A SLAVE IN BARBARY
The Terifa had left port but a few hours when a strong wind rose
from the north, and rapidly increased in violence until it was
blowing a gale. "Inez is terribly ill," Gerald said when he met
Geoffrey on deck the following morning.
"I believe at the present moment she would face her father and risk
everything if she could but be put on shore."
"I can well imagine that. However, she will think otherwise tomorrow
or next day. I believe these Mediterranean storms do not last long.
There is no fear of six weeks of bad weather such as we had when
we were last afloat together."
"No. I have just been speaking to the captain. He says they generally
blow themselves out in two or three days; but still, even that is
not a pleasant lookout. These vessels are not like your English
craft, which seem to be able to sail almost in the eye of the wind.
They are lubberly craft, and badly handled; and if this gale lasts
for three days we shall be down on the Barbary coast, and I would
rather risk another journey through Spain than get down so near
the country of the Moors."
"I can understand that," Geoffrey agreed. "However, I see there
are some thirty soldiers forward on their way to join one of the
regiments in Naples, so we ought to be able to beat off any corsair
that might come near us."
"Yes; but if we got down on their coast we might be attacked by
half a dozen of them," Gerald said. "However, one need not begin to
worry one's self at present; the gale may abate within a few hours."
At the end of the second day the wind went down suddenly; and
through the night the vessel rolled heavily, for the sea was still
high, and there was not a breath of wind to fill her sails and steady
her. By the morning the sea had gone down, but there was still an
absence of wind.
"We have had a horrible night," Gerald remarked, "but we may think
ourselves fortunate indeed," and he pointed to the south, where
the land was plainly visible at a distance of nine or ten miles.
"If the gale had continued to blow until now we should have been
on shore long before this."
"We are too near to be pleasant," Geoffrey said, "for they can
see us as plainly as we can see the land. It is to be hoped that
a breeze may spring up from the south before long and enable us
to creep off the land. Unless I am greatly mistaken I can see the
masts of some craft or other in a line with those white houses over
there."
"I don't see them," Gerald replied, gazing intently in the direction
in which Geoffrey pointed.
"Let us go up to the top, Gerald; we shall see her hull from there
plainly enough."
On reaching the top Gerald saw at once that his friend's eyes had
not deceived him.
"Yes, there is a vessel there sure enough, Geoffrey. I cannot see
whether she has one or two masts, for her head is in this direction."
"That is not the worst of it," Geoffrey said, shading his eyes and
gazing intently on the distant object. "She is rowing; I can see
the light flash on her oars every stroke. That is a Moorish galley,
and she is coming out towards us."
"I believe you are right," Gerald replied after gazing earnestly
for some time. "Yes, I saw the flash of the oars then distinctly."
They at once descended to the deck and informed the captain of what
they had seen. He hastily mounted to the top.
"There is no mistake about it," he said after looking intently for
a short time; "it is one of the Barbary corsairs, and she is making
out towards us. The holy saints preserve us from these bloodthirsty
infidels."
"The saints will do their work if we do ours," Gerald remarked; "and
we had best do as large a share as possible. What is the number of
your crew, captain?"
"Nineteen men altogether."
"And there are thirty soldiers, and six male passengers in the
cabin," Gerald said; "so we muster fifty-four. That ought to be
enough to beat off the corsair."
On returning to the deck the captain informed the officer in charge of
the troops on board that a Moorish pirate was putting off towards
them, and that unless the wind came to their aid there was no chance
of escaping a conflict with her.
"Then we must fight her, captain," the officer, who was still a
youth, said cheerfully. "I have thirty men, of whom at least half
are veterans. You have four cannon on board, and there are the crew
and passengers.
"Fifty-four in all," Gerald said. "We ought to be able to make a
good fight of it."
Orders were at once given, soldiers and crew were mustered and
informed of the approaching danger.
"We have got to fight, men, and to fight hard," the young officer
said; "for if we are beaten you know the result--either our throats
will be cut or we shall have to row in their galleys for the rest
of our lives. So there is not much choice."
In an hour the corsair was halfway between the coast and the vessel.
