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

the Algerines are carried on, and putting off to sea without provisions,--with the certainty of being pursued, and the all but certainty of being overtaken."

"Such risks are better than death or slavery," answered Francisco. "We think not of danger. The only thing that gives me concern is how we are to get my poor son out of the Bagnio."

"I will manage that for you," said Bacri, "for my gold is at least powerful with menials; but in order to do this I shall have to leave the house for a time and must conceal you in a cellar."

"Do as you will, Bacri," said Francisco; "we are in your hands and place implicit confidence in you."

"Well, follow me!" said the Jew.

Rising and leaving the skiffa, he conducted them down a staircase into a small cellar, which was almost too low to admit of their standing erect. Here he pointed out a shelf on which were a pot of water and a loaf, also a bundle of straw on which they might rest when so disposed. Having described carefully to them the manner of Mariano's escape over the roof of the house and by the city wall, and having given them the rope that had been used on that occasion, he said--

"Now I leave you. I must lock the trap-door that leads to this dungeon, and carry away the key, because if rioters were to break in and find the key in it, they would at once discover your refuge."

"And what if you be killed, Bacri, and we be left here without a soul in the world who knows of our whereabouts?" said Francisco, with a look of anxiety. "I'd rather be bastinadoed to death than be buried alive after all."

"If it goes ill with me, as may well be the case," answered the Jew, "you have only to make use of this crowbar and wrench off the lock of the door. But if rioters enter the house, be careful not to do it until some time after they are gone, and all is quiet. When free, you must use your own wisdom and discretion.--Farewell!"

Bacri ascended the trap-ladder and shut the door, leaving his friends in darkness which was made visible but not dispelled by a small lantern. They listened intently to his receding footsteps until the last faint echo left them in total silence.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.


FRANCISCO AND HIS SON IN DANGER.

For several hours Francisco and his son sat on the bundle of straw listening intently to every sound, being naturally filled with anxiety as to the success of Bacri in his efforts to aid Mariano. At last they heard a loud knocking at the street door, which, after being repeated impatiently once or twice, was followed by a thunderous noise, as if the house were being entered by violence.

"The janissaries have returned," said Francisco, with a serious look.

"We had better put out the light," suggested Lucien, as a crashing sound announced the bursting in of the door.

"Do, lad.--Stay, let me get hold of this crowbar; it is better than nothing if it comes to--. Now, out with it!"

A moment more and they were in total darkness, while the trampling of feet overhead and the shouts of many voices told that the mob had entered the Jew's dwelling.

Every moment the two prisoners expected to see the trap-door of their retreat wrenched open, but no one seemed to have discovered it, and they were beginning to breathe more freely, and to hope that they should escape, when there came a sudden and violent stamping just overhead. Then there was a sound of breaking timber, and presently the edge of the trap-door began to lift and creak under the pressure of some powerful instrument. Another moment and it flew open and a man looked in, but of course could see nothing. Descending the steps, he called loudly for a light, and one of his comrades brought a lantern, with which he was about to descend, but, missing his footstep, he fell to the ground and extinguished it.

At that moment Lucien and his father drew back into the darkest part of the cellar, in the shadow of a small projection.

"Fetch another light!" shouted the soldiers.

"Now's our time," whispered Lucien, grasping his scimitar and preparing for a dash.

"Not yet," replied his father, laying a strong grasp on his arm.

It was well that Lucien was restrained, for, while the soldiers were clamouring for a light, their comrades above gave a shout as though something new and surprising had been discovered. Full of curiosity, the soldiers in the cellar darted out.

"Now!" whispered Francisco.

Lucien at once sprang up the ladder, but looked out cautiously; for the sudden change in the sounds above apprised him that the robbers had left the apartment.

He saw them busy ransacking a cupboard in which the Jew had placed a large quantity of plate, a little of which was solid, and a large portion showy, but comparatively valueless. It had been arranged by him in such a way as to make a superb show of wealth, in the hope that it might tempt any who should take a fancy to rob his house to expend much of their labour and energy on that horde, thereby creating an important diversion from much more valuable deposits made elsewhere.

So busy were the plunderers that they left the room above the cellar quite unguarded.

"The coast is clear," whispered Lucien, looking back. "We must act out our part of janissary and slave, father. Quick! Shoulder this small chest."

Francisco obeyed almost mechanically, laid down the crowbar, threw a light chest that chanced to be near at hand on his shoulder, and followed his son silently up the staircase to the entrance-hall of the house, where they found two janissaries guarding the door.

"Pretend to stumble, father," whispered Lucien, on observing 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,"