The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  IN WHICH TED FLAGGAN AND HIS FRIEND RAIS ALI ACT A CONSCIOUS PART, AND APOLITICAL STORM BEGINS TO BREAK.

  There is unquestionably many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, but onthe present occasion there was no such slip. Mariano succeeded indiminishing and flattening himself to such an extent that thejanissaries passed without observing him. The moment they were out ofsight he glided from his hiding-place, and soon found his way to the topof the ramparts, near the Bab-Azoun gate. The head of Castello was athis elbow; the wearied Turkish sentinel was not a hundred yards distantMariano could see him clearly defined against the eastern sky every timehe reached the end of his beat.

  "If he takes it into his head to walk this way, I am lost," thoughtMariano.

  It seemed as if the man had heard the thought, for he walked slowlytowards the spot where the youth lay at full length on the ground.There was no mound or niche or coping of any kind behind which a manmight conceal himself. The dead man's head was the only object thatbroke the uniformity of the wall. In desperation, Mariano lay down withit between himself and the advancing sentinel, and crept close to it--soclose that while he lay there he fancied that a drop of something coldfell from it and mingled with the perspiration that stood in large beadsupon his brow!

  The sentinel stopped just as Mariano was preparing to spring upon andendeavour to strangle him. He looked earnestly and long in thedirection of the dead man's head, as if in meditation on its owner'suntimely fate, or, possibly, on the unusual length and solidity of theshadow that tailed away from it!

  Fortunately he advanced no further, but, turning on his heel, walkedslowly away. Just then the moon shot forth a ray of light from themidst of the cloud that had covered it, as if to cheer the fugitive onhis desperate adventure. Instead of cheering, however, it alarmed him,and expedited his movements.

  In a moment Mariano put a loop of his rope over the head and drew ittight on the spike close to the masonry. Another moment and he was overthe parapet, down the wall, and into the ditch. Here again unusualcaution was needful, but the youth's cat-like activity enabled him toovercome all obstacles. In a few minutes he was speeding over the Sahelhills in the direction of Frais Vallon.

  We need scarcely say that wind and muscle were tried to their uttermostthat night. In an incredibly short space of time he reached the gate ofthe consul's garden, which stood open, and darted in.

  Now it chanced that night that the stout British seaman, Ted Flaggan,lay in a hammock suspended between two trees in a retired part of theconsul's garden, the weather being so warm that not only he but severalof the other domestics had forsaken their dwellings during the night,and lay about the grounds in various contrivances more or lessconvenient, according to the fancy or mechanical aptitude of the makersthereof.

  Flaggan had, out of pure good-will, slung a primitive hammock similar tohis own between two trees near him for his friend Rais Ali, in which thevaliant Moor lay sound asleep, with his prominent brown nose pointingupwards to the sky, and his long brown legs hanging over the sides. Tedhimself lay in a wakeful mood. He had fought unsuccessfully for somehours against a whole army of mosquitoes, and now, having given in,allowed the savage insects to devour him unchecked.

  But the poor victim found it difficult to lie awake and suffer withoutoccupation of any kind; he therefore arose and cut from a neighbouringhedge a light reed which was long enough to reach from his own hammockto that of his friend. With the delicate end of this, while recliningat his ease, he gently tickled Rais Ali's nose.

  After making several sleepy efforts to kill the supposed insect thattroubled him, and giving vent to three or four violent sneezes, theinterpreter awoke, and, growling something in Arabic, opened his eyes,which act enabled him to observe that his neighbour was awake andsmiling at him.

  "Ha! yous not be for sleep, hey? Mos' troubelzum brutes dem muskitoes."

  "Och! it's little I mind 'em," said Flaggan.

  "W'y you no for sleep, den?" demanded Rais.

  "'Cos I likes to meditate, young man, specially w'en I've got sitch asplendid subjic' of contemplation before me as a slumberin' Moor! Won'tye go in for a little moor slumberin', eh?"

  Rais turned his back on his friend with an indignant growl. He wasevidently indisposed for jesting.

  In a few seconds, being indifferent to real mosquitoes, the Moor wasagain sound asleep. It was soon clear, however, that he was notindifferent to Ted's artificial insect. Being unable now to reach hisnose, the restless son of Erin thrust the feathery point of the reedinto his friend's ear. The result was that Rais Ali gave himself asounding slap on the side of the head, to Ted's inexpressible delight.When Rais indicated that he was "off" again, he received another touch,which resulted in a second slap and a savage growl, as the unfortunateman sat up and yawned.

