The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale by R. M. Ballantyne (best novels ever .txt) 📕

them.

Francisco not only pretended to, but, in his zealous obedience, actually did stumble with such good will that he fell with a heavy crash on the marble pavement, sending the chest violently out at the door into the street, much to the amusement of the two sentinels.

“Scoundrel!” cried Lucien furiously, in Turkish, at the same time flourishing his scimitar and bestowing on his submissive parent a most unmerciful kick. “Up, out with you, and shoulder it! See that you mind your feet better, else the bastinado shall make them tingle!”

He brushed so savagely past the sentinels that they had not time to stop him, even if so disposed, then turning suddenly back, said—

“Your lantern, friend; one will serve you well enough, and I shall need the other with so awkward a slave.”

“Here it is, comrade,” replied the man; “but who and what hast thou got there?”

“Waste not your time in questions,” said Lucien hastily; “they have discovered heavy treasure inside, and require the aid of one of you. Surely it needs not two to guard a Jew’s door!”

He hurried off without awaiting a reply.

In perfect silence they traversed several narrow streets without meeting any one. It was nearly dark at the time, and it was evident that the rioters had been restrained by the new Dey, for their shouts were now heard in only two or three of the main thoroughfares.

During his service as scribe to Achmet, Lucien had visited all parts of the town, and was familiar with its main outlines, if not with its details. He therefore knew how to avoid the frequented parts, and yet take a pretty direct course for Bab-Azoun. But he was sorely perplexed as to how he should now act, for it was much too early in the night to make an attempt to get over the city walls.

In this dilemma he retired into the deep shadow of an old doorway, and covered up the lantern, while he held a whispered consultation with his father.

“It seems to me, my son,” said Francisco, sitting down on the chest which he had hitherto carried, “that we have only got out of the frying-pan into the fire; for it is not reason to expect that all the janissaries we chance to meet will let us pass without question, and I fear that you have no sufficient ground of excuse for wandering about the city at such hours in disturbed times in charge of a slave on whose countenance submission sits with so bad a grace.”

“True, father,” answered Lucien, much perplexed; “perhaps it would be well to remain where we are till a later hour. If any one seeks to enter this dismal staircase, we can easily avoid observation by getting into one of its dark corners, and—”

He was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and immediately retired with his father into one of the corners referred to.

“It is only two streets further on,” said a low voice, which sounded familiar in the ears of the listeners. “There you shall be safe, for Jacob Mordecai is a trusty friend, and I will go see how it fares with our—”

“’Tis Bacri,” whispered Lucien, as the voice died away in the distance.

“We must not lose sight of him,” said Francisco, darting out.

Lucien outran his father, and quickly overtook Bacri and another man, who was completely enveloped in the folds of a burnous, such as was then, and still is, worn by the Bedouin Arabs.

On hearing the footsteps in pursuit, Bacri and his companion had commenced to run, but perceiving that only two men followed them, they turned and stood in an attitude of defence. He who wore the burnous flung back the hood, and, freeing his sword-arm from its folds, displayed to the astonished gaze of Lucien and Francisco the face and form of Mariano.

“Father!” he exclaimed; “Lucien!”

“Mariano!” cried Francisco, throwing his arms round his younger son and giving him a hearty kiss on each cheek.

“Hist! be quiet,” said Bacri, seizing Francisco by the arm in his powerful grasp and dragging him along.

The interference of the Jew was not a moment too soon, for several soldiers who were patrolling the streets at the time overheard the sound of their voices and hurried towards them.

They ran now, in good earnest, and quickly reached the door of Jacob Mordecai’s house, which Bacri opened with a key, and shut gently after letting his friends pass, so that the soldiers lost sight of them as if by a magical disappearance.

“Your house is plundered,” said Francisco to Bacri, after Jacob Mordecai had conducted them to the skiffa of his dwelling.

“I guessed as much. But how came you to escape?” asked Bacri.

Lucien related the circumstances of their escape, while his father dipped his head in the fountain, for the purpose, as he remarked, of cooling his brains.

“And what is now to be done?” asked Mariano, with a look of perplexity. “Bacri has been kind enough to get me out of that horrible Bagnio just in time to save me from torture of some sort; but here we are in the heart of a city in a state of insurrection, with almost every street-corner guarded, and bands of men, that appear to me to be devils in turbans, going about seeking for subjects on whom to exercise their skill.”

“The insurrection is over—at least this one is over,” said Jacob Mordecai sadly, “though it may well be that another insurrection shall follow close on its heels; but it is probable that there will be some degree of peace now for a time, and the guarded condition of the town will favour your escape.”

“How so, Signor Mordecai?” asked Francisco; “it has hitherto been my belief as well as experience that a town in a state of siege was the reverse of favourable to anything implying freedom of action.”

