SOLD INTO SLAVERY
My captor, the Moorish officer, was a native of Ghadames, an interior
city of Tripoli--a caravan center located on a camel route to the
Soudan. I was regarded by him as the spoils of war, and his purpose was
clearly to sell me for a good price in an inland slave market where
there would be no American consul to make inquiries. As soon as Derne
was occupied, Joseph's army disbanded and the soldiers whose property
I was began to journey to their homes. Our caravan started too, and I
found myself riding upon the most uncomfortable camel in the outfit,
chained by one wrist to the trappings of the beast.
I decided to lose no chance to escape. I knew that the farther inland
I went, the more difficult it would be for me to reach the coast. My
thoughts dwelt upon the treasure-bags I had last seen flopping through
the streets of Derne on Mustapha's camels. I swore that my Arab comrade
would see me again soon--and I devoutly hoped that his ingenuity would
enable him to hide the treasure.
At last, when I was beginning to despair of falling in with a
coastbound caravan, we met a huge one bound from the Soudan to Tripoli.
In the excitement of meeting, and in the feasting and dancing that went
on between the two parties, my guard forgot me. I had been unshackled
while I ate, and the only sentinel over me was a young Arab who had
been stationed at the front entrance to my tent. I saw him looking
yearningly at the Arab girls who were dancing. I snored loudly and
regularly, watching his movements through the opening. Suddenly he
disappeared. A moment later I vanished too. I hoped to escape with the
Tripoli-bound caravan, and stole over to where its camel-drivers were
gathered. I had made my color as dark as possible, and wore my long
gown in true Arab fashion. I had learned, too, some common Arab words.
In the center of the crowd I saw an African snake-charmer. The fakir's
round, fleshy face shone like polished ebony, and when he grinned,
which was often, I caught sight of two massive rows of gleaming ivory.
He wore nothing but a breech-cloth and sandals. His body was covered
with scars. These snake-charmers, I had heard, inflicted wounds upon
themselves, sometimes through religious frenzy, and sometimes because
it gave them prestige with their audiences.
This fakir influenced the people much in the same way that a street
evangelist at home attracts listeners by music and loud words. In his
train were several men who played cymbals and bagpipes. As soon as they
began clanging and blowing upon these instruments, the crowd gathered.
I drew back, for fear that the fakir's attentions to me would lead
to discovery, but his eyes had singled me out from the minute of my
approach, and he followed me, though not in a way to attract notice.
Alarmed, I was about to make a wild dash into the desert when he caught
my arm. I drew back to strike.
"The saint Mohammed," he said, catching my arm, "will harbor an
escaping Nazarene so long as the Nazarene is willing to clang the
cymbals loudly in the name of Mohammed, and is active in collecting
coins when the snakes have done squirming and the tales have been told.
Two of my attendants have deserted me. I offer you a trip to the coast
in my train."
I nodded assent--any port in a storm!
"Bring forth the cymbals! Mohammed is welcome to any music I can make
with them!" I said.
"Pay close attention to my motions and when I signal you, collect what
coins you can. If any man question you, pretend to be dumb."
He led me into his tent close by, procured for me a coarse robe that
was an effectual disguise and applied a pigment to my skin. When he was
through with me I looked like one of his own tribe. I went forth then
and mingled with the throng, listening while Mohammed told tales in
Arabic.
Fascinating indeed were Mohammed's tricks. I watched in astonishment as
he shaped a bundle of hay into a mound and covered the pile with water.
"By the grace of Mulai Ali, my patron saint," he said, "I give this hay
to the flames and command these serpents to respect the commands of the
Prophet's servant!"
With these words, he emptied a bag of snakes on the ground. They looked
deadly as they wriggled about his feet and twined themselves around his
body. I was told that their poison had not been removed, yet he held
the head of the serpent that looked the most dangerous so close to him
that its fangs almost touched his lips.
With feats of this nature, and with many tales, my new patron won his
audience, and collections were easy to make. What I gathered pleased
him and I had the feeling that I had for the time earned a right to his
protection. I was safely housed in his tent when men came to search
the oasis for me, but when they inquired of him he called down curses
on them for causing the thought of a Nazarene to cross the mind of a
child of the Prophet.
We departed with the caravan bound for the coast. The Moorish officer's
soldiers inspected us closely, but Mohammed kept me closely engaged,
and arranged my hood so that I was dimly seen by the watchers. I
escaped even a challenge. We stopped at frequent oases, where Mohammed
entertained and I collected.
But now, perhaps because the matter of my disguise handicapped him;
perhaps because he feared punishment for harboring an escaped slave;
perhaps from greed, Mohammed betrayed me. When we were a day's travel
from Tripoli, we fell in with a small coast-bound caravan that had lost
one of its camels and needed a beast of burden to take its place. I
became that animal!
