II. The delivery to my flag of all slaves in the dominions of the Dey,
to whatever nation they may belong, at noon to-morrow.
III. To deliver also to my flag all money received by the Dey for the
redemption of slaves since the commencement of this year, at noon
to-morrow.
IV. Reparation shall be made to the British consul for all losses he
may have sustained in consequence of his confinement.
V. The Dey shall make a public apology in presence of his ministers and
officers, and beg pardon of the consul in terms dictated by the captain
of the _Queen Charlotte_.
The proud pirate chief did not move a muscle of his pale face, or bend
his head while these terms were read to him; nevertheless, he agreed to
them all. The consul and others were called into the hall and delivered
up; the three guns were fired, and thereafter Lord Exmouth directed
that, on the Sunday following, "a public thanksgiving should be offered
up to Almighty God for the signal interposition of his Providence during
the conflict which took place on the 27th between his Majesty's fleet
and the ferocious enemies of mankind." In accordance with these terms
of peace, all the Christian slaves were collected next day and delivered
up.
Sixteen hundred and forty-two were freed on this occasion, and sent on
board the fleet. Counting those freed but a short time before, through
Lord Exmouth's influence along the Barbary coasts, the total number
delivered amounted to above 3000.
The assembling on the decks of the ships of war of these victims of
barbaric cruelty, ignorance, and superstition, was a sight that raised
powerful and conflicting feelings in the breasts of those who witnessed
it. The varied feelings of the slaves were, to some extent, expressed
by their actions and in their faces. Old and young were there, of
almost every nation; gentle and simple, robust and feeble; men, women,
and children. Some, on coming on board, cheered with joy, but these
were few, and consisted chiefly of men who had not been long enslaved,
and had not suffered much. Others wept with delight, fell on their
knees and kissed the decks, or returned thanks to God for deliverance.
Some were carried on board, being too ill, or too broken down, to walk.
Many appeared to regard the whole affair as a dream, too good to be
true, from which they must soon awake--as they had often awaked before--
after their uneasy slumbers in the dreadful Bagnio. But the saddest
sights of all were the men and women, here and there among the crowd,
whose prolonged condition of slavery--in many cases ten, twenty, even
thirty years--had rendered them callous as well to joy as to sorrow.
Taken in youth, they were now old. What was freedom to them? It did
indeed deliver them from the lash and from constant toil, but it could
not return to them the years that were gone; it could not recall the
beloved dead, who had, perchance, found their graves, sooner than might
otherwise have been, in consequence of the misery of hope long deferred,
or the toil, beyond capacity, induced by the desire to raise the needful
ransom of the loved ones rent from them by these Algerine corsairs.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness." None but themselves could know
or tell the awful feelings, or the still more dreadful want of feeling,
that caused these wretched ones to look with glazed eyes of total
indifference on the wonderful scenes that were enacted around them that
day.
Among the released captives, of course, were our friends of the Rimini
family.
One of these was seen going about the decks, glancing earnestly and
quickly into faces, as if in search of some one.
It was Mariano seeking for Angela! He was closely followed by Ted
Flaggan and Lucien.
"Depind on it, they've kep' her back," said Ted.
"I fear they have," said Lucien.
Mariano said nothing, but went straight to the officer in charge of the
deck, and demanded a body of men to go ashore and recover the Sicilian
captives.
The case was brought before the chief, who at once granted Mariano's
request, and sent a party on shore.
Arrived at the palace they made a formal demand that the sisters and the
child should be delivered up.
At first Omar pretended ignorance on the point. Then he suddenly
recollected two female slaves who had been forgotten, and sent for them,
but they were not those for whom Mariano sought! At last, seeing that
there was no help for it, he gave orders that Paulina Ruffini, and her
child and sister, should be given up.
Need we say that Mariano kept pretty close to Angela after that, and
that Angela did not by any means object? We think not!
Besides these captives there were a few others whom the Dey endeavoured
to retain, but Lord Exmouth was inexorable. He insisted on every
individual being set free, and spared no pains to ascertain that none
were left behind. Of course it is more than probable that some
unfortunates were so carefully concealed as to escape detection, still,
as far as it lay in the power of man to act, this part of the Admiral's
duty was thoroughly performed.