By this time every preparation had been made for her reception. Arms
had been distributed among the crew and such of the passengers as
were not already provided, the guns had been cast loose and ammunition
brought up, cauldrons of pitch were ranged along the bulwarks and
fires lighted on slabs of stone placed beneath them. The coppers
in the galley were already boiling.
"Now, captain," the young officer said, "do you and your sailors
work the guns and ladle out the pitch and boiling water, and be in
readiness to catch up their pikes and axes and aid in the defence
if the villains gain a footing on the deck. I and my men and the
passengers will do our best to keep them from climbing up."
The vessel was provided with sweeps, and the captain had in
the first place proposed to man them; but Gerald pointed out that
the corsair would row three feet to their one, and that it was
important that all should be fresh and vigorous when the pirates
came alongside. The idea had consequently been abandoned, and the
vessel lay motionless in the water while the corsair was approaching.
Inez, who felt better now that the motion had subsided, came on
deck as the preparations were being made. Gerald told her of the
danger that was approaching. She turned pale.
"This is dreadful, Gerald, I would rather face death a thousand
times than be captured by the Moors."
"We shall beat them off, dear, never fear. They will not reckon
upon the soldiers we have on board, and will expect an easy prize.
I do not suppose that, apart from the galley slaves, they have more
men on board than we have, and fighting as we do for liberty, each
of us ought to be equal to a couple of these Moorish dogs. When
the conflict begins you must go below."
"I shall not do that," Inez said firmly. "We will share the same
fate whatever it may be, Gerald; and remember that whatever happens
I will not live to be carried captive among them, I will stab myself
to the heart if I see that all is lost."
"You shall come on deck if you will, Inez, when they get close
alongside. I do not suppose there will be many shots fired--they
will be in too great a hurry to board; but as long as they are
shooting you must keep below. After that come up if you will. It
would make a coward of me did I know that a chance shot might strike
you."
"Very well, then, Gerald, to please you I will go down until they
come alongside, then come what will I shall be on deck."
As the general opinion on board was that the corsairs would not
greatly outnumber them, while they would be at a great disadvantage
from the lowness of their vessel in the water, there was a general
feeling of confidence, and the approach of the enemy was watched
with calmness. When half a mile distant two puffs of smoke burst
out from the corsair's bows. A moment later a shot struck the ship,
and another threw up the water close to her stern. The four guns
of the Tarifa had been brought over to the side on which the enemy
was approaching, and these were now discharged. One of the shots
carried away some oars on the starboard side of the galley, another
struck her in the bow. There was a slight confusion on board; two
or three oars were shifted over from the port to the starboard
side, and, she continued her way.
The guns were loaded again, bags of bullets being this time inserted
instead of balls. The corsairs fired once more, but their shots
were unanswered; and with wild yells and shouts they approached
the motionless Spanish vessel.
"She is crowded with men," Gerald remarked to Geoffrey. "She has
far more on board than we reckoned on."
"We have not given them a close volley yet," Geoffrey replied. "If
the guns are well aimed they will make matters equal."
The corsair was little more than her own length away when the captain
gave the order, and the four guns poured their contents upon her
crowded decks. The effect was terrible. The mass of men gathered
in her bow in readiness to board as soon as she touched the Tarifa
were literally swept away. Another half minute she was alongside
the Spaniard, and the Moors with wild shouts of vengeance tried to
clamber on board.
But they had not reckoned upon meeting with more than the ordinary
crew of a merchant ship. The soldiers discharged their arquebuses,
and then with pike and sword opposed an impenetrable barrier to the
assailants, while the sailors from behind ladled over the boiling
pitch and water through intervals purposely left in the line of the
defenders. The conflict lasted but a few minutes. Well nigh half
the Moors had been swept away by the discharge of the cannon, and
the rest, but little superior in numbers to the Spaniards, were
not long before they lost heart, their efforts relaxed, and shouts
arose to the galley slaves to row astern.