On hearing Achmet, the chief of the caravan, offer a large sum for
a beast of burden, Mohammed's eyes lighted on me. "There," he said,
"is a sound-bodied Nazarene slave that will do the work well. He has
served my purpose and since I have saved him from being sold as a slave
in the interior, he should not carp at my selling him to you. Take
the Christian dog, and may you lead him to become a true follower of
Mohammed!"
I was thus hurled into the ranks of Achmet, whose blood-shot, piercing
eye and hawk nose gave him a cruel look in keeping with his character.
"The Christian dog belongs to no country," Mohammed told the people
to whom I sought to appeal. "He is a cur who has been helping the
troublesome Hamet Bashaw to stir up a rebellion against our noble
ruler."
These words enraged the crowd against me, and seeing how hopeless was
my state, I slunk away, kicked and slapped, to take up my burden.
Fortunately, this caravan too was bound for Tripoli. I expected that
there I would have a chance to lay my case before the American consul,
and hoped to secure through him freedom and permission to sail back to
Derne in search of my treasure sacks.
Loaded with as much of the camel's pack as I could stagger under,
I followed in the camel train. When camp was made, I was forced to
scramble among the dogs for my share of the scraps thrown to them by
the camel-drivers.
When we reached Tripoli I was driven, closely guarded, to dark quarters
on the outskirts of the town, and threatened with death if I tried to
escape. I found out that the American consul was at Malta on business
that had arisen out of the making of peace with Joseph Bashaw. My case,
therefore, seemed almost as hopeless as when I was first captured.
These cities of Barbary are strange affairs. The streets wind in and
out between white walls. You go under shadowy arches; you climb here a
dozen stairs and a little later go up an incline without stairs. The
streets are usually too narrow for camels or carts, so that porters
and donkeys do most of the hauling. A swarm of people pass continually
up and down these cramped ways. The Moslem women wear silken street
garments (haicks) that conceal the finery beneath. The faces of these
women are covered with a fine silk veil, and underneath their haicks
may be seen their bulging Turkish trousers.
When I asked why the women wore veils, I was told that the custom had
come down from the time the Christian crusaders invaded the Moslem
countries; the attention they paid to the wives and daughters of the
Turks led to the followers of Mohammed prescribing the veil for their
women folk.
Among the streams of people were Jews talking trade, consoling
themselves for the insults by the Mohammedans with the thought of the
profits they were making in their dealings with the Moslems; European
envoys; rich, lazy Moors; camel drivers; black slaves; soldiers in the
Bashaw's service, and sailors employed by the corsair captains. Lame,
halt and blind beggars sat by the roadside, beseeching gifts.
"In the name of Allah, give us alms!" a beggar wailed from almost every
corner and doorway. The men they solicited were usually rich Moors who
wore turbans of fine cloth and richly embroidered vests. Yet often they
would select for their target a camel driver from the desert, clad in
his coarse gray baracan.
Here stood a fountain surrounded by Arabs and negroes drawing water in
gourds and jugs; yonder a dozen women sat on the ground, selling bread.
Hooded Arab boys romped on the outskirts of the throng, or recited
verses from the Koran to a bearded teacher. Lean cats and dogs were
everywhere. All kinds of smells filled the air--garlic, burning aloe
wood, fish.
I stood one day in an archway six feet wide that stood in the center of
four streets and watched the crowd go by. I saw fish-mongers carrying
great baskets of sardines, and strings of slimy catfish, against which
the crowd brushed, leaving the dirt and smell of the fish on their
garments. Girls with boards on their heads filled with dough ready for
baking darted in and out among the throng; donkeys, laden with garbage,
ambled alongside of donkeys carrying fresh roses. Jews, burdened
with muslin and calico, went from door to door, haggling with those
who examined their wares through partly-opened doors. Boys sauntered
along munching raw carrots and artichokes; girls of eight carried on
their backs babies wrapped in dirty rags. The little mothers and their
charges seemed never to have seen soap and water, but from hair to
anklets they were decked with faded flowers.
Blind people--there were hundreds of them--walked along as boldly as
if they had eyesight, leaving it for those who could see to get out of
their way.
"_Balek_ (out of the way)!" was the cry of everyone. "_Emshi Rooah, ya
kelb_ (clear out, begone, you dog)!" was a cry I had grown accustomed
to through hearing it hurled at me countless times, for was not I a
member of
"A sect they are taught to hate
And are delighted to decapitate."
The upper stories of the houses projected over the lower, and, because
of the narrow street, the houses that stood opposite each other almost
met, so that all one could see of the sky in many places was a bright
blue chink overhead. The walls were all whitewashed; here and there
a beautiful gateway appeared. One could not tell from the exterior
of the houses whether rich folk or poor folk dwelt inside the walls,
yet beyond many of these dark corridors leading through the walls
were beautiful garden courts, with silver fountains playing and an
abundance of flowers and trees, while underfoot were tiles of various
rich colors.
