CHAPTER XIII.
A NIGHT IN ALGIERS.
His manner gives the man from Chicago to understand that he has causefor sudden anxiety.
"What is it, Mustapha?" he whispers.
"Monsieur did not notice. Two Arabs, one a _muezzin_, or priest, justpassed us. They brushed against you. Perhaps they disturbed theburnoose; at any rate, their heads go together; they appear excited;they stop below; see, you can yourself notice; two more join them; theypoint this way. Ah! there is trouble, monsieur. Nay, do not draw aweapon; it comes not now, but later. I hear footsteps within, the boltis withdrawn, the door opens."
What Mustapha says is true; the heavy door, still secured by a stoutchain, opens half a foot, and by the dim light a Moorish lad is seen.
To him the guide addresses himself. Whatever he says in the Moorishtongue, it must be direct to the point, for immediately the door isopened wide enough to admit them, after which it is shut and the heavybolt shoots into its socket.
John follows his conductor. For the time being he loses sight ofMustapha, and must depend upon his own abilities. Trust a young manfrom Chicago to be equal to any occasion, no matter how extraordinary.
In another minute he is ushered into a large room, which is decorated inan oriental way that John has never seen equaled.
Rich colors blend, soft light falls upon the many articles of aconnoisseur's collection, and, taken in all, the scene is dazzling.
He gives it one glance.
Then his attention is riveted upon the figures before him. A coupleof servants wait upon the owner of the house, Ben Taleb, the Moorishdoctor. He is a venerable man, with white hair and a long snowybeard--his costume is simply black; but beside him sits his daughter,and she presents a spectacle John never saw equaled.
Silks of the loveliest hues, velvets that are beyond description,diamonds that flash and dazzle, strings of milky pearls that cause one'seyes to water. John sees the beautiful dreamy face, and thinks, as hecompares it with the rosy-cheeked, laughing eyed English girl's, thatthese Moors make veritable dolls of their daughters.
Fortunately that Chicago assurance, which has carried him through manysingular scenes, does not desert him now.
He has never yet beheld what beauty the miserable yashmak and foutah ofthe vailed Moorish lady concealed, and is naturally taken aback by thedisclosure, but, recovering himself, he advances toward those who seemto await some action on his part.
The miserable burnoose he has discarded in the hall, so that, hat inhand, John now appears under his own colors.
Bowing low, much after the salaam of a native, in deference to beauty'spresence, he addresses the Moorish doctor.
An observant traveler, Craig has a way of assimilating what he sees, andhence speaks in something of the figurative and flowery style so commonamong the dark-skinned people of all oriental countries, for an Arabianrobber will be as polite as a French dandy, and apologize for beingcompelled to cut your throat.
Having, therefore, asked pardon for an intrusion at such an hour, heproceeds to business.
The old doctor has up to this time said not a word, only bowed; but nowhe speaks:
"Where do you come from?" he asks.
"America--Chicago," with the full belief that the _taleb_ must haveheard of the bustling city upon Lake Michigan.
And he is right, too, for the old Moor frowns.
"Chicago is accursed. I hate it, because it shelters an enemy to one Irevere, one who saved my only child from death, when she lay with thefever at Alexandria. Your name, monsieur, and then your ailment, for Itake it your case is urgent to bring you here under such risk."
"My name I have never been ashamed of. It is John Alexander Craig. Mydisease is one of the heart, and I believe--"
The appearance of the old Moor is such that John comes to a suddenstop--Ben Taleb's eyes are dilated--he stares at the young man in afierce way, and his whole body appears to swell with rising emotions.
"Stop!" he thunders, and claps his hands in an excited way.
John, remembering his former experience, draws himself up in readinessfor defense, nor is he surprised to see several slaves enter the room atthe bidding of their master.
"This is the height of infamy, you who bear that hated name dare invadethe home of Ben Taleb! I read your secret; you are not sick."
