‘Dispirited with this reflection, he did not stay to dress, but went in

a most disconsolate situation, to give an account of his mishap to his

friend Lothario; and when he understood from his servants, that their

master had gone out in the night, and carried all his ready money along

with him, he had well-nigh lost his senses. To crown his misery, he

returned to his own house, which was deserted by all his servants, and

found himself the most solitary being in nature; he knew not what to

think, say, or do, and his judgment began to be impaired; for, upon

recollection, he perceived that he was in an instant deprived of wife,

friend, and servants, renounced by Heaven, and, what he felt more deeply

than any other part of his disaster, destitute of honour, by the

misconduct of Camilla, from which he dated his utter destruction. At

length, after a long internal struggle, he resolved to go to the

country-house of his friend, where he had been, when he furnished the

opportunity of planning his own ruin. Accordingly, having locked his

door, he mounted his horse, and almost fainting under the burden of his

woes, set out for that place; but scarce had he travelled one half of

the way, when harrassed by his shocking reflections, he was obliged to

alight and tie his horse to a tree, at the root of which he threw

himself down, giving vent to the most lamentable sighs that ever were

heaved: there he remained till the twilight; about which time,

perceiving a man coming on horseback from the city, after salutation, he

asked what news were stirring at Florence. “The strangest,” replied the

citizen, “that have been heard these many days; it is publickly

reported, that Lothario, the intimate friend of Anselmo the rich, who

lived at St. John’s, hath this last night carried off the wife of his

friend, who is also missing. This discovery was made to the governor by

Camilla’s maid, who was detected in letting herself down by a sheet,

from one of the windows of Anselmo’s house. In short, I do not know the

particulars exactly; but the whole city is astonished at this event,

which they could never have expected from the intimacy of the two

gentlemen, who were so strictly united in the bands of amity, as to

acquire the title of the Two Friends.”—“Do you know what road Lothario

and Camilla have taken?” said Anselmo. “That is not yet discovered,”

replied the traveller; “though the governor hath used great diligence in

the enquiry.” Anselmo wished him a good evening; and the citizen having

returned the compliment, proceeded on his journey.

‘These unhappy news reduced this ill-fated husband to the verge of death

as well as distraction. He mounted, however, as well as he could, and

arrived at the house of his friend, who had not as yet heard of his

misfortune; but seeing him so exhausted, ghastly, and pale, imagined he

had met with some grievous disaster. Anselmo begged to be put to bed

immediately, and furnished with pen, ink, and paper: thus provided, he

was left alone, and the chamber locked at his own desire; then the

remembrance of his misfortune began to be so heavy upon his soul, that

he plainly perceived his end approaching, and being desirous of

declaring the cause of his strange and sudden death, he took up the pen;

but, before he could execute his design, his breath failed him, and he

expired, a victim to that sorrow which was occasioned by his own

impertinent curiosity. His friend finding it grow late, and that Anselmo

had not called, went into his chamber, to enquire about his health;

there he found him lying upon his face, one half of his body in bed, and

the other on the table, with a pen in his hand, and a written paper

lying open before him.

‘The gentleman having spoke to him without receiving any answer, took

him by the hand, and feeling him cold and stiff, concluded he was dead.

Surprized and concerned to the last degree, he called up his family to

be witnesses of this melancholy event, and knowing the paper to be

Anselmo’s own hand-writing, read the contents, in these words: “I am

deprived of life by my own impertinent curiosity. If the news of my

death reach Camilla’s ears, let her know that I forgive her infidelity;

for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor I under any necessity of

expecting them at her hands: since, therefore, I have been the contriver

of my own dishonour, there is no reason that——” So far he had written,

but life had forsaken him, before he could finish the sentence. Next day

his friend sent an account of his death to his parents, who were already

informed of his mischance, as also of the convent to which Camilla had

retreated; and where she now lay at the point of accompanying her spouse

in his last indispensible journey; not so much on account of Anselmo’s

death, as in consequence of the information she received concerning her

absent lover; it was said, that though she was now a widow, she would

neither quit the convent nor take the veil; but, in a little time the

news arrived of Lothario’s being killed in a battle which was fought

between the renowned Captain Gonçalo Fernandes de Cordova, and Monsieur

De Lautrec, in the kingdom of Naples, whither this too-late repenting

friend had made his retreat. This event was no sooner known, than

Camilla professed herself a nun, and in a few days yielded up her life a

prey to grief and melancholy. Such was the untimely end to which they

were all brought from a beginning of whim and indiscretion.’

‘This novel,’ said the curate, ‘is not amiss; but I cannot think the

story is true; and if it be feigned, the author has erred in point of

invention; for it cannot be supposed that any husband would be so mad as

to try this dangerous experiment of Anselmo: had it been related of a

gallant and his mistress, it might have passed; but with regard to a

husband and his wife, it is altogether improbable; however, the manner

of narrating it is not disagreeable.’

