him: solicitous to secure the moment of procuring a high price for his
captive, the robber selected a dozen followers, and mounting them and
Sebastian upon stout Barbs, set off with them one morning by day break,
for the country house of a Moorish grandee.
Sarhamet and his brother rode on each side of the King; they were
armed with guns and Moorish knives, and made signs to him, that if he
attempted to escape, he must inevitably fall by the hands of the troops
escorting them, whose naked weapons were placed in their girdles ready
for that purpose:--Sebastian smiled, and motioned acquiescence; but it
was a grievous smile, “as if he disdained himself” for so submitting to
fortune.
Their journey was long and wearisome: the Alarbes, enured to every
change of climate, travelled indifferently through nightly dews and
noon-day heats; sometimes they halted after a burning day, upon the
very summit of a snow-topt mountain, where they supped, and slept,
with no other covering than the clouds; at other times they would
journey through the night, and lay themselves to rest in valleys, among
scorching rocks, that reflected thrice the heat of the sun.
Sebastian contemplated this iron strength, with something like envy:
by rendering a man’s body independent, it gives additional stability
to the freedom of his mind; he felt conscious that, had he been thus
disciplined into invulnerable strength, he might have attempted, and
perhaps effected his escape: but the intense heats had re-opened his
last wound, and had in consequence so reduced his natural vigour, that
he could not hope to succeed, though he should master two Alarbes who
constantly watched him while the others slept. Completely unarmed,
and cautiously removed from the spot where the horses were fastened,
he was aware, that a contest with one Moor must awaken the others, and
that he should perish under their daggers long before he could meet
any shelter: by acquiescing at present, he might obtain his object
hereafter; in the neighbourhood of a populous city, less hazardous
means might be found, and Providence might again throw Abensallah in
his way, or some christian friend, with whom he might share in an
attempt at mutual deliverance.
These thoughts often occupied him, as he rested or rode among his
ferocious companions; and still hope filled his sanguine breast,
pointing to his country and to Gonsalva.
From the length of their journey, Sebastian conjectured that his late
residence had been at the extremity of the Benzeroel mountains; he
had therefore been in the same tract of country with the benevolent
dervise, and was now far distant from him: at thought of never seeing
him again, his feelings saddened, gliding naturally from Abensallah to
the gallant Stukeley, and thence to the slaughter of Alcazar.
On the fourteenth day, Sarhamet exchanged his prisoner’s worn-out
galebia for a coarse, but more becoming habit, telling him that they
were on the point of finishing their career: Sebastian for the first
time enquired the name and rank of the person to whom they were now
going; he learnt in reply, that he was the Almoçadem of a cavila,
(that is, governor of a province) high in favour of the reigning
Xeriff, (having ably assisted in securing him the throne) and highly
respected throughout Barbary. His dwelling was in the Valley of Palms,
a delightful place, nearly three leagues beyond Mequinez.
After bathing, and re-dressing themselves, the whole party mounted
their horses, and proceeded down a winding declivity into a most
luxuriant vale: the country-house of El Hader lay before them. Having
been a royal gift, the building was a moorish Cassavee of much
magnificence, covering with its interior gardens, squares, piazzas, and
baths, an extent of four miles. Sebastian paused awhile, admiring its
rude splendor.
The high dome of green and gold, the tall cypress trees which appeared
rising above the gilded railings of the squares, the fountains of white
and azure marble, the gay piazzas chequered with coloured tiles, the
lofty columns and massy arches, all presented a semblance of regal
grandeur, which made his heart spring back to Ribera and Xabregas. The
contrast of his situation now, with what it had been when in those
beloved places, almost unmanned him; their scenes were so associated
with the idea of Donna Gonsalva, that it was impossible for him not
to heave some profound sighs as he entered the dwelling of a Moorish
nobleman, a prisoner and a slave.
Sarhamet, with his brother and their captive, was admitted into a lower
hall of the Cassavee, whence they were soon after led into the presence
of the Almoçadim.
