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

quickly sank into comparative insignificance.

Some of the other creatures referred to gave him a little uneasiness by their curiosity and desire to claim acquaintance, if not kindred, with him, but by humouring some, frightening others, running away from several, and tumbling a few into the bushes, he managed to push through the crowd of domestics unrecognised, and made his way into the outer lobby of the mansion.

Here, seated under the shadow of a Moorish arch way, drinking lemonade, in default, as he said, of better tipple, Ted resolved to bide his time, but his time seemed rather long of coming. He therefore boldly entered the magnificent skiffa in search of Colonel Langley.

His appearance was greeted with a shout of delight by several children who were present, and the French consul, willing to amuse them, went up, and, shaking hands with the boar, begged of him to join in the dance.

Poor Ted would have given anything to have known what was said to him, but, being utterly ignorant of French, shook his head and bowed with an air of profound respect, which piece of politeness caused his short and rather ill-fitting tail to stick straight up in the air for a moment, and drew roars of laughter from the company.

“Dansez, dansez-vous,” said the Frenchman, with more emphasis.

“Och! it’s that ye want, is it?” said Ted, much relieved; “sure I’ll do it with all the pleasure in life.—Clear the deck, boys!”

And without more ado the lively tar began to whistle a sailor’s hornpipe, and to dance the same with an amount of vigorous dexterity that had in former years made him the favourite of the forecastle.

The surprise soon merged into admiration, for our hero danced exceedingly well, and all eyes were attracted to him. Among others the British consul came forward to look on with much interest and curiosity, for his ear was perhaps the only one present to which the tune whistled was familiar.

Dancing close up to him, Ted Flaggan suddenly slipped, and, staggering as if about to fall, flung his arm over the consul’s shoulder.

“Take care!” said the latter, catching him.

“Och!” gasped Ted, sinking down and almost dragging the other after him, “spake to me av ye love me.”

Amazed by this tender appeal, and suddenly suspecting the personality of the boar, the consul bent down while the rest of the onlookers crowded round,—and said in a low voice—

“Why, Flag—”

“Whist! whist! blood an thunder! it’ll rain scimitars an’ grape-shot av ye say a word! Mate me in the gardin’ dear, under the palm.”

This was said in the midst of a writhing and growling which would have done credit to a lunatic boar, if such there were!

“Not hurt, I hope?” said the French consul, coming forward.

“Not at all,” replied Colonel Langley, rising with a smile, “the fellow is one of my domestics, and has almost over-acted his part. He will be all right in a minute if some one will be kind enough to fetch him a glass of water—”

“An’ brandy, ochone!” exclaimed the boar, with another tremendous growl, that again sent the children into shouts of delight.

The brandy and water was brought, and Ted making a polite bow to the company, passed down the room with a slight tremor of the hornpipe in his legs, and a faint trill of the tune on his lips, both of which melted gradually into a boarish grunt and roll as he reached the lobby and passed out into the garden.

Hastening to a stately date-palm, of which there happened to be only one specimen in the garden of the French residence, the heated seaman pushed off his head, wiped his brow, drank the brandy and water, and threw away the tumbler, after which he sat down on a root, mechanically pulled out his pipe, and was in the act of filling it when Colonel Langley came hurriedly forwards.

“Why, Flaggan,” he asked, “what’s wrong? for something must be, to induce your strange conduct.”

“Lord Exmouth, sir,” replied Ted, rising up with an air of dignified importance which the elevated snout of the boar tended sadly to impair, “is in the offing with fifty sail o’ the line, more or less, comin’ to blow this precious city into the middle of next week.”

“Come, Flaggan, let us have it without jesting,” said the consul gravely.

Thereupon Ted related in as serious a tone as it was possible for him to assume all that had been told by the Padre Giovanni.

“Our position will indeed be critical if this be true,” muttered the consul, with a look of anxiety. “Omar is a man who fears nothing, and has unbounded faith in his men and fortifications. Moreover, he is utterly regardless of consequences, and has no mercy when once roused. My poor defenceless wife and children!—if—”

“You may depend upon me, sir,” said Ted, seeing that he hesitated; “I’ll stick to ’em, I will, through—”

“I have no doubt of that, my man,” interrupted the consul, with a sad smile, “but your aid in this case will be useless. The fact is that the preservation of your life will be a more difficult matter for me to accomplish than my own. If Lord Exmouth really arrives and proceeds to extremities, I and my family will be in the greatest peril from these irate corsairs, but you, my poor fellow, are doomed whatever happens, seeing that you have laid violent hands on the Turkish guard of the gates.”

“Sure, an’ small blame to me,” said Ted.

“I do not blame you, but the Turks will, and they will do more,—they will strangle you for a certainty the moment they get hold of you, and no power that I possess can save you, so that your only chance lies in making your escape from the city, either by land or sea.”

“An’ that won’t be aisy, sur,” said the seaman, with a perplexed look.

“Indeed it will not. You may be sure that the Turks are even now searching for you, and as they know that I am here, and that you belong to my household—”

“By your lave,” said Ted suddenly, “it sames to me that it’s time for Ted Flaggan to look after his owld bones. I’m grateful to ’ee, sur.—Good-night.”

He pulled his boar-head down without awaiting a reply, and went hastily off in the direction of a small outhouse where Rais Ali was enjoying himself amid a circle of the French consul’s domestics.