"No, no; I--"
"You come with another motive; you seek one who has long been lost, onewho has suffered for years, unjustly, because of a Craig. May Allah'scurses blight your footsteps."
"You mistake--"
"May Mohammed, his prophet, make your life a blank. May your days end intorment, and your nights be sleepless."
"When you are done, most illustrious _taleb_, allow me to speak. Even adog should not be condemned unheard."
"Father, he is right; you are just, you are good; you condemn no manunheard. Let him speak; good may even come out of Chicago," says thelovely houri at the side of the Moor, and John thanks her with his eyes,mentally concluding that, after all, Moorish females, if nonentities onthe street, have certain rights under their own roofs.
At this the great doctor frowns, but cannot withstand the angelic,appealing glance which his daughter bestows upon him.
"Perhaps it is so. What have you to say, you who bear that hated name?Since through the kindness of my child you are given the opportunity tospeak, embrace it."
The situation is a peculiar one, and John feels that he must make themost of it.
"Illustrious Moor, listen then while I relate the reason for mypresence, why for months I have searched country after country for onewho ever seemed to be just beyond my reach, like a will-o'-the-wispdancing over the swampy ground.
"The person I seek is known as Sister Magdalen. It is with no unworthymotive I would find her, Ben Taleb, for she is my mother."
At this the sheik and his daughter exchange significant glances.Perhaps something of incredulity may be discovered in their expression.Evidently they have heard but little of the story before, and onlyknow that the troubles of the woman they revere came through a Craig.
John, having become stirred up, proceeds to tell them more of the past,and, while not caring to show emotion in the eyes of strangers, explainshis feelings in the matter with a dignity that does him full justice.
While not thoroughly convinced, for he suspects there may be someartifice in this visit, the venerable Moor is inclined to look morefavorably upon John.
"Perhaps you may not be so bad as I believed, but do not hope to receivenews from me," is his slowly spoken remark.
John's heart sinks, he fears that after all his long search he is now tobe frustrated by the stubborn will of an old man.
He even becomes eloquent in his appeal, and, while he fails to bringBen Taleb to terms, he charms the sheik's daughter, whose lovely eyesglisten as she hears.
At last he wrings one promise from the Moor, to the effect that he willcommunicate with the lady in question, and stating the whole case, allowher to decide.
This is certainly fair enough, and Ben Taleb presumes to be a man whodesires to do that which is right. Hence he agrees, but will not letJohn know whether news can be sent to him at the hotel on the morrow,or a week later. He must learn to practice the divine art of patience,and bide his time.
This, while a keen disappointment with regard to what he had expectedand hoped for, is the best that can be done under the circumstances.
John is something of a philosopher.
When he has done his best, he is willing to trust the rest to fortune.
So he assumes a cheerfulness he is far from feeling, and assures BenTaleb he will always be indebted to him for his kindness. After this hebegs for a piece of paper, and the sheik sends one of his slaves for it.John writes a line upon it, a line that comes from his heart:
"MY MOTHER: I have searched half of the world over for you.JOHN ALEXANDER CRAIG."
If she ever reads that, the meeting will not long be delayed, hebelieves.
A short time is spent in the company of the sheik and his daughter, andas the young American admits that he is a doctor, the Moor shows newinterest, asking various questions concerning some of the great eventsin the world of surgery that prove him to be a man far beyond his class,and one who keeps abreast of the times.
Finally, as the hour grows apace, John thinks it time for him to begoing.
Where is his courier, the faithful Mustapha Cadi, all this while?
As he mentions him, the sheik claps his hands and the guide appears. Heenters into a brief conversation with Ben Taleb in the Moorish tongue.
John rightly guesses that the guide is relating the facts concerningtheir reaching the house, and that he fears they may be attacked, ifthey leave by the same way they entered.
The old Moor smiles, and after answering, turns to the young man fromChicago.
"There is another way of leaving this place, and one of my slaves willshow you. They shall not harm one who comes to see Ben Taleb, if it canbe prevented."