As the young and imperious King of Portugal passed through a crowd
of Moors to the audience chamber of El Hader, and reflected that he
was going to be sold for a price, like some ignoble animal, his heart
might well be said to “grow too big for what contained it;” he was on
the point of madly rushing upon all surrounding him, and so purchasing
freedom with life. Had he not happily remembered that Portugal claimed
a sacrifice at his hands, and that it was his duty to suffer, in the
hope of living to repair the unintentional calamity he had caused her,
his rashness must have transported him into violence that would have
ended in his own destruction.
Fervently calling on every saint to endue him with patience, he walked
slowly after Sarhamet, with a resolution of no longer observing
the minutiæ of his fate: thus influenced, he scarcely noticed the
approbation of El Hader and his retainers, but stood silent, wrapped
up in his cloak, wilfully inattentive to the long bargaining of the
Alarbe, and the enormous price at length paid down for him.
When the bargain was concluded, Sarhamet departed; the Almoçadem then
addressed his new slave in vile Portuguese, telling him to adore
Alla, for having advanced him to so high an honour as that of serving
the greatest man throughout the Xeriff’s dominions; promising, in
consideration of the christian’s fine appearance, to make him one of
his household slaves.
The sentence of death would have been more grateful to Sebastian than
this degrading favour. What! was he, a christian king, the descendant
of kings, to wait upon an accursed infidel, and learn obedience to
his nod? No, he would rather perish, he would suffer for his beloved
country and for his friends all that pain, sorrow, and want, could
inflict, he would for their sakes bend to almost any mortification; but
it was impossible for him to yield to base servitude, and become the
domestic servant of a Mahometan. Resolute to die in this determination,
he calmly repeated it to El Hader, protesting he would only labour in
the manly occupation of really useful work, the employments of the
field.
The Almoçadem was a good-humoured, indolent man, not easily moved
to wrath; surprized, therefore, but not irritated, he turned to his
interpreter, bidding him ask the foolish christian if he knew the
difference between a household and a field slave. The man who repeated
the question, ended it by an explanation of the situations, assuring
Sebastian, that if he remained in the Cassavee he would be superbly
dressed, delicately fed, and comfortably lodged; that all his business
would be to wait at his lord’s back with his hookha, or ride out when
he went a hunting, with his lances and arrows: that, on the contrary,
if he persisted in joining the field slaves, he would be doomed to hard
fare, and worse lodging, and be urged to the most laborious tasks by
stripes and blows.
At the last words, Sebastian’s eyes sparkled with fury, “Mark me,
Moor!” he cried in a dreadful voice, “I am a man that will not survive
disgrace: by the immortal heavens! if but the shadow of one of your
whips ever falls upon this body, I will wash out the stain in blood!
Beware then!”
The Africans looked on each other with astonishment: the Almoçadem
smiled. “We shall see! we shall see!” he repeated carelessly, “if
you do your duty I give orders that you shall not be beaten; but I
must have all my slaves do their duty; so do you hear, don’t abuse
my goodness by insolence and idleness. What are you, young man?--How
did you get into that rogue, Sarhamet’s hands?--Were you one of the
mad-headed followers of the mad King Sebastian?”
The captive monarch’s blood crimsoned his face: “I _was_ in the battle
of Alcazar,” he said proudly, “and were I free this moment, would again
follow the royal-standard of Portugal over the plains of Barbary. The
mad Sebastian, as you call him, on that day made the stoutest hearts
in Morocco tremble.--May he live to make them quake again! I saw your
routed Moors flying before him like scattered sheep!--the field was
ours, till one of your infidel race, the detested Muley Hamet, turned
like a traitor upon the troops he was affecting to aid.--”
“He did right,” interrupted El Hader, “by so doing he made his peace
with Mahomet, and gained Paradise. But how could your hot-brained King
build on the faith of a man who had broken his faith with the prophet
by leaguing with christians? Ah! I see that touches you,--well, they
are both gone to settle their accounts together in the other world.”
As he concluded, the Almoçadem turned to his interpreter, “Ephra, we
must give this christian fool his choice; you know I am always desirous
of leaving my slaves to experience.--Conduct him to field-work; and
then, if he continues to despise the honor of attending upon me here,
we must leave him to his fate.--Bid him withdraw.”