CHAP. IX.

AN ACCOUNT OF OTHER STRANGE ADVENTURES THAT HAPPENED AT THE INN.

At that instant the landlord, standing at the inn-door, exclaimed,

‘There is a noble company: odd! if they halt here, we shall sing for

joy.’—‘What company?’ said Cardenio. ‘Four men,’ replied the inn-keeper,

‘who ride with short stirrups, each of them equipped with lance, target,

and mask, with a lady on a side-saddle, dressed in white and veiled, and

two attendants on foot.’ When the priest asked if they were near, he

answered, ‘So near, that they are already at the gate.’

Dorothea hearing this information, put on her veil, and Cardenio

withdrew into Don Quixote’s apartment. Immediately the whole company

announced by the landlord, entered the inn-yard; and the four horsemen,

who were persons of genteel mien and carriage, instantly alighting, went

to help the lady from her horse, when one of them taking her in his

arms, placed her in a chair that stood by the door of the room in which

Cardenio had concealed himself. All this time neither she nor they took

off their masks, nor uttered one syllable; but when she was seated, she

heaved a profound sigh, and let her arms fall down on each side, like a

person fainting with weakness. While the footman led the horses into the

stable, the curate being curious to know who those persons were, so

remarkable in their silence and dress, went up and put the question to

one of the lacquies, who answered, ‘Truly, Signior, we are as ignorant

in that particular as you are; though they seem to be people of

condition, especially he who took the lady in his arms, because all the

rest behave to him with great respect, following his directions in every

thing with the utmost punctuality.’—‘And, pray, who may the lady be?’

said the priest. ‘We know as little of her as of the man,’ replied the

lacquey; ‘for during the journey I have never once beheld her face; I

have often heard her sigh bitterly, and utter piercing groans, in every

one of which she seemed to yield her very soul; but it is not to be

wondered at that we should know so little of their affairs, my companion

and I having attended them two days only; for, meeting us on the road,

they intreated and persuaded us to accompany them as far as Andalusia,

promising to pay us handsomely for our trouble.’—‘Have you never heard

one of them named?’ resumed the curate. ‘Never once,’ answered the young

man; ‘they travel with surprizing silence; nothing is heard but the sobs

and sighs of the poor lady, which move us to compassion; we firmly

believe that she is forced upon this journey, and gather from her dress

that she is a nun; or, which is more probable, going to take the veil;

and finding herself very little inclined to that way of life, is

melancholy at the prospect.’

The curate said, nothing was more probable; and leaving the lacquey,

returned to Dorothea, who by this time, out of natural sympathy with the

affliction of the masked lady, had approached and accosted her in these

words: ‘What is the matter with you, dear Madam? If you labour under any

indisposition which the practice and experience of women can relieve, my

assistance is heartily at your service.’ To this kind offer no reply was

made by the sorrowful lady, who, notwithstanding the other’s repeated

intreaties, would not open her mouth; until the person who by the

lacquey’s information was chief of the company, addressing himself to

Dorothea, said, ‘Do not fatigue yourself, Madam, in making proffers of

service to that woman, who cannot be grateful for any favour she

receives; nor importune her for any reply, unless you desire to hear

some falshoods proceed from her lips.’—‘My lips,’ said the hitherto

silent lady, ‘were never profaned with falshood; on the contrary, my

present misfortune is owing to my sincerity and my abhorrence of lyes.

Of this assertion you yourself are too sensible; since your own perfidy

and falshood are the effects of my constancy and truth.’

These words were distinctly overheard by Cardenio, who was only

separated from them by the door of Don Quixote’s chamber; and they no

sooner reached his ear, than he cried aloud, ‘Good Heaven, what do I

hear! What voice is that which struck my sense!’ The lady being

exceedingly surprized at that exclamation, turned about her head, and

not seeing the person that pronounced it, started up, and ran towards

the apartment from whence it seemed to come; but was prevented by her

conductor, who would not suffer her to move one step farther. In the

disorder occasioned by her struggle, her mask dropped off, and

discovered a countenance of incomparable and amazing beauty, even though

disguised with paleness and horror; for her eyes rolled about to every

corner which her sight could reach, with such eagerness and wildness,

that she looked like a woman possessed.

Dorothea, and all present, were infinitely concerned at these symptoms,

the meaning of which they could not understand; meanwhile, the cavalier

was so busied in holding her fast by the shoulders, that he could not

attend to his mask, which also fell to the ground: and Dorothea lifting

up her eyes towards him, as he held the lady in his arms, perceived that

this cavalier was no other than her own husband, Don Fernando. No sooner

did she recognize his features, than fetching a long and melancholy sigh

from the very bottom of her soul, she fell backward in a swoon; and if

the barber had not been at hand to support her, would have certainly

come to the ground. The curate ran instantly to take off her veil, that

he might sprinkle water on her face, which was immediately known by Don

Fernando, who held the other lady in his arms, and was thunderstruck at

the sight: he would not, however, quit Lucinda, who struggled to get

loose; she and Cardenio having by this time recognized each other by

their mutual exclamations. He had also overheard the groan uttered by

Dorothea when she fainted; and believing that it proceeded from Lucinda,

rushed out of his apartment in a fright, when the first object he beheld

was Don Fernando clasping her in his arms. This nobleman knew him

immediately; and all three (namely, Lucinda, Cardenio, and Dorothea)

were struck dumb with astonishment, and seemed insensible of what had

happened, gazing in silence at one another.