Of the many mosques I passed I can tell nothing, as Christians are not
allowed to enter them. Neither were we allowed to dress in green or
white--for these are the colors of the prophet.
My new master, still using me as a beast of burden, took me several
times to the house at which he lodged. I was thus able to get a glimpse
inside a Mohammedan home of the middle class. We went through a
whitewashed tunnel till we came to a gate from which hung a huge brass
knocker.
My master did not use the knocker. He began to pound on the door in the
Arab fashion. A veiled woman peeped over the terrace wall and screamed
a question at him. His reply reassured her, and we were admitted to
a little square court that was neatly paved with red tiles, through
which ran a path of marble lined with oleanders and fig trees. Rooms,
white-washed and blue-washed, opened on this court. The owner of the
house, Fatima, was a widow, who lived with her old father, and earned
her living by embroidering and weaving. She wore the white silken veil
as we entered; but as she gossiped with my master she pulled it aside
and showed her brown, dumpling face. She wore an embroidered jacket and
silk pantaloons, along with gold trimmings and jewelry--an array that
seemed so strange to me that I kept my eyes fastened on the ceiling
while I was in her presence. She had rented one of her small rooms to
my master, whose parents she knew. Fatima spent much of her time on the
roof of her house, looking down on the street over the walls of her
terrace. The roofs or terraces were used by women alone and most of the
visiting between houses was done by climbing across the walls dividing
the houses.
For privacy, Fatima dropped a flimsy curtain over the door of her
room, and this barrier was as strictly respected by her household as
if it were a strong door. Visitors were received in the parlor. Fatima
and her guests sat on a divan covered with cushions and drank coffee.
Handwoven carpets and draperies were everywhere.
The beds of the household were mattresses spread on the floor. One
blanket often covers an entire family in the houses of the poor. Fatima
fell sick while we were under her roof, and sent a woman friend to a
holy man for a remedy. I discovered that the medicine was nothing more
than a slip of paper containing the words "He will heal the breasts of
the people who believe."
Fatima was ordered to chew and swallow the paper. The widow still
complained of illness after swallowing this dose, and was ordered by
the marabout to write a verse from the Koran on the inside of a cup;
then to pour in water till the writing was washed away; then to drink
this water, which was supposed to have in it the virtue expressed in
the verse. I followed my master out of Fatima's house greatly amazed at
this kind of medical treatment, but I did not wonder at hearing that
she had complained that her aches were increasing.
THE SLAVE MARKET
Achmet had now no further use for me and decided to sell me as a slave.
I was driven, chained, to the slave market. This auction place was in
a large square. All around it were little booths. These were crowded
with spectators. Through the center of the bazaar ran a walk. Most of
the slaves that had been brought to the market for sale were women and
girls. Among the Moors it was thought no evil to deal in human flesh. A
black woman with children was first sold. One could tell by the way she
clung to her brood that she feared she would be separated from them. We
saw her face light when one of the Moors who was squatting on the edge
of the walk bought the entire family.
A boy came next. He was handled by prospective buyers as if he were a
horse. His eyes, mouth, teeth and nostrils were examined. The first
Moslem who inspected him must have seen some defect in the lad, for he
waved him away. The auctioneer then seized the boy and led him up and
down the walk before the Moors in the bazaars, shouting his good points.
Most of the girls were blacks or mulattoes, brought from the interior
of Africa by Arabian traders. There were a few white girls among them.
Each girl or woman was handled in the same manner as the boys had been.
Some of the maidens boldly returned the stare of those who inspected
them. Others shrank from their inspection and, when possible, covered
their faces with the woolen haicks they wore.
This slave market reflected only a small part of the slave life of the
city. I saw men and women of all classes huddled together in dark,
dirty prisons, praying their countrymen would send money to ransom them.
Those whose relatives were not rich enough to buy their freedom were
sold to various buyers and set to work at all kinds of labor. The
owners often made use of their slaves to earn them money. The old
slaves were usually sent out to sell water. Many a drink have I bought
from these water-carriers, as, dragging their chains, they led their
donkeys through the streets and sold water from bags of skin that hung
across the backs of their beasts. Some of my other acquaintances among
the slaves acted as messengers or house-servants; others were employed
as herders, drivers or plowmen--I have even seen a Christian slave
yoked to a plow with an ox for a yoke-fellow.
Once, while inland, I saw coming out of the Soudan a score of slaves
fastened together in a long wooden yoke that had many holes cut in it a
few feet apart to admit the heads of the slaves. If one of these slaves
fell sick or grew too weak to walk, he would hang from this yoke by
his neck, with his feet dragging. As much as he suffered himself, his
condition added to the sufferings of his yoke-fellows, for they had to
bear his weight. I heard that if he seemed likely to die before the
slave market was reached, his master would cut his head from his body
with one knife stroke--it saved halting the procession to remove the
sick man from the yoke.