"Now, it is our turn!" the young officer cried. "Follow me, my
men; we will teach the dogs a lesson." As he spoke he sprang from
the bulwark down upon the deck of the corsair. Geoffrey, who was
standing next to him, followed his example, as did five or six
soldiers. They were instantly engaged in a hand to hand fight with
the Moors. In the din and confusion they heard not the shouts of
their comrades. After a minute's fierce fighting, Geoffrey, finding
that he and his companions were being pressed back, glanced round
to see why support did not arrive, and saw that there were already
thirty feet of water between the two vessels. He was about to
spring overboard, when the Moors made a desperate rush, his guard
was beaten down, a blow from a Moorish scimitar fell on his head,
and he lost consciousness.
It was a long time before he recovered. The first sound he was
aware of was the creaking of the oars. He lay dreamily listening to
this, and wondering what it meant until the truth suddenly flashed
across him. He opened his eyes and looked round. A heavy weight lay
across his legs, and he saw the young Spanish officer lying dead
there. Several other Spaniards lay close by, while the deck was
strewn with the corpses of the Moors. He understood at once what had
happened. The vessels had drifted apart just as he sprang on board,
cutting off those who had boarded the corsair from all assistance
from their friends, and as soon as they had been overpowered the
galley had started on her return to the port from which she had
come out.
"At any rate," he said to himself, "Gerald and Inez are safe; that
is a comfort, whatever comes of it."
It was not until the corsair dropped anchor near the shore that
the dispirited Moors paid any attention to those by whom their deck
was cumbered. Then the Spaniards were first examined. Four, who
were dead, were at once tossed overboard. Geoffrey and two others
who showed signs of life were left for the present, a bucket of
water being thrown over each to revive them. The Moorish wounded
and the dead were then lowered into boats and taken on shore for
care or burial. Then Geoffrey and the two Spaniards were ordered
to rise.
All three were able to do so with some difficulty, and were rowed
ashore. They were received when they landed by the curses and
execrations of the people of the little town, who would have torn
them to pieces had not their captors marched them to the prison
occupied by the galley slaves when on shore, and left them there.
Most of the galley slaves were far too exhausted by their long row,
and too indifferent to aught but their own sufferings, to pay any
attention to the newcomers. Two or three, however, came up to them
and offered to assist in bandaging their wounds. Their doublets
had already been taken by their captors; but they now tore strips
off their shirts, and with these staunched the bleeding of their
wounds.
"It was lucky for you that five or six of our number were killed by
that discharge of grape you gave us," one of them said, "or they
would have thrown you overboard at once. Although, after all, death
is almost preferable to such a life as ours."
"How long have you been here?" Geoffrey asked.
"I hardly know," the other replied; "one almost loses count of time
here. But it is somewhere about ten years. I am sturdy, you see.
Three years at most is the average of our life in the galleys, though
there are plenty die before as many months have passed. I come of
a hardy race. I am not a Spaniard. I was captured in an attack on
a town in the West Indies, and had three years on board one of your
galleys at Cadiz. Then she was captured by the Moors, and here I
have been ever since."
"Then you must be an Englishman!" Geoffrey exclaimed in that
language.
The man stared at him stupidly for a minute, and then burst into
tears. "I have never thought to hear my own tongue again, lad,"
he said, holding out his hand. "Aye, I am English, and was one
of Hawkins' men. But how come you to be in a Spanish ship? I have
heard our masters say, when talking together, that there is war
now between the English and Spaniards; that is, war at home. There
has always been war out on the Spanish Main, but they know nothing
of that."
"I was made prisoner in a fight we had with the great Spanish Armada
off Gravelines," Geoffrey said.
"We heard a year ago from some Spaniards they captured that a great
fleet was being prepared to conquer England; but no news has come
to us since. We are the only galley here, and as our benches were
full, the prisoners they have taken since were sent off at once to
Algiers or other ports, so we have heard nothing. But I told the
Spaniards that if Drake and Hawkins were in England when their
great fleet got there, they were not likely to have it all their
own way. Tell me all about it, lad. You do not know how hungry I
am for news from home."
Geoffrey related to the sailor the tale of the overthrow and destruction
of the Armada, which threw him into an ecstasy of satisfaction.