Dorothea directed her eager view to Don Fernando, who stared at

Cardenio, whose eyes were fixed upon Lucinda, who looked wishfully at

him; but the first that broke silence, was this last, who addressed

herself in these words to Don Fernando: ‘Suffer me, Signior, in regard

to your own character, since you are deaf to every other consideration,

to cleave to that wall of which I am the ivy, to avail myself of that

prop from which you could not disengage me, with all your importunities,

promises, and threats. Behold how Heaven, by unusual and mysterious

means, hath brought me to my true and lawful husband; and since you

know, by dear-bought experience, that nothing but death can expel his

image from my breast, let this plain demonstration, since all other

attempts are vain, convert your love into rage, your friendship into

hate, and instantly deprive me of life, which I shall yield with

pleasure in the presence of my legal lord, who will then perhaps be

convinced of the fidelity I preserved to the last moment of my

existence.’

In the mean time, Dorothea being recovered from her swoon, had listened

to Lucinda’s declaration, by which she discovered her situation and

name; but perceiving that Don Fernando neither quitted his hold, nor

answered one word to her solicitation, she exerted her whole strength in

falling down on her knees before him, and having shed a large quantity

of tears from her beautiful eyes, accosted him in these words: ‘My dear

lord! if your eyes were not dazzled and obscured by the rays of that sun

which you hold eclipsed within your arms, you would perceive that she

who thus kneels before you, is the unhappy (so long as you are pleased

she should be so) and forlorn Dorothea—I am that humble country maiden

whom your generosity or passion vouchsafed to raise to the honour of

calling you her own. I am she who, confined within the bounds of

modesty, lived a contented life, until moved by your importunities, and

seemingly upright addresses, she opened the gates of her reserve, and

surrendered to you the keys of her freedom. An offering but ill

requited, as plainly appears by that hard fate, in consequence of which

I am found in this place, and also find you in your present situation.

Nevertheless, I would not have you imagine that I came hither, induced

by any dishonourable motives; but that the sorrow conceived at seeing

myself forsaken and forgotten by you, was the sole cause of my retreat.

You desired I should be your own; and that desire you accomplished so

effectually, that although your inclinations may be changed, it is

impossible you should cease to be mine. Consider, my lord, that my

unparalleled affection may counterbalance the beauty and birth of her

for whom I am abandoned; you cannot be the fair Lucinda’s husband,

because you are already mine; nor she become your wife, while she

appertains to Cardenio; and it will be a much easier task, if you

reflect upon it impartially, to recal your love for her who adores you,

than to gain the affection of one by whom you are abhorred. You

solicited my unsuspecting heart, you importuned my integrity, you was

not ignorant of my lowly station, and know in what manner I yielded to

your will; so that you have no subterfuge, nor the least room to say you

was deceived. If this be the case, as doubtless it is, and you be a

Christian as well as a gentleman, why do you, by such evasions, delay to

make the end as happy as the beginning of my fortune? If you will not

receive me as what I really am, your lawful wife, at least admit me into

the number of your slaves; for, in whatever shape I belong to you, I

shall account myself fortunate and blessed; do not, therefore, by

renouncing me entirely, give scandal an opportunity of impeaching my

honour. Make not my parents miserable in their old age; their faithful

services to your father merit a more kind return! if you think your

blood will be debased in mixing with mine, consider, that almost all the

great families on earth have undergone the same intercourse, and that

the woman’s quality in no manner affects illustrious descents: besides,

true nobility consists in virtue; and in that shall I have the advantage

over you, if you deny and oppose the justice of my claim. In fine, the

last argument I shall use is this, whether you are pleased or displeased

with your destiny, I am your lawful wife: witness your own words, which

neither are nor ought to be false; if you value yourself on that for

which you undervalue me; witness your handwriting, and Heaven above, to

the testimony of which you appealed for the performance of your promise;

and if all these should fail, your conscience will never cease

whispering to you, amidst your pleasures, in vindication of this truth,

which will disturb your most exalted enjoyments.’