  "They seems wuss than ornar," said Flaggan gravely.

  "Wuss? I nebber know'd noting wusser," replied Rais, with a look ofsleepy exasperation. "Beats ebberyting. Been five-an'-twenty 'eer inde kontry, an' _nebber_ seed de like."

  "_Seed_ the like!" echoed the seaman. "Did ye saw 'em when ye wasaslape?"

  "Feel um, then," replied the other sulkily; "yoos too purtikler."

  "Suppose we goes an' has a whiff?" suggested Flaggan, leaping to theground. "It's a fine night entirely, tho' a dark 'un. Come, I'll trateye to a taste o' me cavendish, which is better than growlin' in yerhammock at the muskaities, poor things, as don't know no better."

  Feeling that the advice was good, or perhaps tempted by the offer of a"taste" of his friend's peculiarly good tobacco, the interpreter arose,calmly made a paper cigarette, while Flaggan loaded his "cutty," andthen accompanied him in a saunter down the road leading to the gate.

  "Ally," began the seaman, making a stopper of the end of his littlefinger--"by the way, you ain't related, are you, to the famous AllyBabby as was capting of the forty thieves?"

  "No, nuffin ob de sort," replied Ali, shaking his head.

  "Well, no matter, you deserve to be; but that's neither here nor there.What I was agoing to say is, that it's my opinion that fellow SeedyHassan ain't all fair an' above board."

  Ted glanced keenly at his companion, for he had made the remark as asort of feeler.

  "W'at de matter wid um?" asked Rais carelessly.

  "Oh, nothin'--I only thought you might know somethin' about him. _I_doesn't, only I'm a dab at what's called in Ireland fizzyognomy, an? Idon't like the looks of him. Why, bless ye, I knows a feller by the cutof his jib directly. I could have taken my davy, now, that you were asly, clever sort o' chap, even before I was introduced to 'ee, d'eesee?"

  Whether he saw or not remains to this day an uncertainty, for it was atthat moment that, as before stated, Mariano rushed in at the gate, and,unintentionally, into the arms of Rais Ali, who uttered a loud cry andflung him off with a kick that unfortunately took effect on the youth'sshin.

  Supposing that he was intercepted, afraid lest his mission shouldmiscarry, and angered by the pain, Mariano lost the power ofself-restraint which he had hitherto exercised so well that night. Herushed at the interpreter and hit him a blow on the forehead that causedhim to tumble backwards violently.

  The act was scarcely done when the youth found himself in the embrace ofTed Flaggan, and, strong though he was, he found it impossible to throwoff, or to free himself from, that sturdy tar. Still he struggledfiercely, and there is no saying what might have been the result, hadnot Rais, recovering from the blow, hastened to his friend's aid.

  Between them they succeeded in securing Mariano, and, with ahandkerchief tied his hands behind him.

  "Now then, young feller," said Flaggan, taking the youth by the arm,"you'll have to go before the British couns'l an' give an account ofyerself. So come along."

  Of course when Mariano was taken into the presence of Colonel Langley,and had whispered a few words in his ear, the seaman and his friend RaisAli were dismissed with the assurance that all was right--an assur
ance,by the way, which was not quite satisfactory to the latter, when hereflected on and tenderly stroked the bump, about as large as a pigeon'segg, which ornamented the space between his eyes!

  "Never mind, Ally Babby," was his friend's consolatory remark as theyleft the house and returned to their hammocks; "it can't damage yourgood looks, an' 'll prove a mighty source of amazement to themuskaities."

  Meanwhile the consul accompanied Mariano a short way on his return totown, so that the latter might not be delayed.

  "I hope there is no fear of an outbreak occurring before I can get intotown to-morrow," said the consul, as they were about to part. "It isimpossible that I can demand an audience of the Dey before breakfastwithout creating suspicion. Tell Bacri, however, that he may depend onmy doing my utmost without delay to avert the evil. And now, how do youmean to return to him--for it occurs to me that although you may scalethe walls easily enough, you won't be able to retrace your way to thehouse of the Jew who favoured your escape?"

  "Bacri had foreseen that," replied the youth, "and has arranged to meetand guide me from a street leading south from the Bagnio, which is knownto both of us."