"These fellows," he said, pointing to the other galley slaves,
"have for the last year been telling me that I need not call myself
an Englishman any more, for that England was only a part of Spain
now. I will open their eyes a bit in the morning. But I won't ask
you any more questions now; it is a shame to have made you talk so
much after such a clip as you have had on the head."
Geoffrey turned round on the sand that formed their only bed, and
was soon asleep, the last sound he heard being the chuckling of
his companion over the discomfiture of the Armada.
In the morning the guard came in with a great dish filled with a
sort of porridge of coarsely ground grain, boiled with water. In
a corner of the yard were a number of calabashes, each composed of
half a gourd. The slaves each dipped one of these into the vessel,
and so ate their breakfast. Before beginning Geoffrey went to
a trough, into which a jet of water was constantly falling from a
small pipe, bathed his head and face, and took a long drink.
"We may be thankful," the sailor, who had already told him that
his name was Stephen Boldero, said, "that someone in the old times
laid on that water. If it had not been for that I do not know what
we should have done, and a drink of muddy stuff once or twice a
day is all we should have got. That there pure water is just the
saving of us."
"What are we going to do now?" Geoffrey asked. "Does the galley go
out every day?"
"Bless you, no; sometimes not once a month; only when a sail is made
out in sight, and the wind is light enough to give us the chance
of capturing her. Sometimes we go out on a cruise for a month at a
time; but that is not often. At other times we do the work of the
town, mend the roads, sweep up the filth, repair the quays; do
anything, in fact, that wants doing. The work, except in the galleys,
is not above a man's strength. Some men die under it, because the
Spaniards lose heart and turn sullen, and then down comes the whip
on their backs, and they break their hearts over it; but a man as
does his best, and is cheerful and willing, gets on well enough
except in the galleys.
"That is work that is. There is a chap walks up and down with a
whip, and when they are chasing he lets it fall promiscuous, and
even if you are rowing fit to kill yourself you do not escape it;
but on shore here if you keep up your spirits things ain't altogether
so bad. Now I have got you here to talk to in my own lingo I feel
quite a different man. For although I have been here ten years, and
can jabber in Spanish, I have never got on with these fellows; as
is only natural, seeing that I am an Englishman and know all about
their doings in the Spanish Main, and hate them worse than poison.
Well, our time is up, so I am off. I do not expect they will make
you work till your wounds are healed a bit."
This supposition turned out correct, and for the next week Geoffrey
was allowed to remain quietly in the yard when the gang went out
to their work. At the end of that time his wound had closed, and
being heartily sick of the monotony of his life, he voluntarily
fell in by the side of Boldero when the gang was called to work.
The overseer was apparently pleased at this evidence of willingness
on the part of the young captive, and said something to him in his
own tongue. This his companion translated as being an order that
he was not to work too hard for the present.
"I am bound to say, mate, that these Moors are, as a rule, much
better masters than the Spaniards. I have tried them both, and I
would rather be in a Moorish galley than a Spanish one by a long
way; except just when they are chasing a ship, and are half wild
with excitement. These Moors are not half bad fellows, while it don't
seem to me that a Spaniard has got a heart in him. Then again, I
do not think they are quite so hard on Englishmen as they are on
Spaniards; for they hate the Spaniards because they drove them out
of their country. Once or twice I have had a talk with the overseer
when he has been in a special good humour, and he knows we hate
the Spaniards as much as they do, and that though they call us
all Christian dogs, our Christianity ain't a bit like that of the
Spaniards. I shall let him know the first chance I have that you
are English too, and I shall ask him to let you always work by the
side of me."
As Stephen Boldero had foretold, Geoffrey did not find his work
on shore oppressively hard. He did his best, and, as he and his
companion always performed a far larger share of work than that
done by any two of the Spaniards, they gained the goodwill of their
overlooker, who, when a fortnight later the principal bey of the
place sent down a request for two slaves to do some rough work in
his garden, selected them for the work.
