A Set of Rogues

by Frank Barrett

  CHAPTER XI.

  _Of our first coming to Elche and the strangeness of that city._

  Being resolved to our purpose overnight, we set out fairly early in themorning for Elche, which lies half a dozen leagues or thereabouts to thewest of Alicante. Our way lay through gardens of oranges and spreadingvineyards, which flourish exceedingly in this part, being protected fromunkind winds by high mountains against the north and east; and here youshall picture us on the white, dusty road, Moll leading the way a dozenyards in advance, a tambourine slung on her back with streaming ribbonsof many colours, taking two or three steps on one foot, and then two orthree steps on t'other, with a Spanish twist of her hips at each turn,swinging her arms as she claps her costagnettes to the air of a song shehad picked up at Barcelona, and we three men plodding behind, the Donwith a guitar across his back, Dawson with our bundle of clothes, and Iwith a wallet of provisions hanging o' one side and a skin of wine onthe other--and all as white as any millers with the dust of Moll'sdancing.

  "It might be as well," says Don Sanchez, in his solemn, deliberatemanner, "if Mistress Moll were advised to practise her steps in ourrear."

  "Aye, Senor," replied Dawson, "I've been of the same mind these last tenminutes. But with your consent, Don Sanchez, I'll put her to a moreserious exercise."

  The Don consenting with a bow, Jack continues:

  "You may have observed that I haven't opened my lips since we left thetown, and the reason thereof is that I've been turning over in my mindwhether, having come thus far, it would not be advisable to let my Mollknow of our project. Because, if she should refuse, the sooner weconsider some other plan, the better, seeing that now she is in goodcase and as careless as a bird on the bough, and she is less tractableto our purposes than when she felt the pinch of hunger and cold andwould have jumped at anything for a bit of comfort."

  "Does she not know of our design?" asks the Don, lifting his eyebrows.

  "No more than the man in the moon, Senor," answers Jack. "For, thoughKit and I may have discoursed of it at odd times, we have been mightycareful to shut our mouths or talk of a fine day at her approach."

  "Very good," says Don Sanchez. "You are her father."

  "And she shall know it," says Jack, with resolution, and taking a strideor two in advance he calls to her to give over dancing and come to him.

  "Have you forgot your breeding," he asks as she turns and waits for him,"that you have no more respect for your elders than to choke 'em withdust along of your shuffling?"

  "What a thoughtless thing am I!" cries she, in a voice of contrition."Why, you're floured as white as a shade!"

  Then taking up a corner of her waist-shawl, she gently rubs away thedust from the tip of his nose, so that it stood out glowing red from hisface like a cherry through a hole in a pie-crust, at which she claps herhands and rings out a peal of laughter.

  "I counted to make a lady of you, Moll," says Jack, in sorrow, "but Isee plainly you will ever be a fool, and so 'tis to no purpose to speakseriously."

  "Surely, father, I have ever been what you wish me to be," answers she,demurely, curious now to know what he would be telling her.

  "Then do you put them plaguy clappers away, and listen to me patiently,"says he.

  Moll puts her hands behind her, and drawing a long lip and casting roundeyes at us over her shoulder, walks along very slowly by her father'sside, while he broaches the matter to her. And this he did with somedifficulty (for 'tis no easy thing to make a roguish plot lookinnocent), as we could see by his shifting his bundle from one shoulderto the other now and again, scratching his ear and the like; but what hesaid, we, walking a pace or two behind, could not catch, he dropping toa very low tone as if ashamed to hear his own voice. To all he has totell she listens very attentively, but in the end she says somethingwhich causes him to stop dead short and turn upon her gaping like a pig.

  "What!" he cries as we came up. "You knew all this two months ago?"

  "Yes, father," answers she, primly, "quite two months."

  "And pray who told you?" he asks.

  "No one, father, since you forbade me to ask questions. But though I maybe dumb to oblige you, I can't be deaf. Kit and you are for evera-talking of it."

  "Maybe, child," says Dawson, mightily nettled. "Maybe you know why weleft Alicante this morning."

  "I should be dull indeed if I didn't," answers she. "And if you hadn'tsaid when we saw the ships that we might meet more Englishmen in thetown than we might care to know hereafter, why,--well, maybe we shouldhave been in Alicante now."

  "By denying yourself that satisfaction," says Don Sanchez, "we mayconclude that the future we are making for you is not unacceptable."

  Moll stopped and says with some passion:

  "I would turn back now and go over those mountains the way we came toride through France in my fine gown like a lady."

  "Brava! bravamente!" says the Don, in a low voice, as she steps on infront of us, holding her head high with the recollection of her formerstate.

  "She was ever like that," whispers Dawson, with pride. "We could neverget her to play a mean part willingly; could we, Kit? She was for everwanting the part of a queen writ for her."

  The next day about sundown, coming to a little eminence, Don Sanchezpoints out a dark patch of forest lying betwixt us and the mountains,and says:

  "That is Elche, the place where we are to stay some months."

  We could make out no houses at all, but he told us the town lay in themiddle of the forest, and added some curious particulars as how, lyingon flat ground and within easy access of the sea, it could not exist atall but for the sufferance of the Spaniards on one side and of theBarbary pirates on the other, how both for their own conveniencerespected it as neutral ground on which each could exchange hismerchandise without let or hindrance from the other, how the sort ofsanctuary thus provided was never violated either by Algerine orSpaniard, but each was free to come and go as he pleased, etc., and thisdid somewhat reassure us, though we had all been more content to see ourdestination on the crest of a high hill.