Thereafter, having accomplished its object, the British fleet left the
stricken city, and the freed captives were ultimately returned to their
homes.
Thus at last, in 1816, after the lapse of centuries of murder, rapine,
and robbery on the high seas, did the Pirate City receive a fatal blow,
from which it never completely recovered. It revived a little, indeed,
in after years, and made a struggle to renew its old strength and resume
its old practices; but, fortunately for mankind, the reigning Dey in
1827 struck the French consul on the face with his fan. The French
thereupon declared war and blockaded the town, but it was not till 1833
that they set themselves vigorously to effect a conquest. In that year
they landed an army in Algeria at Sidi Ferruch, and swept everything
before them. The history of this conquest--and of the subsequent wars
of France in Algeria--is full of the deepest interest and most romantic
incidents. The barbarians did indeed show fight, and fought bravely,
but they might as well have tried to drive back the sea as to check the
disciplined battalions of France. In a brief but brilliant campaign
they were utterly defeated, the Dey capitulated, the gates were thrown
open, and the French marched in and took possession.
From that day to this they have held it, and the Pirate City is now a
charming town--with a French foreground, a Moorish middle-distance, and
a bright green background--in which, along with Frenchmen, Turks,
Kabyles, Negroes and Moors, and amid orange-groves, date-palms, cacti
and prickly pears, the invalids of Europe may enjoy summer heat in
winter days, and sit outside in December dreaming peacefully, it may be
almost sceptically, of other days, when the bastinado and the bow-string
flourished in the land.
Less than sixty years ago the Algerine corsairs were the pest of the
civilised world and the terror of the Mediterranean. Now, their city is
one of our "summer retreats," a sort of terrestrial paradise, and those
who resort to it find it difficult to believe that the immediate
forefathers of the fine-looking fellows who saunter about the French
boulevards and Moorish streets were the ruthless pirates which history
too surely proclaims them to have been.
But what of the various characters whom we have thus summoned from the
"vasty deep" of memory, to play their little part in this veracious
tale?
Of some we know not the end. Of others it would be almost well that we
did not. A few terminated their career happily.
Poor Bacri fell a victim to the avarice of Omar, who desired to possess
himself of the Jew's wealth. Being an autocrat, he easily found means
to accomplish his purpose. He invited Bacri to the palace, conversed
affably for a time, and then bowed him out with a smile. On the stair,
as he descended, the Jew was met by three chaouses, who seized him, and
took him to the strangling-room. Bacri was, as we have said, a powerful
man, and struggled long and vigorously for life. But what could he do
unarmed against three stalwart men? He ultimately gave in, with the
name of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob on his lips, and perished
as many a former chief of the Jews in Algiers had perished before him.
Rais Ali having given, as we have seen, incontestable proof of his
courage and fidelity during the bombardment, was raised to a position of
easy affluence, and for many years continued a respected and harmless
inhabitant of the town. His kindly disposition induced him to forego
his Mohammedan prejudices against Christians--perchance his intercourse
with Christians had something to do with that--and he became a firm
friend of the Padre Giovanni during the course of that good old man's
career, which did not last long after slavery was abolished. The same
feelings induced him to befriend Blindi Bobi, who was also a friend of
the Padre.
Poor Ashweesha, and her father, Sidi Cadua, perished under the rod and
the bow-string; and Hadji Baba, the story-teller, continued to tell
stories and to jest to the end of his days. How the Deys tolerated him
has ever remained a matter of surprise to the thoughtful. Ziffa, his
naughty daughter, became a wife and a mother, in connexion with three
other wives, who were also mothers, and belonged to the Turk whom we
have more than once mentioned as the captain of the port.
Colonel Langley returned to England with his wife and children,
inexpressibly glad to exchange the atmosphere of the Crescent for that
of the Cross. Ted Flaggan was installed as butler to the family, and
remained in that position for many years. It is supposed by some of his
descendants that he would have continued in it to the present day, if
any of the family had remained alive.