As El Hader rose while he was speaking, Sebastian naturally coincided
with the movement, and turned away; he was therefore spared the
mortification of being told to depart.
Ephra conducted him towards a long piazza, through which they passed
into a large paved court, where several slaves were refreshing
themselves between their hours of labour: struggling with his imperious
nature, the unhappy monarch neither saw nor heard any thing, till a
passionate exclamation, in pure Portuguese, struck his ear; he turned
hastily round and beheld a young man, (whose face he remembered to
have seen amongst his troops,) who dropping upon one knee, repeated in
whispers--“O sire! what a change is this.”
Many and powerful were the reasons of Sebastian for remaining unknown
to the Moors, but his feelings, ever superior to selfish prudence,
now mocked controul; he stopt, and extended both his hands, which
the soldier eagerly kissed; he would have spoken, but the words died
on his lips: the Portuguese recovering from his transport of mixed
emotion, into sorrow and habitual reverence, fearfully relinquished his
sovereign’s hand, and turned aside to conceal some tears: Ephra rudely
advanced and asked the meaning of this scene.
Before Sebastian could reply, the young soldier gently answered, that
he was overcome by unexpectedly finding his commanding officer in the
new slave, then he prayed permission to converse with him awhile,
after which he would return to his occupations with redoubled diligence.
Ephra was a man not easily moved: he coldly denied this indulgence,
telling the Portuguese to mind his present superiors and forget his
past ones, adding sarcastically, “whoever your captain is, whether Don
or Hidalgo, he is now a slave like yourself.”
Without venturing to remonstrate, the poor youth bowed and disappeared,
while Ephra morosely continued to precede his royal companion.
Every thing now was unnoticed by Sebastian: this accidental meeting
with one of his subjects had subdued him; the sound of those few
words pronounced in their native accent, brought into his mind such
crouds of tender and affecting images, that his heart was compleatly
softened: until this moment he had felt utterly abandoned, and now the
unexpected proof of being still loved and honored, even by one he
might be said to have injured, affected him to weakness.
It _was_ the weakness of Sebastian to wish for the love of his fellow
creatures: time, only, could teach him to be contented with their
esteem.
Having conducted his melancholy companion through the obscurest parts
of the Cassavee, Ephra brought him into a large square of ground
surrounded by mean buildings, where a number of Christians were at
work: this place contained the slaves’ habitations, and was under the
direction of a governor, whose office it was to see the several tasks
fulfilled, and at night to lock up all the captives in their miserable
lodgings.
At sight of a new victim, this man came forward; “Here, Ben Tarab,”
cried Ephra, “our illustrious master has sent you this refractory
Christian to teach obedience; give him work, and see that he does not
attempt to escape: if you do not present him to the great El Hader
when next he calls for him, your head will answer it.”
Ben Tarab bowed submissively, and Ephra left the court.
Sebastian’s eyes meanwhile were anxiously employed in scrutinizing the
persons around him: they were Christians of all nations, some very
old, others in the tender spring of life; but blood-drinking care, and
flesh-consuming toil had left their traces on the youngest cheeks:
every countenance was wan, every figure emaciated.
Amongst the various groups, he sought in vain for his cousin Antonio,
or Don Emanuel de Castro; none but strange faces met his gaze, and as
no one recognized him, he rightly concluded that none of his own army
were amongst them.
Sebastian wished not for partners in affliction; and though anxiety led
him to seek for Crato and de Castro, he was gladdened by not finding
them under the task-masters of El Hader.
Ben Tarab soon assigned him a portion of labour: too much occupied
with reflections on the miserable lot of others, to think any longer
of his own, Sebastian performed his task mechanically, while viewing
the scene before him.--In one quarter were groups of captives employed
in stamping, with heavy weights, the damp earth with which the Moors
form the walls of their inferior buildings; others were labouring to
prepare this earth out of various materials; others again bringing
sand, bricks, and lime, in loaded baskets upon their heads; while some
were hewing stone, sawing wood, melting lead, or moulding ornaments for
the nobler parts of the Cassavee.
