The Pirate City by Robert Michael Ballantyne (suggested reading TXT) 📕

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Castello instantly kneeled by his side and raised his head.

"Ten of us," he said quickly, "intend to make a dash for the Bab-el-Oued gate on the way back to-night: join us. It's neck or nothing."

"I will, if my father agrees," said Mariano, still lying with closed eyes--unconscious!

"If he does, pull your hat on one side of your head as you--" A tremendous lash from a whip cut short the sentence, and caused Castello to spring up. "Rise, you dog!" cried the Turk who had bestowed it; "are Christians so delicate that they need to be nursed for every fall?"

Castello hurried back to his work without a word of reply, and Mariano, opportunely recovering, with a view to avoid a similar cut, staggered on with his stone; but the Turk quickened his movements by a sharp flip on the shoulder, which cut a hole in his shirt, and left a bright mark on his skin.

For one moment the gush of the old fierce spirit almost overcame the poor youth, but sudden reflection and certain tender sensations about the soles of his feet came to his aid, in time to prevent a catastrophe.

When the slaves were collecting together that evening on the breakwater, Mariano managed to get alongside of his father, who at first was very unwilling to run the risk proposed.

"It's not that I'm afraid o' my neck, lad," said the bluff merchant, "but I fear there is no chance for us, and they might visit their wrath on poor Lucien."

"No fear, father; I am convinced that the Dey has already found out his value. Besides, if we escape we shall be able to raise funds to ransom him."

Francisco shook his head.

"And what," said he, "are we to do when we get clear out of the Bab-el-Oued gate, supposing we are so far lucky?"

"Scatter, and make for the head of Frais Vallon," whispered Castello as he passed. "A boat waits at Barbarossa's Tower. Our signal is--"

Here the Portuguese gave a peculiar whistle, which was too low to be heard by the guards, who were busy marshalling the gang.

"You'll agree, father?" urged Mariano, entreatingly.

The merchant replied by a stern "Yes" as the gang was ordered to move on.

Mariano instantly gave his straw hat a tremendous pull to one side, and walked along with a glow of enthusiasm in his countenance. One of the guards, noting this, stepped forward and walked beside him.

"So much the better," thought Mariano; "there will be no time lost when we grapple."

Traversing the passages of the mole, the gang passed into the town, and commenced to thread those narrow streets which, to the present day, spread in a labyrinth between the port and Bab-el-Oued.

As they passed through one of those streets which, being less frequented than most of the others, was unusually quiet, a low hiss was heard.

At the moment Mariano chanced to be passing an open doorway which led, by a flight of stairs, into a dark cellar. Without an instant's hesitation he tripped up his guard and hurled him headlong into the cellar, where, to judge from the sounds, he fell among crockery and tin pans. At the same moment, Francisco hit a guard beside him such a blow on the chest with his fist, as laid him quite helpless on the ground.

The other ten, who had been selected and let into the intended plot by Castello on account of their superior physical powers, succeeded in knocking down the guards in their immediate neighbourhood, and then all of them dashed with headlong speed along the winding street.

There were one or two passengers and a few small shops in the street, but the thing had been done so suddenly and with so little noise, that the passengers and owners of the shops were not aware of what had occurred until they beheld the twelve captives rush past them like a torrent--each seizing, as he passed, a broom-handle, or any piece of timber that might form a handy weapon.

Of course the other guards, and such of the maltreated ones as retained consciousness, shouted loudly, but they did not dare to give chase, lest the other slaves should take it into their heads to follow their comrades. Poor creatures! most of them were incapable of making such an effort, and the few who might have joined had they known of the plot, saw that it was too late, and remained still.

Thus it happened that the fugitives reached the northern gate of the city before the alarm had been conveyed thither.

The sun had just set, and the warders were about to close the gates for the night, when the desperadoes, bursting suddenly round the corner of a neighbouring lane, bounded in perfect silence through the archway.

The sentinel on duty was for a few moments bereft of the power of action. Recovering himself, he discharged his musket, and gave the alarm. The whole guard turned out at once and gave chase, but the few moments lost by them had been well used by the fugitives; besides, Despair, Terror, and Hope are powerful stimulators. After running a short time together up the steep ascent of the Frais Vallon, or Fresh Valley, they scattered, according to arrangement, and each man shifted for himself--with the single exception of Mariano, who would not leave his father.

Seeing this, the Turks also scattered, but in this condition they began to waver--all the more that the short twilight of those regions was rapidly deepening into night. They reflected that the guarding of their gate was a prior duty to the hunting down of runaway slaves, and, one by one, dropped off, each supposing that the others would, no doubt, go on, so that the officer of the guard soon found himself alone with only one of his men.

