctor.
"You saw the group above descending, monsieur?"
"Yes."
"I recognized them as rival couriers. If they saw me they would glancesharply at my companion. Perhaps for much duros they have some timetaken a Frank through Al Jezira at night. That would not count. If theybelieved I did the same thing they would spread the news abroad, and Iam afraid we would have trouble. Better a little delay than that," andhe draws a finger across John's throat to signify the terrible stroke ofa vengeful yataghan.
"I think you are right," replies John.
They hear the group go by, laughing and joking, and the passage is againclear.
"Again, forward, monsieur," whispers the faithful courier, and leavingtheir hiding-place they push on.
They are in the heart of the old town, and a most singular sensationcomes over John as he looks all around to see the white walls, thesolemn figures moving about, and hears sounds that never before greetedhis ears.
It is as if he were in another world.
While he thus ponders and speculates, his companion comes to a suddenhalt. They are at the door of a house a little more conspicuous than itsfellows, and Mustapha hastily gives the rapper a resonant clang.
Miss Caprice Page 12