Fainting with heat, toil, and thirst, these unhappy people were yet
urged to their tasks with imprecations and blows; neither age nor
infirmities pleaded for a moment’s indulgence: they toiled on,
consumed by scorching suns, and unrefreshed by a single breeze.
The sighs and groans of the Christians pierced the heart of Sebastian;
he heard them with anguish, for he was no longer that Sebastian whose
nod could give liberty; a slave now, he had nothing to bestow but
inward prayers for himself and for them.
Perceiving his new workman totally ignorant of labour, Ben Tarab
roughly told him to observe how others did, and so learn the trade
of them.--“What, I suppose you have been what Christian dogs call a
gentleman, and therefore are good for nothing:--I have always ten
times the trouble with gentlemen; they are either insolent, lazy, or
stupid, and are only fit to do the work of horses or asses; one poor
fellow is worth a thousand of you.--We never promote gentlemen here, so
you may reckon soon upon being sent into the open country to draw the
water-waggons, or dig for lime.--Why the plague am I to be troubled
with you?--could not you have been kept amongst the household pack?”
The rage which seemed ready to burst in thunder from Sebastian,
evidently intimidated Ben Tarab; he moved nimbly out of the reach of
his arm, muttering in a sullen tone, “Get on with your job--do as well
as you can.”
Recovering his self-command, the young King turned scornfully away,
and pursued his occupation; it was chipping marble: The comparative
easiness and delicacy of this employment, when contrasted with that of
others, made him believe that he owed some gratitude even to Ben Tarab,
for having thus favored him, he was therefore resolved to disregard
in future the brutal language of the man, and think only of escaping
insult by discharging his portion of labour.
In spite of this resolution he could never again look at Ben Tarab
without something so alarming in his eyes, that the Moor feared to
approach him, he shewed him his daily tasks, not daring to threaten
any punishment for their non-fulfilment, and at length, sick of such
restraint, offered to remove him into a different department. Sebastian
caught at the proposal; he was solicitous to see all the slave of the
Almoçadem, and frequently wished to meet once more with the young
soldier whose dutiful remembrance had affected him so much.
“I perceive,” said Ben Tarab, “that you know nothing of the works
we do here, and perhaps some other might suit your capacity better;
every man has not the gift of doing all things.--We have slaves, now,
that manufacture powder, and armour, and cast cannon; do you like
that business?--What! you’re afraid of such combustibles?--You change
colour at the very mention of them: there you and I agree.--We have
others that hew and drag timber, some that get in our three harvests,
some that make bricks, and a few that work in the great El Hader’s
gardens.--I can promote you to any of these departments if you know how
to be thankful for such a favor.”
“I know how to be thankful;” said Sebastian gently, “give me any
occupation so it be but in the fresh air of heaven, and require little
more than _bodily_ exertion, and I will thank you sincerely.”--
“Well then,” replied the Moor, “you may as well change into the
gardens; there you will have nothing to do, but trudge about, pruning
and digging, fetching water from the fountains to the baths, plenty to
do, and nothing to crack your brains with thinking of: if you behave
well, and shew any signs of _rare sagacity_, you may get _promoted_,
and become at last, _fruit-gatherer_ and _flower-gatherer_ for the
_women_.”--
“Ben Tarab!” said Sebastian, after a thoughtful pause, disregarding the
brute’s contemptuous air, “Is there any offer that could persuade you
into becoming my friend?--procure for me permission to send to one of
the Portuguese forts, and I will not only engage to be ransomed at a
high price, but will faithfully promise you a hundred gold crowns for
your kindness.”
“So then, you _are_ a nobleman?” replied Ben Tarab, attentively eyeing
him, “I thought so the moment I saw you: but hark ye my friend, the
great El Hader prides himself upon despising ransoms; if the King of
Portugal himself were living, and a slave within these walls, he must
offer a thousand of such crowns as that he was crowned with, before he
could move a true Mussulman: Slaves here, are slaves for life; and I
hate you all too cordially ever to betray my trust and risk my neck for
such scoundrels.”