  "He runs great risk in doing this," said the consul; "however, he knowsthe outs and ins of the city well. Good-bye, and God speed you on yourway."

  Mariano, who was impatient to return, at once darted away like a deer,and was soon lost to view among the aloes and cactuses that clothed theslopes of the Sahel hills.

  Not long afterwards the grey light of day began to tip the domes andminarets of the pirate city, and with it began the soft hum of a generalawakening--for Mohammedans are early risers, and even pirates deemed itconsistent with their calling to commence the day with formal--not tosay ostentatious--prayers. Any one traversing the streets at that earlyhour might have seen men at the fountains busy with their prescribedablutions, while elsewhere others were standing, kneeling, orprostrating themselves, with their faces turned carefully in thedirection of Mecca, their holy city.

  It must not be supposed, however, as we have already remarked, that allthe men of the town were pirates. That the town existed by means ofpiracy, and that all its chief men from the Dey downwards were pure andsimple robbers, is quite consistent with the fact that there were manyhonest enough traders and workmen whose lot had been cast there, andwhose prayers were probably very heartfelt and genuine--some of them,perchance, being an appeal for deliverance from the wretches who ruledthem with a rod of iron--indeed, we might almost say, a rod of red-hotiron. Whatever the nature of their prayers, however, they were early inpresenting, and remarkably particular in not omitting, them.

  Down at the Marina there was a group of Christian slaves who were notbehind their task-masters in this respect. In an angle of thefortifications the Padre Giovanni was kneeling by the side of a dyingslave. The man had been crushed accidentally under a large piece of therock with which the bulwarks of the harbour were being strengthened. Hehad been carried to the spot where he lay, and would have been left todie uncared for if Blindi Bobi had not chanced to pass that way. Afteradministering such consolation as lay in a little weak wine and waterfrom his flask, the eccentric but kind-hearted man had gone off insearch of the Padre, who was always ready to hasten at a moment's noticeto minister to the necessity of slaves in sickness. Too often the goodman's services were of little avail, because the sick slaves werefrequently kept at work until the near approach of death rendered theirlabours worthless; so that, when Giovanni came to comfort them, theywere almost, if not quite, indifferent to all things.

  On the present occasion he was too late to do more than pray that thedying man might be enabled, by the Holy Spirit, to trust in thesalvation wrought out--and freely offered to sinners, even the chief--byJesus Christ.

  While the spirit of the poor slave was passing away, Sidi Omarapproached the spot. Blindi Bobi, remembering a former and somewhatsimilar occasion, at once glided behind a projection of the walls andmade off.

  "He is past your help now, Giovanni," said Omar to the old man, for whomhe, in common with nearly all the people of the town, entertained greatrespect, despite his Christianity, for the Padre had spent the greaterpart of a long life among them, in the exercise of such pure, humblephilanthropy, that even his enemies, if he had any, were at peace withhim.

  "His spirit is with God who gave it," replied the old man, rising andcontemplating sadly the poor crushed form that lay at his feet.

  "His spirit won't give us any more trouble, then," returned Omar, as heregarded the dead man with a stern glance; "he was one of the mostturbulent of our slaves."

  "And one of the most severely tried," said Giovanni, looking gently inthe face of the Minister of Marine.

  "He had all the advantages and comforts of other slaves; I know not whatyou mean by `tried,'" retorted Omar, with a grim smile.

  "He was wrenched, with his family, from home and friends and earthlyhope, twenty years ago; he saw his children perish one by one undercruel treatment; he saw his wife sold into slavery, though he did notsee her die--as I did--of a broken heart, and he suffered all thetorments that ingenuity could devise before his spirit was set free."

  Giovanni said this slowly and very gently, but two bright red spots onhis pale careworn cheeks showed that he spoke with strong emotion.

  "Well, well," returned Omar, with a sinister smile, "that gives him allthe better chance in the next life; for, according to the faith of youChristians, his sufferings here go to make weight in the matter of hissalvation. Is it not so?"

  "Men who call themselves Christians," said the Padre, "do not all holdthe same faith. There are those who appear to me to wrest Scripture totheir own destruction; they find in one part thereof a description oftrue faith as distinguished from a dead, false, or spurious faith, whichreveals its worthlessness by the absence of `works,' and, founding onthat, they refuse to accept the other portion of Scripture which saiththat `by the works of the law shall no man living be justified.' I,with many others, hold that there is no merit in our simply suffering.The sufferings and the obedience of Jesus Christ in our stead is all themerit on which we rest our hopes of salvation."