This supplication, enforced with other arguments, was pronounced so

feelingly by the afflicted and weeping Dorothea, that tears of sympathy

were shed by all present, the companions of Don Fernando not excepted;

he himself listened without answering one word, until she had made an

end of her address, and began to utter such woeful sighs and groans, as

were almost sufficient to melt an heart of brass. Lucinda stood gazing

upon her with equal compassion for her sorrow, and admiration of her

beauty and good sense; nay, she would have gone and offered her all the

consolation in her power, had she not still been kept fast locked in the

arms of Don Fernando; who, full of confusion and surprize, after having

for a good while fixed his eyes upon Dorothea, with great attention,

opened his arms, and leaving Lucinda at liberty, said, ‘You have

conquered, beauteous Dorothea: the victory is yours; for so many truths

conjoined are surely irresistible.’

Lucinda was so faint and weak, that when Don Fernando quitted her, she

would have fallen to the ground, had it not been for Cardenio, who had

placed himself behind her ravisher, that he might not be known[95]; but

now, laying aside all fear, and resolving to adventure every thing, he

sprung to the assistance of Lucinda, and catching her in his arms, ‘If,’

said he, ‘it be the will and pleasure of pitying Heaven, that you should

find repose, my faithful, constant, and charming Lucinda! I think you

can enjoy it no where so securely, as in these arms, which now receive,

and formerly encircled you, when fortune was pleased that I should call

you mine.’

At these words, she gazed upon him with great eagerness; she had before

began to recognize his voice, and now, recollecting his features, like a

person deprived of judgment, who disregards all decency and form, she

threw her arms about his neck, and joining her lips to his, ‘Yes, my

dear Cardenio,’ said she, ‘you are the real lord of this your slave, in

spite of adverse fate, and all those threats, though greater than they

are, that persecute my life, which now depends on yours alone.’

An unexpected sight was this to Don Fernando, and all the bye-standers,

who were not a little surprized at what they saw. While Dorothea

observing her husband change colour, and signify an inclination of being

revenged upon Cardenio, by laying his hand upon his sword, ran, with

incredible agility, and clasping his knees, which she kissed, held him

so firmly embraced, that he could not move, saying, while the tears

trickled from her eyes, ‘What means my only refuge to do on this

unexpected occasion? Your own wife is now kneeling before you, and she

whom you desire to wed is in the arms of her lawful husband; consider

whether it be just or possible for you to undo that which Heaven hath

done; why should you seek to unite yourself with one, who disdaining all

opposition and inconvenience, and confirmed in her own constancy and

truth, even before your eyes, lets fall from hers a shower of tenderness

into the bosom of her lawful spouse? For the sake of God and of

yourself, I entreat and beseech you, that this remarkable recognition

may not only fail to increase your indignation, but even diminish it in

such a manner, that these two lovers may, without any impediment from

you, enjoy each other as long as Heaven will permit them to live. In

this self-denial you will manifest the generosity of your noble and

illustrious soul, and convince the world, that you are governed more by

reason than by appetite.’

While Dorothea pronounced these words, Cardenio, though he held Lucinda

in his arms, kept his eyes still fixed upon Don Fernando, with full

resolution, if he attempted any thing to his prejudice, to defend

himself as well as he could, against his adversary and all his

adherents, although it should cost him his life; but this young

nobleman’s friends, together with the curate and barber, not forgetting

honest Sancho Panza, who were present at the whole affair, interposed,

and making a circle about him, begged earnestly that he would be pleased

to consider the tears of Dorothea; and if what she alledged was true, as

they firmly believed it was, no longer suffer her to be defrauded of her

just and reasonable hope. They desired him to observe, that in all

appearance it was not by accident, but the immediate direction of

Providence, that they had all met together so unexpectedly in this

place; and the curate intreated him to reflect, that death alone could

divide Lucinda from Cardenio; that though they might be parted by the

edge of the sword, they would look, upon death as the greatest blessing

that could befal them, and that, in a case of this kind, which admitted

of no other remedy, it would be his wisest course to constrain and

conquer his own passion, and demonstrate the generosity of his heart, by

permitting, of his own free-will, these two lovers to enjoy that state

of happiness which heaven had ordained for their lot; that he should

contemplate Dorothea’s beauty, which, far from being excelled, was

equalled in few or none; and to her beauty, add the consideration of her

humility and excessive love; above all, take notice, that if he valued

himself upon being a gentleman and a Christian, he could do no less than

perform the promise he had given, and in so doing, act in conformity to

the will of God, and satisfy the discreet part of mankind, who are very

sensible that it is the prerogative of beauty, even in a low estate,

when accompanied with virtue, to be lifted up to the highest rank,

without any disparagement to the person who thus raises it to an

equality with himself; and since the irresistible force of inclination

must prevail, provided there be nothing criminal in the means, he is not

to be blamed who acts according to its dictates.