As Ben Tarab ended, he disappeared with a malicious grin, and in
a short time re-entered with an older Moor, who looked awhile at
Sebastian, and then conducted him out of the court: the latter
followed his steps in silence, strongly wrestling with his own
outraged feelings, which were almost chafed into fury, by the mingled
malice and cowardice of Ben Tarab.
After traversing several open quadrangles and stone galleries, they
came at length to the gardens: they were admitted through magnificent
gates, curiously wrought in open work of cast iron, and covered with
gilding; as he entered, Sebastian felt an emotion long unknown to him,
an emotion of delight.
The gardens were spacious and verdant, beautified with marble fountains
and canals; their terraces were shaded by tall trees of the freshest
green, and the air that fanned them was impregnated with the perfume of
orange flowers.
Sebastian could not respire air thus perfumed, without instantly
thinking of the gardens of Count Vimiosa; the first day he had seen
Donna Gonsalva came back to his recollection with all the force of
a present scene: he stopt, cast his eyes round, scarcely breathed,
almost expecting to see her celestial beauty advance from some of the
groves:--But he saw no one, till his conductor led on still further,
and brought him to a spot where a few slaves were employed in cutting
a subterraneous passage, from a bower of Arabian jessamine, to one of
the baths.--Stopping at this place, the Moor shewed the King his new
occupation.
After toiling in silence till long past sunset, the slaves were
dismissed to their distant lodgings, where a miserable supper awaited
them.
On re-entering the court where he had first laboured, Sebastian did
not see Ben Tarab, he passed slowly along, noting every fresh group of
new faces, without finding any that he knew: at length he perceived
a cluster of Christians gathered round one who was sitting with a
rude guitar in his hand, playing the symphony of a song; the King
approached, and recognized the soldier, Gaspar. The young man, without
observing him, began to sing with little voice, and less skill, but
infinite feeling, these stanzas.
“O Time! thy waves that might have rolled
Thro’ channels gay with bordering roses,
Now slow and sad and sunless flow
Where not one flower its bloom discloses:
Say, will the blushing wreaths of joy
Beside thy waters blossom ever,
And sweets like breath of angels, throw
Around the purple wings of Zephyr?”
As he was going to repeat the song, his eyes met those of the King, and
a flush of joyful surprize covered his pallid face; he rose hastily,
reminded his comrades of supper, and in the midst of their tumultuous
movements, drew near to one of the houses: he then glided in at an open
door, making a sign for Sebastian to follow.
The King obeyed: no sooner were they alone, than Gaspar cast himself at
the feet of his sovereign, uttering in a low voice the most affecting
expressions of sorrow and of respect, deploring the fate of Portugal,
thus deprived of her protector, and beseeching him to order his
services and his life in any way conducive to his comfort.
Sebastian could not conceal his emotion: he raised Gaspar from the
ground, with many gracious acknowledgements, assuring him that the
only service he could do him would be to discover whether a ransom
would indeed be refused by El Hader, or to aid in their mutual
escape.--Gaspar’s answer destroyed every hope.
He represented that the Almoçadem avowedly picqued himself upon never
giving liberty to the enemies of Mahomet; that as the whole of the
domains were inclosed by high walls, and these regularly guarded day
and night, the escape of a prisoner was impossible; nay, that even such
captives as worked in the fields and quarries, were watched by Moors
completely armed, therefore as hopeless of escape as the household
servants.
“For myself, I scarcely care,” said the young soldier, (tears starting
into his eyes even while he believed himself thus indifferent;) “but to
behold my King so fated, drives me to desperation.--My life, sire, is
of no consequence--except to a widowed mother and sisters, whom your
royal bounty will hereafter save from want--perhaps you would deign to
accept of my attempting something for your sake; should I fail, it will
be nothing; I shall die in the performance of a duty; should I succeed,
Portugal will owe her happiness to me.”
“What is it you would attempt?” asked Sebastian, seeing Gaspar too much
affected to proceed.
“To scale the walls,” exclaimed the breathless soldier, “to flee by
unfrequented ways to the nearest fortress, to convey thither the
blessed tidings of my sovereign’s safety, and either return with a
royal ransom, or joined by every Portuguese in Africa, march hither,
storm the Cassavee, and----.”