The Middy and the Moors: An Algerine Story by R. M. Ballantyne (lightest ebook reader txt) đź“•
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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“H’m! That will do for to-day. You may return to your painting in the garden. It will, perhaps, cure your cold. Go!” he added, turning to Hester, who immediately rose, pushed the paper under the cushion on which she had been sitting, and left the room with her eyes fixed on the ground.
As the cat watches the mouse, Foster had watched the girl’s every movement while he bent over his paint-box. He saw where she put the paper. In conveying his materials from the room, strange to say, he slipped on the marble floor, close to the cushion, secured the paper as he rose, and, picking up his scattered things with an air of self-condemnation, retired humbly—yet elated—from the presence-chamber.
Need we say that in the first convenient spot he could find he eagerly unrolled the paper, and read—
“I am lost! Oh, save me! Osman has come! I have seen him! Hateful! He comes to-morrow to—”
The writing ended abruptly.
“My hideous sneeze did that!” growled Foster savagely. “But if I had been a moment later Ben-Ahmed might have—well, well; no matter. She must be saved. She shall be saved!”
Having said this, clenched his teeth and hands, and glared, he began to wonder how she was to be saved. Not being able to arrive at any conclusion on this point, he went off in search of his friend Peter the Great.
He found that worthy man busy mending a rake in a tool-house, and in a few eager words explained how matters stood. At first the negro listened with his wonted, cheerful smile and helpful look, which hitherto had been a sort of beacon-light to the poor midshipman in his troubles, but when he came to the piece of paper and read its contents the smile vanished.
“Osman home!” he said. “If Osman come back it’s a black look-out for poor Hester! And the paper says to-morrow,” cried Foster; “to take her away and marry her, no doubt. Peter, I tell you, she must be saved to-night! You and I must save her. If you won’t aid me I will do it alone—or die in the attempt.”
“Geo’ge, if you was to die a t’ousan’ times dat wouldn’t sabe her. You know de Kasba?”
“Yes, yes—go on!”
“Well, if you was to take dat on your shoulders an’ pitch ’im into de sea, dat wouldn’t sabe her.”
“Yes it would, you faint-hearted nigger!” cried the middy, losing all patience, “for if I could do that I’d be able to wring the neck of every pirate in Algiers—and I’d do it too!”
“Now, Geo’ge, keep cool. I’s on’y p’intin’ out what you can’t do; but p’r’aps somet’ing may be done. Yes,” (he struck his forehead with his fist, as if to clinch a new idea),—“yes, I knows! I’s hit it!”
“What!” cried Foster eagerly.
“Dat you’s got nuffin to do wid,” returned the negro decisively. “You must know not’ing, understand not’ing, hear an’ see not’ing, for if you do you’ll be whacked to deaf. Bery likely you’ll be whacked anyhow, but dat not so bad. You must just shut your eyes an’ mout’ an’ trust all to me. You understand, Geo’ge?”
“I think I do,” said the relieved middy, seizing the negro’s right hand and wringing it gratefully. “Bless your black face! I trust you from the bottom of my soul.”
It was, indeed, a source of immense relief to poor Foster that his friend not only took up the matter with energy, but spoke in such a cheery, hopeful tone, for the more he thought of the subject the more hopeless did the case of poor Hester Sommers appear. He could of course die for her—and would, if need were—but this thought was always followed by the depressing question, “What good would that do to her?”
Two hours after the foregoing conversation occurred Peter the Great was seated in a dark little back court in a low coffee-house in one of the darkest, narrowest, and most intricate streets of Algiers. He sat on an empty packing-box. In front of him was seated a stout negress, in whom an Ethiopian might have traced some family likeness to Peter himself.
“Now, Dinah,” said he, continuing an earnest conversation which had already lasted for some time, “you understand de case properly—eh?”
“Ob course I does,” said Dinah.
“Well, den, you must go about it at once. Not a minute to lose. You’ll find me at de gardin door. I’ll let you in. You know who you’s got to sabe, an’ you must find out your own way to sabe her, an’—now, hol’ your tongue! You’s just a-goin’ to speak—I must know nuffin’. Don’ tell me one word about it. You’s a cleber woman, Dinah.”
“Yes, my brudder. I wasn’t born yesterday—no, nor yet the day before.”
“An’, Samson, will you trust him?”
“My husband is as good as gold. I trust him wid eberyt’ing!” replied this pattern wife.
“An’ Youssef—what ob him?”
“He’s more’n t’ree quarters blind. Kin see not’ing, an’ understan’s less.”
“Dinah, you’s a good woman,” remarked her appreciative brother, as he rose to depart. “Now, remember, dis am de most important job you an’ I hab had to do since we was took by de pirits out ob de same ship. An’ I do t’ink de Lord hab bin bery good to us, for He’s gi’n us good massas at last, though we had some roughish ones at fust. Foller me as quick as you can.”
Dinah, being a warm-hearted woman, and very sympathetic, did not waste time. She reached Ben-Ahmed’s villa only half an hour later than her brother, with a basket of groceries and other provisions that Peter had purchased in town. Peter took care that the young negress, whom we have already introduced as an attendant in the house, should be sent to receive the basket, and Dinah took care that she should not return to the house until she had received a bouquet of flowers to present to the young English girl in the harem. Inside of this bouquet was a little note written by Peter. It ran thus—
“Tri an git owt to de gardin soons yoo kan.”