Dashing forward, he seized his friend by the arm and dragged him out by main force, to the amusement of the domestics, who thought it was a practical jest.

“Arrah! don’t stare like that, but come along wid ye,” said Ted, hasting to a neighbouring thicket, into the very heart of which he penetrated before halting.

“What be go wrong?” exclaimed Rais.

“They’re after me, lad. Don’t waste time spaikin’. You’ve got your burnous here, haven’t ye?”

“Yis!”

“Go, fetch it, an’ sharp’s the word.”

Flaggan’s tone and actions were such as to instil a spirit of prompt unquestioning obedience into his friend, who instantly went off; and in a few seconds, (which seemed years to Ted), returned with his burnous.

While the seaman quickly but quietly divested himself of the boar-skin, and put on the burnous with the hood well drawn over his face, he related to his friend the incident at the gate, without, however, mentioning the true cause of his behaviour.

“An’ wat for you go be do now?” asked Rais Ali anxiously.

“To make me escape, sure,” said Ted, holding the head of his cudgel close up to his friend’s nose; “across the mountains or over the say, by hook or crook, or through the air, escape I will somehow, even though I should have to jump out at me mouth an’ lave me body behind me, for depind upon it that all the Turks an’ Moors an’ boors an’ naigers in the Pirates’ Nest ain’t able to take Ted Flaggan alive!”

“Unposs’ble!” exclaimed Rais decidedly.

“I manes to try, anyhow,” returned Ted; “so give us your flipper, owld boy; I’ve a sort o’ sneakin’ regard for ’ee, tho’ ye haven’t much to boast of in the way o’ pluck.”

“Unposs’ble!” again ejaculated Rais Ali, with greater decision than before.

“Well, good-bye to ’ee—I’m off.”

“Stay. I will save you.”

“How?” asked Ted, pausing with some impatience.

“Stay. Hold. Stop,” cried, the Moor, seizing the arm of his friend. “You be mad. Unposs’ble I say?—no, yes, poss’ble anuf for you ’scape without your body. But me save bof. Me knows hole in de rocks; come take you dere,”—here the Moor became emphatic, and lowered his voice to a whisper,—“no boddy do knows it. All dead w’at know’d it vonce. Me was a—what you call?—pirate vonce. Hah! nebber mind, come ’long. Queek, no time for d’liberazhun.”

“Git along then, old feller,” said Flaggan, thrusting his companion through the thicket very unceremoniously. “Don’t palaver so much, but take the helm; an’ wotiver ye do, clap on all sail—ivery stitch you can carry—for the case is desprit.”

Rais Ali did “clap on all sail,” steered his friend through the brightly-lighted grounds and laughing throng of revellers, through numerous lanes between hedges of aloes and prickly pear, over the Sahel hills, and away to the northward, until they reached the neighbourhood of Pointe Pescade, which lay about three and a half miles on the other side of the town.

“It’s a purty big raigion hereaway,” said Flaggan, during a brief halt to recover breath; “why shouldn’t I steer for the Great Zahairy, an’ live wi’ the Bedooin Arabs? I s’pose it’s becase they’ll always be doin’ somethin’ or other that they’ve got the name.”

“’Cause they’d robb an’ kill you,” replied Rais.

“Umph!” ejaculated Ted, as they descended to the bold rocky coast, where the celebrated pirate of old was wont to mount guard over the Mediterranean.

“Betterer for you trust to de sea,” said Rais.

“True for ye, boy—seein’ that I’m a say-farin’ man,” returned Ted.

Proceeding cautiously down a wild and almost invisible pathway among the cliffs, Rais Ali reached the base at a part where the sea ran under the overhanging rocks. Stepping into a pool which looked black and deep, but which was only a few inches at the edge, he waded slowly into the interior of a cavern, the extremity of which was quite dry. It was dark as Erebus, but flint and steel soon produced a light.

“There vas vonce a torch here,” said Rais, looking about hastily, while the vault above was lighted for a few seconds by the bunch of dry grass which he had brought with him, “but it long since me be—ah, here it is; dis am de torch.”

He lighted it, and showed his friend the form and size of the cave, reiterated that it was known to no one but himself—at least so he thought—advised him to remain close all day and keep a good look-out seaward at night, promised to return with food the following evening, and finally left him to his meditations.

Note 1. A very remarkable and authentic instance of this style of punishment is recorded in the annals of Algiers.

A Moor named Geronimo was, about the beginning of the seventeenth century, converted to Christianity by a captive. The reigning Pasha ordered him to recant, and gave him twenty-four hours to make up his mind. On his refusal, the Pasha caused Geronimo to be buried alive in the mud which was being poured into moulds and dried into blocks, for the purpose of building fort Bab-el-Oued. In this block the poor martyr was built into the wall of the fort, which was thereafter named the “Fort of the Twenty-four Hours.” The incident was soon nearly forgotten. Two and a half centuries afterwards, (in December 1853), the French, while carrying out their improvements in the town, destroyed the ancient “Fort of the Twenty-four Hours,” but were warned, by one who was well read in the history of the place, to be careful on razing a certain part of the walls to examine them well. They did so, and found the body of Geronimo—or, rather, the mould formed by his body,