To these arguments were added so many of the same sort, that the valiant

heart of Don Fernando, nourished by illustrious blood, relented, and he

was overcome by the force of that truth, which, however inclined, he

could not deny. The signal of his surrender, and yielding to this

reasonable and just proposal, was his stooping down and embracing

Dorothea: to whom he said, ‘Rise, Madam; it is not just that she who

reigns in my soul, should lie prostrate at my feet. If hitherto I have

given small proof of what I now profess, perhaps my omission hath been

owing to the appointment of Heaven, that by giving you an opportunity of

manifesting the sincerity of your love, I might know how to esteem you

according to your deserts. I beg, therefore, you will not upbraid me

with my misconduct and unkind neglect; since the same force and occasion

that attached me to you, was the cause of my endeavour to disengage

myself. That you may be convinced of the truth, behold and contemplate

the eyes of the now contented Lucinda, in which you will find an excuse

for all my errors; and, since she hath found and attained her heart’s

desire, and my utmost wish is fulfilled in thus retrieving you, may she

live in peace and quiet, for many happy years, with her Cardenio, and

may Heaven grant the same felicity to me with Dorothea!’

So saying, he embraced her again, pressing his lips to her’s with such

tenderness, that it required his greatest efforts to forbear giving,

with his tears, indubitable signs of his affection and remorse. But

those endeavours did not succeed with Lucinda, Cardenio, and every other

person present, who began to weep so plentifully, either at their own

happiness, or the satisfaction of their friends, that one would have

thought some grievous misfortune had happened to the whole company. Even

Sancho blubbered, though he afterwards owned, that his sorrow proceeded

from seeing that Dorothea was not, as he imagined, the Queen of

Micomicon, from whom he expelled such favours.

This universal admiration and thaw having lasted some time, Cardenio and

Lucinda fell upon their knees before Don Fernando, whom they thanked for

his generosity in such polite terms, that he scarce knew what answer to

make, but raised and embraced them both with demonstrations of uncommon

courtesy and affection. Then asking Dorothea how she had come to that

place, so distant from her own home, she with great elegance and brevity

repeated what she had before recounted to Cardenio; and her husband and

his company were so pleased with her narration, that they wished it

could have been spun out to a much greater length; so gracefully did she

relate her own misfortunes.

Her talk being finished, Don Fernando informed them of what had happened

to him in the city, after he found, in Lucinda’s bosom, the paper in

which she declared herself Cardenio’s wife. Seeing that she could not

possibly be his, he said, he was determined to put her to death, and

would actually have executed his purpose, had not her parents

interposed. He then quitted the house, full of shame and resentment,

resolving to revenge himself with the first opportunity; and next day

understood that she was gone off, without any body’s knowing whither she

had directed her flight. At length, however, in a few months, he got

notice that she was in a certain monastery, where she intended to spend

her whole life, if she could not enjoy it in the company of Cardenio. He

no sooner received this intimation, than chusing these three gentlemen

for his companions, he went straight to the place of her residence; but

without speaking to her, or making himself known, lest the monastery

should be more strictly guarded on his account. He waited, therefore,

until one day he found the porter’s lodge open; when leaving two of his

friends to secure the door, he entered the monastery with the other, in

quest of Lucinda, whom he found in the cloisters, talking with a nun;

and snatching her off, without giving her a moment’s time for

recollection, carried her instantly to a place where they provided

themselves with necessaries for their journey. This exploit they were

enabled to perform with safety, because the monastery stood in the

middle of a field, at a good distance from any village or town. He said,

Lucinda no sooner perceived herself in his power, than she fainted away;

and when she recovered the use of her senses, did nothing but weep and

sigh, without speaking one word: so that, accompanied with silence and

tears, they had arrived at that inn, which he looked upon as the

heavenly goal where all earthly misfortunes are happily terminated.

Footnote 95:

But it appears in the preceding page, that he was already known both

to Fernando and Lucinda. _Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus._

CHAP. X.

A CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF THE RENOWNED PRINCESS MICOMICONA,

WITH OTHER PLEASANT ADVENTURES.

Sancho heard every thing that passed with no small anxiety of mind,

seeing the hopes of his preferment vanish into smoke, the beautiful

Princess Micomicona transformed into Dorothea, the giant into Don

Fernando, and his master in a sound sleep, little dreaming of what had

happened. Dorothea could not persuade herself, that all her good fortune

was not a dream; Cardenio entertained the same opinion, which was also

embraced by Lucinda; while Don Fernando gave thanks to Heaven for its

favour, in extricating him from that labyrinth of perplexity, in which

he was at the point of losing his reputation and soul. In fine, every

person present was well satisfied, and rejoiced at the happy issue of

such intricate and desperate affairs. The curate represented every thing

in the right point of view, with great discretion, and congratulated the

parties concerned on the felicity they had acquired; but she whose joy

was most vociferous was the landlady, who loudly exulted in the promise

of Cardenio and the curate, who had undertaken to pay her with interest,

for the damage she had sustained on Don Quixote’s account. Sancho alone,

as we have already observed, was afflicted, unfortunate, and sad, and

going to his master who was just awake, said, with a lamentable tone,

‘Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, your worship may now sleep as

long as you please, without giving yourself the trouble of slaying the

giant, or restoring the princess to her throne; that whole affair is

already brought to a conclusion.’