When Hester Sommers discovered this note, the first ray of hope entered into her fluttering heart, and she resolved to profit by it.
Meanwhile, Dinah, instead of quitting the place after delivering her basket, hid herself in the shrubbery. It was growing dark by that time, and Peter made a noisy demonstration of sending one of the slaves to see that the garden gate was locked for the night. Thereafter he remained all the rest of the evening in his own apartments in pretty loud conversation with the slaves.
Suddenly there was a cry raised, and several slaves belonging to the inner household rushed into the outer house with glaring eyes, shouting that the English girl could not be found.
“Not in de house?” cried Peter, starting up in wild excitement.
“No—nowhar in de house!”
“To de gardin, quick!” shouted Peter, leading the way, while Ben-Ahmed himself, with undignified haste, joined in the pursuit.
Lanterns were lighted, and were soon flitting like fireflies all over the garden, but no trace of the fugitive was found. Peter entered into the search with profound interest, being as yet utterly ignorant of the method of escape devised by his sister. Suddenly one of the slaves discovered it. A pile of empty casks, laid against the wall in the form of a giant staircase, showed how Hester had climbed, and a crushed bush on the other side testified to her mode of descent.
Ben-Ahmed and Peter ran up to the spot together. “Dey can’t hab gone far, massa. You want de horses, eh?” asked the latter.
“Yes. Two horses, quick!”
Peter went off to the stables in hot haste, remarking as he ran—
“What a hyperkrite I is, to be sure!”
Long before their flight was discovered Hester Sommers and Dinah had penetrated into a dense thicket, where the negress proceeded to produce a wonderful metamorphosis.
“Now, my dear,” she said, hastily undoing a large bundle which she carried, while Hester, panting and terrified, sat down on the grass beside her, “don’t you be frighted. I’s your fri’nd. I’s Dinah, de sister ob Peter de Great, an’ de fri’nd also ob Geo’ge. So you make your mind easy.”
“My mind is quite easy,” said Hester; “and even if you were not Peter’s sister, I’d trust you, because of the tone of your kind voice. But who is Geo’ge?”
Dinah opened her eyes very wide at this question, for Peter had already enlightened her mind a little as to the middy’s feelings towards Hester.
“You not know Geo’ge?” she asked.
“Never heard of him before, Dinah.”
“Geo’ge Foster?”
“Oh, I understand! It was your way of pronouncing his name that puzzled me,” returned the girl, with a faint smile. “I’m glad you are his friend, too, poor fellow!”
“Well, you is a babby!” exclaimed Dinah, who had been mixing up what appeared to be black paint in a wooden bowl. “Now, look yar, don’t you be frighted. It’s a matter ob life an’ deaf, you know, but I’s your fri’nd! Jest you do zackly what I tells you.”
“Yes, Dinah,” said Hester, alarmed, notwithstanding, by the earnestness and solemnity of her new friend, “what am I to do?”
“You come yar, an’ don’t moob whateber I does to you. Dere, I’s goin’ to make you a nigger!”
She applied a large brush to Hester’s forehead, and drew it thence down her left cheek, under her chin, up the right cheek, and back to the starting point, thus producing a black band or circle two inches broad.
“Now shut your bootiful eyes,” she said, and proceeded to fill up the circle.
In a quarter of an hour Hester was as black as the ace of spades—neck, hands, and arms, as well as face—her fair hair was effectually covered and concealed by a cotton kerchief, and then her dress was changed for the characteristic costume of negro women.
“Now your own mudder wouldn’t know you,” said Dinah, stepping back to survey her work, and, strange to say, putting her black head quite artistically a little on one side. “You’s a’most as good-lookin’ as myself—if you was on’y a little fatter. Now, mind, you’s a dumb gal! Can’t speak a word. Don’t forgit dat. An’ your name’s Geo’giana. Come along.”
Leaving her fine clothes concealed in a deep hole, Hester followed her companion as fast as she could. On returning to the road Dinah took her friend by the hand and helped her to run for a considerable distance. Then they walked, and then ran again, until poor Hester was almost exhausted.
Resuming their walk after a short rest, they gained the main road and met with several people, who paid no attention to them whatever, much to Hester’s relief, for she had made sure of being detected. At last they reached the city gate, which was still open, as the sun had not yet set. Passing through unchallenged, Dinah at once dived into a maze of narrow streets, and, for the first time since starting, felt comparatively safe.
Fortunately for the success of their enterprise, the negress costume fitted loosely, so that the elegance of Hester’s form was not revealed, and her exhaustion helped to damage the grace of her carriage!
“Now, dearie, you come in yar an’ rest a bit,” said Dinah, turning into a dark cellar-like hole, from which issued both sounds and smells that were not agreeable. It was the abode of one of Dinah’s friends—also a negress—who received her with effusive goodwill.
Retiring to the coal-hole—or some such dark receptacle—Dinah held her friend in conversation for about a quarter of an hour, during which time several hearty Ethiopian chuckles were heard to burst forth. Then, returning to the cellar, Dinah introduced her friend to Hester as Missis Lilly, and Hester to Missis Lilly as Miss Geo’giana.
Wondering why her friend had selected for her the name—if she remembered rightly—of one of Blue Beard’s wives, Hester bowed, and was about to speak when
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