Having observed that two of the fugitives kept together, these Turks resolved to keep them in view. This was not difficult, for they were both young and active, while Francisco was middle-aged and rather heavy.

"Stay a moment, boy," cried the bluff padrone, as they tolled up the rather steep ascent of the valley.

Mariano stopped.

"Come on, father; they are overhauling us."

"I know it, boy," said Francisco, taking Mariano by the shoulders and kissing his forehead. "Go thou; run! It is all over with me. God bless thee, my son."

"Father," said the youth impressively, grasping a mass of timber which he had wrenched from a shop front in passing, "if you love me, keep moving on, I will stop these two, or--Farewell!"

Without waiting for a reply, the youth rushed impetuously down the hill, and was soon engaged in combat with the two Turks.

"Foolish boy!" muttered Francisco, hastening after him.

Mariano made short work of the soldier, hitting him such a blow on the turban that he fell as if he had been struck by a sledge-hammer. Unfortunately the blow also split up the piece of timber, and broke it short off at his hands. He was therefore at the mercy of the young officer, who, seeing the approach of Francisco, rushed swiftly at his foe, whirling a keen scimitar over his head.

Mariano's great activity enabled him to avoid the first cut, and he was about to make a desperate attempt to close, when a large stone whizzed past his ear and hit his adversary full on the chest, sending him over on his back.

"Well aimed, father!" exclaimed Mariano, as the two turned and continued the ascent of the valley.

At its head Frais Vallon narrows into a rugged gorge, and is finally lost in the summit of the hills lying to the northward of Algiers. Here the panting pair arrived in half-an-hour, and here they found that all their comrades had arrived before them.

"Friends," said Castello, who was tacitly regarded as the leader of the party, "we have got thus far in safety, thank God! We must now make haste to Pointe Pescade. It lies about three or four miles along the shore. There a negro friend of mine has a boat in readiness. He told me of it only an hour before I spoke to you to-night. If we reach it and get off to sea, we may escape; if not, we can but die! Follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, Castello ran swiftly along a foot-path that crossed over the hills, and soon led his party down towards that wild and rocky part of the coast on which stand the ruins of a fort, said to have been the stronghold of the famous pirate Barbarossa in days of old.


CHAPTER ELEVEN.


IS DIPLOMATIC AND OTHERWISE.

Just after the escape of the slaves, as already narrated, the British consul demanded a private audience of the Dey. His request was granted, and one morning early he set off on horseback to the city. Arriving there too soon, he put up his horse, and, threading his way through the streets of the old town, soon found himself in front of the small and unpretending, though massive, portal of Bacri the Jew.

He found the master of the house seated in the central court, or skiffa, drinking coffee with his wife and children.

"Bacri," said the Colonel, "may I venture to interrupt your present agreeable occupation? I wish to have a talk with you in private."

"With pleasure," replied the Jew, rising and ushering his visitor into a small apartment, the peculiar arrangement and contents of which betokened it the wealthy merchant's study or office,--indeed, it might have been styled either with equal propriety, for Bacri, besides being an able man of business, was learned in Arabic literature--of which the town possessed, and still possesses, a valuable library,--and was a diligent student of the Hebrew Scriptures.

"You are aware," said the Colonel, "that I am, at your request, about to use my influence with the Dey in behalf of certain friends of yours. Now, there is an old saying--and I have great respect for many old sayings,--that `one good turn deserves another.' May I, then, ask you to do me a favour?"

"Certainly," said the Jew. "Name it."

"You must know, then, that the Dey has been pleased to send me a pretty Portuguese girl as a slave, along with her infant child."

"I know it," said Bacri.

"You do? Well, this poor girl turns out to be a very sweet creature, and my wife, although somewhat annoyed at first by the unexpected gift, and puzzled what to do with her, is now so fond of her, and finds her so gentle as well as useful, that she has set her heart on having Paulina Ruffini--that is her name--freed and sent home. This, however, is not the point. Paulina has a sister named--"

"Angela Diego," interrupted the Jew.

"Oh! you know that too?" said the Colonel, with some surprise. "You seem to know everything that goes on in this curious city! Indeed, it is a belief in this general knowledge of yours that brings me here. Well, poor Paulina is naturally in great anxiety about her sister's fate, not having heard of her since the day they were cruelly separated by Sidi Hassan. The latter is now my janissary, and tells me that he sold Angela to a Jew in the public market, and