Then comes the ceremonious leave-taking, and John manages to get throughthis with credit. He has undoubtedly made a deep impression on theMoorish beauty, who, catching the crumbs falling from her father's tableof knowledge, has aspirations above being the wife of a Moor, who mayalso have a harem.
At last they start off, with the slave in the lead, and after passingthrough several rooms, which John views with interest, arrive at a wall.
Acting under the advice of his guide, John has assumed the burnooseagain, for Mustapha carried it on his arm when he appeared.
"We will pass through this door, and reach another street. Are youready, monsieur?"
John replies in the affirmative. The light is hidden under a basket, andthen a sound is heard as of a door slowly opening.
"Pass through," whispers the guide.
Thus they reach the outside, and the wall resumes its innocentappearance. If they are fortunate, they will avoid the trouble thatlay in wait at the door of the old Moor.
John no longer trembles in anticipation of what is to come. He has beendisappointed, and yet bears his burden well.
His guide is yet cautious, believing that one is not safe until out ofthe woods. It is possible word may have been sent around among thestrolling Moors and Arabs of the old town, that a Frank is wanderingabout in a burnoose under the care of Mustapha Cadi, and hencediscovery, with its attendant desperate conflict, still to come.
By degrees they approach the boundary line, and will soon be safe.
John is obliged to admire the diplomatic way in which the Arab conductsthe retreat it would be creditable to a military strategist. They dodgeand hide, now advancing, anon secreting themselves in dark corners.
At last--success!
Into the brilliant light of the new Algiers they pass; the danger isbehind, safety assured.
Then Craig turns to the Arab, and tells him in plain language what hethinks of such remarkable work, and Mustapha humbly answers that he isglad the monsieur is satisfied.
Secretly, he exults in the eulogy; for even an Arab is able toappreciate praise.
Thus they bring up at the hotel.
John looks at the hour, and finds it ten. He sees the clerk nodding,and, as he repossesses himself of his valuables, accepts the other'scongratulations with respect to having gone through such an experience,and lived to tell the tale.
Where are the others?
They do not seem to be about.
The music has ceased on the square, which is less crowded than before,although many people still saunter about, fakirs cry aloud their goods,and the scene is one which has certain fascinations for the traveler'seye, a warmth of color not to be found in American cities.
Here venders of fruit drinks serve their wares in an attractive way,with queer jars and fancy glasses that lend quite an inducement topurchase.
Upon making inquiries of the clerk, he finds that his fourfellow-tourists have sauntered out some time since, and as yetfailed to return; so John also steps outside.
In a moment Mustapha is at his side, and what he whispers is notpleasant news:
"Monsieur must be careful. The news has gone abroad that he it was whoinvaded Al Jezira on this night. Some one has spread the report that heis a spy, that his mission is to discover the details of the plot thatis always going on among my people, for the rescue of Algiers fromFrench hands. Hence he is watched; they may even proceed to violence.What little I have learned tells me this. Be awake; be always ready fordefense, and seek not the dark corners where an assassin might lie.Bismillah!"
This is pleasant, indeed.
John has something of the feeling that comes upon the man who awaits theverdict of the jury.
At the same time he is resolved to take the advice given, and be on hisguard.
As he saunters around, he fails to see those whom he seeks, though soonbecoming conscious of the fact that he is watched and followed.
This does not add to his pleasure.
From the hints Mustapha has dropped, he begins to realize that there issome sort of a league in Al Jezira, looking toward an uprising and thecoming of a patriot leader, who will take charge of the rebellion.
He has gained the ill-will of these conspirators by this night visit tothe old town, and how unfortunate this may be for him, the future mayprove.
It is while he wanders about the square, keeping in the light, andalways on his guard, that John receives something of a shock.
He sees a figure ahead, a figure garbed as a sister. She moves slowlyon, her face is vailed, and a mad impulse comes upon him to toss asidethat vail, to discover whether this can be Sister Magdalen, the one forwhom he searches, or another.
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