"Now we will just buckle to, lad," Stephen Boldero said. "This bey
is the captain of the corsair, and he can make things a deal easier
for us if he chooses; so we will not spare ourselves. He had one
of the men up there two years ago, and kept him for some months,
and the fellow found it so hard when he came back here again that
he pined and died off in no time."
A guard took them to the bey's house, which stood on high ground
behind the town. The bey came out to examine the men chosen for
his work.
"I hear," he said, "that you are both English, and hate the Spaniards
as much as we do. Well, if I find you work well, you will be well
treated; if not, you will be sent back at once. Now, come with me,
and I shall show you what you have to do."
The high wall at the back of the garden had been pulled down, and
the bey intended to enlarge the inclosure considerably.
"You are first," he said, "to dig a foundation for the new wall
along that line marked out by stakes. When that is done you will
supply the masons with stone and mortar. When the wall is finished
the new ground will all have to be dug deeply and planted with
shrubs, under the superintendence of my gardener. While you are
working here you will not return to the prison, but will sleep in
that out house in the garden."
"You shall have no reason to complain of our work," Boldero said.
"We Englishmen are no sluggards, and we do not want a man always
looking after us as those lazy Spaniards do."
As soon as they were supplied with tools Geoffrey and his companion
set to work. The trench for the foundations had to be dug three
feet deep; and though the sun blazed fiercely down upon them, they
worked unflinchingly. From time to time the bey's head servant came
down to examine their progress, and occasionally watched them from
among the trees. At noon he bade them lay aside their tools and
come into the shed, and a slave boy brought them out a large dish
of vegetables, with small pieces of meat in it.
"This is something like food," Stephen said as he sat down to it.
"It is ten years since such a mess as this has passed my lips. I
do not wonder that chap fell ill when he got back to prison if this
is the sort of way they fed him here."
That evening the Moorish overseer reported to the bey that the two
slaves had done in the course of the day as much work as six of
the best native labourers could have performed, and that without
his standing over them or paying them any attention whatever. Moved
by the report, the bey himself went down to the end of the garden.
"It is wonderful," he said, stroking his beard. "Truly these
Englishmen are men of sinews. Never have I seen so much work done
by two men in a day. Take care of them, Mahmoud, and see that they
are well fed; the willing servant should be well cared for."
The work went steadily on until the wall was raised, the ground
dug, and the shrubs planted. It was some months before all this
was done, and the two slaves continued to attract the observation
and goodwill of the bey by their steady and cheerful labour. Their
work began soon after sunrise, and continued until noon. Then they
had three hours to themselves to eat their midday meal and doze in
the shed, and then worked again until sunset. The bey often strolled
down to the edge of the trees to watch them, and sometimes even took
guests to admire the way in which these two Englishmen, although
ignorant that any eyes were upon them, performed their work.
His satisfaction was evinced by the abundance of food supplied
them, their meal being frequently supplemented by fruit and other
little luxuries. Severely as they laboured, Geoffrey and his
companion were comparatively happy. Short as was the time that the
former had worked with the gang, he appreciated the liberty he now
enjoyed, and especially congratulated himself upon being spared the
painful life of a galley slave at sea. As to Boldero, the change
from the prison with the companions he hated, its degrading work,
and coarse and scanty food, made a new man of him.
He had been but two-and-twenty when captured by the Spaniards,
and was now in the prime of life and strength. The work, which had
seemed very hard to Geoffrey at first, was to him but as play, while
the companionship of his countryman, his freedom from constant
surveillance, the absence of all care, and the abundance and
excellence of his food, filled him with new life; and the ladies
of the bey's household often sat and listened to the strange songs
that rose from the slaves toiling in the garden.
As the work approached its conclusion Geoffrey and his companion
had many a talk over what would next befall them. There was one
reason only that weighed in favour of the life with the slave gang.
In their present position there was no possibility whatever, so
far as they could discern, of effecting their escape; whereas, as
slaves, should the galley in which they rowed be overpowered by
any ship it attacked, they would obtain their freedom. The chance
of this, however, was remote, as the fast-rowing galleys could
almost always make their escape should the vessel they attacked
prove too strong to be captured.