‘I really believe what you say,’ answered the knight, ‘for I have been

engaged with the giant, in the most obstinate and outrageous combat that

I believe I shall ever fight in all the days of my life; with one

back-stroke, slam went his head to the ground, and discharged such a

quantity of blood, that it ran like rills of water along the field.’—‘Or

rather like red wine, your worship should say,’ replied the squire; ‘for

I must inform you, if you do not already know it, that the dead giant is

no other than a wine bag, and the blood, eighteen gallons of good red

wine, which was contained in its belly: the head you cut off is the

whore my mother, and the whole affair is gone to the devil.’—‘What does

the lunatick mean?’ said Don Quixote; ‘are you in your right senses,

Sancho?’—‘Rise, Sir,’ resumed the squire, ‘and see what a fine piece of

work you have made, and what a score you have run. You shall behold the

queen converted into a private lady, called Dorothea, with many other

strange events, at which, if you take them right, you will be hugely,

astonished.’—‘I shall not wonder at any thing of that kind,’ replied his

master; ‘for thou may’st remember, the last time we were in this house,

I told thee that every incident which happened was conducted and brought

about by inchantment, so that we need not be surprized if the same power

should prevail at present.’—‘I should be of your worship’s opinion,’

answered Sancho, ‘if my blanketting had been of the same stamp; but that

was not the case, for it was really and truly a substantial tossing.

This very innkeeper whom we saw to-day, held a corner of the blanket,

and canted me into the air with great strength and nimbleness, passing a

thousand waggish jokes, and laughing at me all the while; from whence I

concluded, simple and sinner as I am, that as I knew their persons,

there was no inchantment in the case, but abundance of bruising and bad

fortune.’—‘Well, heaven will make thee amends,’ said the knight;

‘meanwhile reach me my clothes; for I want to go forth and examine those

events and transformations which thou hast mentioned.’

While Sancho was helping him to dress, the curate gave Don Fernando and

his company an account of Don Quixote’s madness, and the artifice they

had used to disengage him from the poor rock to which he imagined

himself exiled by the disdain of his mistress. He also recounted all

those adventures that Sancho had imparted to him, at which they were not

a little surprized, and laughed immoderately; agreeing in opinion with

every body who knew the knight, that it was the strangest extravagance

that ever entered a disturbed imagination. The priest moreover observed,

that since the good fortune of Dorothea obstructed the progress of their

design, there was a necessity for inventing another plan that should

bring him home to his own house. Cardenio proposed that they should

prosecute the scheme they had already begun; and Lucinda would act and

represent the part of Dorothea. ‘No,’ said Don Fernando, ‘that must not

be: Dorothea shall still proceed with her own invention; for, as it

cannot be far from hence to the habitation of that honest gentleman, I

shall be glad to contribute towards his cure.’ And when he understood

that they would arrive in two days at his house; ‘Were it farther off,’

said he, ‘I should go with pleasure to assist in such a laudable

design.’

At that instant Don Quixote came forth, armed at all points, with

Mambrino’s helmet, battered as it was, upon his head, his shield braced

upon his arm, and his pole or lance in his hand. Don Fernando and his

companions were amazed at this strange apparition, when they beheld such

a rueful length of face, so withered and tawney, together with his

ill-sorted armour, and the solemnity of his gait. They gazed upon him in

silent expectation of what he would say; while he, with infinite gravity

of aspect, fixing his eyes upon Dorothea, accosted her in these words;

‘Fair lady, I am informed by this my squire, that your greatness is

annihilated, and your quality undone, by being changed from your former

rank of queen and sovereign princess, into the condition of a private

damsel. If this hath been done by the necromancy of the king your

father, who is perhaps afraid that I should not be able to give you the

assistance required, I say he neither knows, nor ever did know, the half

of that art which he professeth, and that he is but little conversant in

the history of chivalry; for had he read and perused it with such

leisure and attention as I have bestowed upon that subject, he would

have found, that on every occasion, knights of much less reputation than

I possess, have atchieved much more difficult enterprizes than this, it

being a matter of small moment to kill a pitiful giant, let him be as

arrogant as he will; for not many hours ago, I saw myself engaged with

one,—but I chuse to be silent rather than have my veracity called in

question, though time, that unmasks all things, will shew when we least

expect it—’

‘That you was engaged with wine-bags, and not with a giant!’ cried the

innkeeper; who was silenced by Don Fernando, and forbid to interrupt the

knight’s discourse in any shape whatever. So that Don Quixote proceeded,

saying, ‘In fine, if the father of your disinterested highness hath

performed this metamorphosis on your person, for the causes I have

mentioned, I hope you will give no credit to such considerations; for

there is no danger upon earth through which my sword will not open a

way, and by laying the head of your adversary in the dust in a few days,

invest yours with that crown to which you have an undoubted right.’