As to the various members of the Rimini family, it may suffice that we
should dismiss them by drawing a slight sketch:
In a Sicilian cottage near the sea, a little old lady--some would say a
dear little old lady--sits in a high-backed chair. She gazes pensively,
now on the blue Mediterranean, now on a family group which consists of
the dark-eyed Juliet and the earnest Lucien, who are vainly striving to
restrain the violence of their youngest son; the eldest being engaged in
a surreptitious attempt to pull down a map of Algiers, which hangs on
the opposite wall. Mariano, with his wonted vivacity, stands before the
old lady tossing a small female specimen of humanity as near to the
ceiling as is compatible with prolonged existence. Angela looks on
admiringly. She does not appear to care much for Mariano now! Why she
takes so much interest in the female baby we leave to the reader to
discover. Old Francisco is there too, bluffer and bolder than ever, and
so is Paulina, with a beautiful dark-haired girl, who is the very image
of the tall handsome man engaged in conversation with Francisco.
It is no accidental coincidence this meeting. It is a family gathering,
planned and carried out from year to year, in commemoration of the day
when the family was delivered from slavery and sorrow.
They have just finished dinner, and there has been much earnest,
thankful converse about the days gone by. They have fought their
battles o'er again. They have re-told the oft-told tales, feeling as if
they were almost new, and have reiterated their gratitude to the God of
Love for His great and manifold mercies.
We have not space to relate all that they said, but we may give the
concluding sentences.
"You're a wild boy, Mariano, as you always were," said the little old
lady with the rippling mouth, as the young man plunged his little
daughter into her lap head-foremost.
"And as I mean to be to the end of the chapter," replied Mariano. "How
often, grandmother, have you not tried to impress on me the importance
of following good examples? Have I not acted on your advice? Doubtless
no man is perfect, and I am far--very far--from claiming to have been
thoroughly successful in my efforts; but I have tried hard. Did I not,
while in Algiers, follow the example of my dear father in exhibiting at
all times a spirit of obstinacy that all but drove the pirates delirious
with rage? Did I not afterwards imitate Lucien, (your pet-pattern), in
getting to me the very best wife that the wide world could produce, and
do I not now intend to follow your own example in remaining young in
spirit until I am old in years? Taunt me not, then, with being wild--
you cannot cure me."
"I fear not," replied the little old lady with a sigh which did not
accord in the slightest degree with the ripples that played round her
lips.
"Wildness runs in the family, mother," said Francisco, with a broad
smile and a glance at Lucien's eldest hope, who had at that moment
succeeded in breaking the string of the map, and pulling Algiers down on
his head, "the Riminis have it in the blood and bone.--Get up and don't
whimper, there's a brave fellow," added the burly merchant as the
astonished youth arose; "I only wish that one of the great Powers would
pull down the real city of pirates as effectually as you have settled
the map. Lord Exmouth no doubt gave it a magnificent pounding, but
utter obliteration is the only thing that will do."
"That's true, father," cried Lucien; "it must be conquered by a
civilised nation, and the Turks be driven out, or held in subjection, if
Europe is to have peace. Depend on't they will be at their old tricks
ere long."
"I should like to be commander-in-chief when the war of conquest
begins," said Mariano.
"A poor job you'd make of it, my son," said Francisco.
"Why so, father?"
"Why? because hot blood and a giddy head with a revengeful spirit are
not the best elements wherewith to construct a commander-in-chief."
"Ah! father, with every wish to be respectful I cannot refrain from
reminding you of a certain pot which was reported once to have called a
kettle black. Ha!" continued Mariano, turning towards the little old
lady, "you should have seen him, granny, in the Bagnio of Algiers, when
the guards were inclined to be rather hard on some of the sick--"
"No, no!" interrupted the old lady, shaking her head; "don't talk of
that."
"Well, I won't, except to say that I'm thankful we are well out of it."
"It seems all like a strange dream," returned the old lady thoughtfully.
"So it does, mother," murmured Francisco, "so it does,--an almost
incredible dream."
And so it seems to us, reader, now that we have closed the record of it;
nevertheless it was no dream, but a sad and stern reality to those who
played their part in it--to those who sorrowed and suffered, sixty years
ago, in the Pirate City.