When the last bed had been levelled and the last shrub planted the
superintendent told them to follow him into the house, as the bey
was desirous of speaking with them. They found him seated on a
divan.
"Christians," he said, "I have watched you while you have been at
work, and truly you have not spared yourselves in my service, but
have laboured for me with all your strength, well and willingly. I
see now that it is true that the people of your nation differ much
from the Spaniards, who are dogs.
"I see that trust is to be placed in you, and were you but true
believers I would appoint you to a position where you could win
credit and honour. As it is, I cannot place you over believers in
the prophet; but neither am I willing that you should return to
the gang from which I took you. I will, therefore, leave you free
to work for yourselves. There are many of my friends who have seen
you labouring, and will give you employment. It will be known in
the place that you are under my protection, and that any who insult
or ill treat you will be severely punished. Should you have any
complaint to make, come freely to me and I will see that justice
is done you.
"This evening a crier will go through the place proclaiming that
the two English galley slaves have been given their freedom by
me, and will henceforth live in the town without molestation from
anyone, carrying on their work and selling their labour like true
believers. The crier will inform the people that the nation to which
you belong is at war with our enemies the Spaniards, and that, save
as to the matter of your religion, you are worthy of being regarded
as friends by all good Moslems. My superintendent will go down with
you in the morning. I have ordered him to hire a little house for
you and furnish it with what is needful, to recommend you to your
neighbours, and to give you a purse of piastres with which to
maintain yourselves until work comes to you."
Stephen Boldero expressed the warmest gratitude, on the part of
his companion and himself, to the bey for his kindness.
"I have done but simple justice," the bey said, "and no thanks are
necessary. Faithful work should have its reward, and as you have
done to me so I do to you."
The next morning as they were leaving, a female slave presented them
with a purse of silver, the gift of the bey's wife and daughters,
who had often derived much pleasure from the songs of the two
captives. The superintendent conducted them to a small hut facing
the sea. It was furnished with the few articles that were, according
to native ideas, necessary for comfort. There were cushions on
the divan of baked clay raised about a foot above the floor, which
served as a sofa during the day and as a bed at night. There was a
small piece of carpet on the floor and a few cooking utensils on a
shelf, and some dishes of burnt clay; and nothing more was required.
There was, however, a small chest, in which, after the superintendent
had left, they found two sets of garments as worn by the natives.
"This is a comfort indeed," Geoffrey said. "My clothes are all in
rags, and as for yours the less we say about them the better. I
shall feel like a new man in these things."
"I shall be glad myself," Stephen agreed, "for the clothes they
give the galley slaves are scarce decent for a Christian man to
wear. My consolation has been that if they had been shocked by our
appearance they would have given us more clothes; but as they did
not mind it there was no reason why I should. Still it would be a
comfort to be clean and decent again."
For the first few days the natives of the place looked askance
at these Christians in their midst, but the bey's orders had been
peremptory that no insults should be offered to them. Two days after
their liberation one of the principal men of the place sent for them
and employed them in digging the foundations for a fountain, and a
deep trench of some hundred yards in length for the pipe bringing
water to it. After that they had many similar jobs, receiving always
the wages paid to regular workmen, and giving great satisfaction by
their steady toil. Sometimes when not otherwise engaged they went
out in boats with fishermen, receiving a portion of the catch in
payment for their labours.
So some months passed away. Very frequently they talked over methods
of escape. The only plan that seemed at all possible was to take a
boat and make out to sea; but they knew that they would be pursued,
and if overtaken would revert to their former life at the galleys,
a change which would be a terrible one indeed after the present
life of freedom and independence. They knew, too, that they might
be days before meeting with a ship, for all traders in the Mediterranean
hugged the northern shores as much as possible in order to avoid the
dreaded corsairs, and there would be a far greater chance of their
being recaptured by one of the Moorish cruisers than of lighting
upon a Christian trader.
"It is a question of chance," Stephen said, "and when the chance
comes we will seize it; but it is no use our giving up a life against
which there is not much to be said, unless some fair prospect of
escape offers itself to us."