Here Don Quixote left off speaking, in expectation of a reply from the

princess, who knowing it was Don Fernando’s pleasure that she should

continue the deceit, until the knight could be brought back to his own

house, answered with equal gravity and grace, ‘Whosoever hath told you,

most valiant Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that I am changed and

transformed from what I was, has not adhered to the truth in his

information: indeed I am somewhat changed by certain fortunate events

which have happened even beyond my own expectation; but; nevertheless, I

have not ceased to be what I was, nor altered that resolution which I

have always maintained, of taking the advantage of your valiant and

invincible arm. Wherefore, dear Sir, be so good as to do justice to the

honour of the father who begat me, and look upon him as a man of

sagacity and foresight; since, by the science he possessed, he found

such an easy and effectual path to the cure of my misfortune; for I

firmly believe, that were it not for you, I should not now be so happy

as I am, as the greatest part of these gentlemen can truly witness.

Nothing then remains, but that we set out to-morrow, because we could

not propose to travel far to-day; and as for the success on which my

hopes are built, I leave it entirely to God, and the worth of your

heroick breast.’

Don Quixote hearing these words, turned to Sancho in the most violent

indignation, saying, ‘I protest, sirrah! you are the most malicious

little slanderer in Spain. Say, you rascal—you vagabond—did not you tell

me just now, that the princess was transformed into a private

gentlewoman called Dorothea; and that the head, which I know I cut from

the giant’s shoulders, was the whore your mother; with many more foolish

particulars, which threw me into the greatest confusion that I ever felt

since I was born? By Heaven!’ (here he turned up his eyes and bit his

lips) ‘I have a strong inclination to commit such slaughter upon thee,

as will be an instructive warning[96] to all the lying squires who shall

henceforth attend knights-errant, in the course of their adventures.’

‘Pray be pacified, good your worship!’ cried Sancho: ‘I may possibly be

deceived in what concerns the change of my Lady Princess Micomicona; but

as to the giant’s head being a wine-bag, and the blood no other than

good red wine, I am not mistaken, as I shall answer to God; for the

skins that were slashed are still to be seen by your worship’s bed-side,

and the whole room is flooded with the wine. But the proof of the

pudding is in the eating of it[97]; you will be convinced when Mr.

What-d’ye call him our landlord here makes out a bill of the damage he

has suffered. As to the rest, I am rejoiced from my soul, to find that

the queen’s majesty is the same as usual, because it concerns me, as

well as any other neighbour’s child.’—‘I tell thee, Sancho,’ replied Don

Quixote, ‘that thou art distracted; forgive me, that is enough.’—‘Enough

in all conscience,’ said Don Fernando; ‘there is nothing more to be said

on this subject. I think the princess judges very prudently in deferring

her journey till to-morrow, because the day is already far advanced; let

us therefore spend this night in agreeable conversation, and at the

approach of day, we will in a body attend the gallant Don Quixote, that

we may be witnesses of the unheard-of exploits which he will doubtless

perform in the course of this vast enterprize he hath undertaken.’—‘It

is my duty and resolution to serve and attend you,’ answered the knight;

‘and I have the most grateful sense of your favour and good opinion,

which I shall endeavour to justify, though it should cost me my life, or

even more—if more I can pay.’

Many compliments and proffers of service passed between Don Fernando and

Don Quixote; but they were interrupted by the arrival of a traveller,

who, by his garb, seemed to be a Christian slave lately escaped from

Barbary; for he was clad in a coat of blue cloth, wanting a collar, with

short skirts and half-sleeves; his breeches and cap were of the same

stuff; and he wore date-coloured buskins, with a Moorish scymitar flung

in a shoulder-belt across his breast. He was followed by a woman dressed

in the Moorish habit, mounted upon an ass, with a veil over her face, a

brocaded bonnet on her head, and a mantle that flowed from her shoulders

to her heels. The man was robust, and well-proportioned, seemingly

turned of forty, with a brownish complexion, large whiskers, and a

well-furnished beard; in short, his mean was so genteel, that if he had

been properly dressed, they would have taken him for a man of birth and

quality.

Soon as he entered the gate, he called for a private apartment, and

seemed very much concerned, when he understood that all the rooms of the

inn were engaged; however, he went to the lady in Moorish dress, and

lifted her off in his arms. Upon which Lucinda, Dorothea, the landlady,

her daughter, and Maritornes, flocked around her; their curiosity being

excited by the novelty of the garb, which none of them had ever seen

before; and Dorothea, who was always good-humoured, mannerly, and

discreet, concluding that both she and her conductor were chagrined at

their want of a chamber, spoke to her thus: ‘Be not uneasy, Madam, at

your want of accommodation here; it is the inconvenience of almost all

inns; but if you will be pleased to partake with us, (pointing to

Lucinda) perhaps you will find that in the course of your journey you

have been fain to put up with harder fare.’ The veiled lady made no

answer; but only rising from her seat, signified her thanks by crossing

her hands upon her bosom, bending her body, and bowing her head; so that

from her silence they conjectured that she must be a native Moor, and

that she could not speak any Christian language.