  "It may be so, Giovanni," returned Omar carelessly, "but I profess notto understand such matters. The slave is dead, and thou hast one lessto care for."

  With this sentiment, accompanied by a smile of pity and a shake of hishead, the Minister of Marine left the Padre, and directed his stepstowards the town. On his way he met the court story-teller or jester.

  "Thou art early astir, Hadji Babi," he said. "Is there aught in thewind?"

  "There is much in the wind," answered the jester gravely; "there isoxygen and nitrogen, if philosophers be right--which is an openquestion--and there is something lately discovered which they callozone. Discoveries in time past give ground for expectation ofdiscoveries in time to come. There is much in the wind, methinks."

  "True, true," rejoined Omar, with an approving nod; "and what sayestthou as to the atmosphere of the palace?"

  The jester, who had strong suspicions as to the good-faith of Omar, yetwas not sufficiently in the confidence of the Dey to know exactly howmatters stood, replied with caution--

  "It is serene, as usual; not disturbed by untoward elements, as the airof a palace ought to be."

  "That is well, Hadji Baba," returned Omar, in a confidential tone;"nevertheless thou knowest that the atmosphere in palaces is not alwaysserene.--By the way, hast seen Sidi Hamet of late?"

  "Not I," replied the other carelessly.

  "He is no friend of thine, it would seem," said Omar.

  "No," answered the jester shortly.

  "Nor of mine," added Omar.

  Each eyed the other narrowly as this was said.

  "Wouldst do him a service if you could?" asked Omar.

  "No," said Baba.

  "Nor I," returned Omar.

  "I owe service to no one save the Dey," rejoined Baba. "If it werepossible, I would for his sake put a bow-string round the neck of a
certain Aga--"

  "Ha!" interrupted Omar; "hast thou then seen aught to justify suchstrong measures? Come, Hadji Baba, thou knowest me to be thy master'strue friend. Tell me all. It shall be well for thee. It _might_ beill for thee, if thou didst decline; but fear not. I am thy friend, andthe friend of Achmet. It behoves friends to aid each other in straits."

  The jester felt that he had committed himself, but at the same timeconceived that he was justified in trusting one who had always been theintimate friend and adviser of his master. He therefore revealed allthat he knew of the plot which was hatching, and of which he knew agreat deal more than the Minister of Marine had expected, in consequenceof his having been kept well informed by a negro girl, called Zooloo,whose capacity for eavesdropping was almost equal to a certain "bird ofthe air" which has been in all ages accredited with the powers of anelectric telegraph.

  In consequence of the information thus received, Sidi Omar made instantand formidable preparations to thwart the schemes of his adversary, indoing which, of course, he found it advantageous to uphold the Dey.

  Achmet also made energetic preparations to defend himself, and was quitecool and collected when, about the usual breakfast hour, he received theBritish consul, and thanked him for the timely warning which he brought.

  But the precautions of both were in vain, for Sidi Hamet was a man ofvigour beyond his fellows.

  Suddenly, when all seemed profoundly peaceful, some of his followersrushed upon the palace guards, disarmed them, and hauled down thestandard. At the same hour--previously fixed--the port, the casba, andthe gates of the city were surprised and taken. The lieutenantsemployed to accomplish these feats at once announced that Sidi Hamet wasabout to become Dey of Algiers, in proof whereof they pointed to thenaked flag-staff of the palace.

  The janissaries, most of whom were indifferent as to who should rule, atonce sided with the insurrectionists. Those who favoured Sidi Omar werecowed, and obliged to follow suit, though some of them--especially thoseat the Marina--held out for a time.

  And now the reign of anarchy began. Knowing that, for a few hours, thecity was destitute of a head, the rude Turkish soldiery took the lawinto their own hands, and indulged in every excess of riot, entering thehouses of Jews and Moors by force, and ransacking them for hiddentreasure. Of course, Sidi Hamet attempted to fulfil his engagement withBacri, by placing guards over the houses of the more wealthy Jews, aswell as giving orders to the troops not to molest them. But, like manyother reckless men, he found himself incapable of controlling the forceswhich he had set in motion.

  Many of the Jews, expecting this, had sought refuge in the houses oftheir friends, and in the British consulate, where the consul, findinghimself, as it were, caught and involved in the insurrection, deemed itwise to remain for a time.