“Thou art right, friend,” returned Jacob, with a smile, “and that absence of freedom will keep the streets clear of all who might otherwise interrupt thee, while, as to the guarded corners, my brother Bacri knows a variety of passages above and under ground, through which he will guide you past them to the city wall.”

“Then let us be gone without delay,” urged Francisco, “for, good sirs, my neck has for some time past felt sundry twinges, as though the bow-string were already around it.”

“Half an hour must elapse ere we can venture forth with safety,” said Bacri. “’Tis well that you have brought the knotted rope with you. Mariano knows how to use it. He will explain the mode of escape which you must follow, while I hold private converse with my brother.”

So saying the kindly Jew bowed his tall form to his friends with the air of a king, and accompanied Jacob Mordecai into an inner room.

At the end of the time specified—which had appeared an age to the impatient trio—Bacri returned to the skiffa with two coarse burnouses similar to the one worn by Mariano. He directed Francisco and Lucien to put these on, after exchanging their varied habiliments for the jacket, short drawers, and red fez or cap, worn by Moors of the middle class. He then produced some brown ochre, with which he stained their hands and their legs below the knee—these latter parts being usually uncovered in Moors who did not belong to the wealthy classes.

“Why not paint our faces too?” asked Mariano, amused at the figure they cut, despite the dangers which rendered the disguise necessary.

“Because neither the painting of your faces,” replied Bacri, “nor the shaving of your heads—which latter would be essential to the converting of you into genuine Moors—would constitute any disguise were your voices to be heard or your features to be scrutinised. You must be careful to pull the hoods of your burnouses well forward on your faces. All that you can hope to gain by your costume is to avoid attracting the attention of any whom you should chance to meet, or whom you may have to pass at a distance. If any one speaks to you after you reach the open country, refuse to answer. If he should insist on it, you must either run or fight, for which latter purpose I provide you with these short swords, which you will find better suited to your hands than the curved weapons of the Turks.”

“Signor Bacri,” said Francisco, examining the straight short weapon handed to him, “I thank thee for all thy kindness to me and my boys—especially for these swords, for assuredly unless thou canst also furnish me with a pair of young and active legs, I am like to have more of fighting than running hereafter. However, let us not waste more time in speech, for, as I have said, my neck already itches most uncomfortably.”

In deference to Francisco’s anxiety to be out of the city, which he was wont to style with great emphasis the Pirates’ Nest, Bacri hastened his preparations, and soon led them to the roof of the house of Jacob Mordecai, from which they scrambled to that of a friendly neighbour, and crossed over, with the care of burglars and the quiet steps of cats, to the other side. Here a difficulty met them, in the shape of a leap which was too long for Francisco’s heavy person to venture.

He might, indeed, have taken it with ease on level ground and in daylight; but, like his son Mariano on a somewhat similar occasion, he felt it difficult to screw up his courage to the point of springing across a black chasm, which he was aware descended some forty or fifty feet to the causeway of the street, and the opposite parapet, on which he was expected to alight like, a bird, appeared dim and ghostly in the uncertain light.

Twice did the courageous man bend himself to the leap, while the blood rushed with apoplectic violence to his bald head; and twice did his spirit fail him at the moment of need!

“Oh, Bacri!” he said in a hoarse whisper, wiping the perspiration from his brow, as he stood on the giddy height, “if there were only a damsel in distress on the opposite side, or a legion of Turks defying me to come on, I could go over, methinks, like a rocket, but to be required to leap in cold blood upon next to nothing over an unfathomable abyss, really—. Hast never a morsel of plank about thee, Jacob?”

Fortunately for all parties, Jacob had a flower stand on his roof, to which he returned with Mariano, who wrenched a plank therefrom, and brought it to the point of difficulty.

After this they met with no serious obstruction. Sometimes descending below the streets and passing through cellars, at others crossing roofs or gliding along the darkest sides of dark walls and passages, they traversed the town without being challenged, and gained the southern wall near the point at which Mariano had crossed it on a former occasion.

Here the Jew bade them God-speed, and left them.

“I hope thou art sure of the road, Mariano?” said Francisco anxiously.

“Trust me, father; I know it well. Only have a care that you tread lightly and make no noise.—Come.”

Leading them to the point on the ramparts where poor Castello’s head still stood withering in the night-wind, Mariano bade them remain in shadow while he attached the rope to the spike.

The sentinel could be dimly seen, for there was no moon, pacing to and fro within two hundred yards of them. They watched and lay still while he sauntered towards them, and glided noiselessly and quickly to the rope while his back was turned.

Thus one by one they descended the wall, crossed the ditch, ascended the slope on the other side, without having been observed, and, ere long, were safe among the rocks and fastnesses of the Sahel hills.