  From this point we came in less than half an hour to Santa Pola, a smallvillage, but very bustling, for here the cart-road from Alicante ends,all transport of commodities betwixt this and Elche being done on mules;so here great commotion of carriers setting down and taking upmerchandise, and the way choked with carts and mules and a very babel oftongues, there being Moors here as well as Spaniards, and all shoutingtheir highest to be the better understood of each other. These were thefirst Moors we had seen, but they did not encourage us with great hopesof more intimate acquaintance, wearing nothing but a kind of long,ragged shirt to their heels, with a hood for their heads in place of ahat, and all mighty foul with grease and dirt.

  Being astir betimes the next morning, we reached Elche before midday,and here we seemed to be in another world, for this region is no morelike Spain than Spain is like our own country. Entering the forest, wefound ourselves encompassed on all sides by prodigious high palm trees,which hitherto we had seen only singly here and there, cultivated ascuriosities. And noble trees they are, standing eighty to a hundred feethigh, with never a branch, but only a great spreading crown of leaves,with strings of dates hanging down from their midst. Beneath, in marshyplaces, grew sugar-canes as high as any haystack; and elsewhere werepatches of rice, which grows like corn with us, but thrives well in theshade, curiously watered by artificial streams of water. And for hedgesto their property, these Moors have agaves, with great spiky leaveswhich no man can penetrate, and other strange plants, whereof I willmention only one, they call the fig of Barbary, which is no fig at all,but a thing having large, fleshy leaves, growing one out of the other,with fruit and flower sprouting out of the edges, and all monstrousprickly. To garnish and beautify this formidable defence, nature hadcast over all a network of creeping herbs with most extraordinaryflowers, delightful both to see and smell, but why so prickly, no mancan say.

  "Surely, this must be paradise," cries Moll, stay
ing to look around her.

  And we were of the same thinking, until we came to the town, which, as Ihave said, lies in the midst of this forest, and then all our hopes andexpectations were dashed to the ground. For we had looked to find a cityin keeping with these surroundings,--of fairy palaces and statelymansions; in place whereof was nought but a wilderness of mean, low,squalid houses, with meandering, ill-paved alleys, and all pasteverything for unsavoury smells,--heaps of refuse lying before everydoor, stark naked brats of children screaming everywhere, and a pack offamished dogs snapping at our heels.

  Don Sanchez leads the way, we following, with rueful looks one at theother, till we reach the market-place, and there he takes us into ahouse of entertainment, where a dozen Moors are squatting on theirhaunches in groups about sundry bowls of a smoking mess, calledcuscusson, which is a kind of paste with a little butter in it and astore of spices. Their manner of eating it is simple enough: each mandips his hand in the pot, takes out a handful, and dances it about tillit is fashioned into a ball, and then he eats it with all the gusto inthe world. For our repast we were served with a joint of roast mutton,and this being cut up, we had to take up in our hands and eat like anysavages,--their religion denying these Moors anything but the barenecessities of life. Also, their law forbids the drinking of wine, whichdid most upset Jack Dawson, he having for drink with his meat nothingbut the choice of water and sour milk; but which he liked least I knownot, for he would touch neither, saying he would rather go dry any daythan be poisoned with such liquor.

  Whilst we were at our meal, a good many Moors came in to stare at us, asat a raree show, and especially at Moll, whose bright clothes and loosehair excited their curiosity, for their women do rarely go abroad,except they be old, and wear only long dirty white robes, muffling thelower part of their faces. None of them smiled, and it is noticeablethat these people, like our own Don, do never laugh, taking suchdemonstration as a sign of weak understanding and foolishness, butwatching all our actions very intently. And presently an old Moor, witha white beard and more cleanly dressed than the rest, pushing the crowdaside to see what was forward, recognised Don Sanchez, who at once roseto his feet; we, not to be behind him in good manners, rising also.

  "May Baba," says the old Moor; and repeating this phrase thrice (whichis a sure sign of hearty welcome), he claps the Don's hand, withoutshaking it, and lays his own upon his breast, the Don doing likewise.Then Don Sanchez, introducing us as we understood by his gestures, theold Moor bends his head gravely, putting his right hand first to hisheart, next to his forehead, and then kissing the two foremost fingerslaid across his lips, we replying as best we could with a bowing andscraping. These formalities concluded, the Don and the old Moor walkapart, and we squat down again to our mutton bones.

  After a lengthy discussion the old Moor goes, and Don Sanchez, havingpaid the reckoning, leads us out of the town by many crooked alleys andcross-passages; he speaking never a word, and we asking no questions,but marvelling exceedingly what is to happen next. And, following a walloverhung by great palms, we turn a corner, and find there our old Moorstanding beside an open door with a key in his hand. The old Moor givesthe key into Don Sanchez's hand, and with a very formal salutation,leaves us.

  Then following the Don through the doorway, we find ourselves in aspacious garden, but quite wild for neglect; flower and weed and fruitall mingling madly together, but very beautiful to my eye, nevertheless,for the abundance of colour, the richness of the vegetables, and thegraceful forms of the adjacent palms.

  A house stood in the midst of this wilderness, and thither Don Sanchezpicked his way, we at his heels still too amazed to speak. Beside thehouse was a well with a little wall about it, and seating himself onthis, Don Sanchez opens his lips for the first time.

  "My friend, Sidi ben Ahmed, has offered me the use of this place as longas we choose to stay here," says he. "Go look in the house and tell meif you care to live in it for a year."