Her attendant, who had hitherto been employed in something else,

perceiving that the company had made a circle about his companion, who

could make no replies to their interrogations, said to them, ‘Ladies,

this young woman understands little or no Spanish, and speaks no

language but that of her own country; so that she is incapable of

answering any questions you may have asked.’—‘We have asked no

questions,’ said Lucinda, ‘but only made her an offer of our company for

this night, with a share of our lodging, and what accommodation is to be

had: and this we tender with that hearty good-will which obliges us to

serve all strangers, especially those of our own sex who stand in need

of our assistance.’—‘Dear Madam,’ replied the conductor, ‘in her name,

and in my own, I return you a thousand thanks, and highly esteem your

proffered favour, which on this occasion, and from such persons as your

appearance proclaims you to be, must certainly be very kind and

condescending.’—‘Signior,’ said Dorothea, ‘is this lady Christian or

Moor? By her silence and her dress, we are induced to believe she is not

what we could wish her to be.’—‘In her body and dress,’ replied the

stranger, ‘she is a Moor, but altogether a Christian in her soul; for

she longs ardently to be a professed convert to our faith.’—‘Then she is

not baptized?’ resumed Lucinda. ‘She has had no opportunity,’ said the

captive, ‘since she quitted Algiers, which is her native country; and

hitherto hath never been in such imminent danger of her life, as to make

it necessary before she is instructed in all the ceremonies enjoined by

our holy mother church; but, if it please Heaven, she shall be baptized

very soon, with decency suitable to the quality of her person, which is

greater than either her dress or mine seems to declare.’

This intimation raised the curiosity of all the spectators, to know who

this Moor and captive were; but nobody chose to ask the question at that

time, which seemed more proper for reposing themselves than relating the

history of their lives. Dorothea taking her by the hand, seated the

stranger close by her side, and entreated her to take off the veil; she

looked at her conductor, as if she wanted to know what the lady desired,

and he told her in Arabick, that they entreated her to be uncovered; at

the same time, advising her to comply with their request. She

accordingly unveiled herself, and discovered a face so amiable, that

Dorothea thought her handsomer than Lucinda, who, in her turn, gave her

the preference to Dorothea; and all present concluded, that if any

creature upon earth could vie with them in beauty, it was this Moorish

lady, who, in the opinion of some of the company, excelled them both in

certain particulars. As beauty, therefore, has the privilege and energy

to conciliate minds and attract affections, every body present was

seized with an inclination to serve and cherish the charming Moor. Don

Fernando asked her name of the captive, who answered, ‘Lela Zorayda.’

This she no sooner heard, than understanding the question which had been

put to the Christian, she pronounced with great eagerness and sweetness

of concern, ‘No, no Zorayda; Maria, Maria!’ signifying that her name was

Maria, and not Zorayda: these words, with the affecting manner in which

they were expressed, brought tears from the eyes of some of the hearers,

especially the women, who are naturally tender and compassionate.

Lucinda embraced her affectionately, saying, ‘Yes, yes, Maria, Maria.’

And to this the Moor replied, ‘Yes, yes, Maria; Zorayda, ‘_macange_;’

which, in the Arabick, signifies ‘_No_.’

Meanwhile it grew late, and the innkeeper, by order of Don Fernando’s

attendants, prepared with great diligence and care, as good a repast as

he could possibly provide; so that when supper-time arrived, they sat

down all together at a long hall-table, for there was neither a round

nor square one in the house. They forced the head and principal seat, in

spite of all his excuses on Don Quixote, who desired that the Princess

Micomicona might sit by the side of her protector; next to her, Lucinda

and Zorayda placed themselves, being fronted by Fernando and Cardenio,

at whose left-hand sat the captive and the other gentlemen, while the

curate and the barber took their station close to the ladies. In this

manner they supped with vast satisfaction, which was still increased,

when Don Quixote leaving off eating, and inspired by the same spirit

that moved him to harangue among the goat-herds, began the following

dissertation: ‘Verily, gentlemen, if it be duly considered, great and

unexpected events are seen by those who profess the order of

knight-errantry. What inhabitant of this earth, if he should now enter

the gates of this castle, and behold us seated in this manner, could

conceive or credit that we are what we are? Who could imagine, that this

lady on my right-hand is the great queen whom we all know her to be; and

that I am the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, so celebrated by the

voice of fame? Now there is no manner of doubt, that this exercise and

art exceeds all others hitherto invented by man, and that it ought to be

more esteemed, because it is more exposed to danger. Away with those who

give letters the preference over arms! I affirm, that such people,

whosoever they are, know not what they say; for the sole reason to which

they adhere, in this decision, is, that the labour of the body is

exceeded by that of the mind; and that the profession of arms is

altogether as corporeal as the exercise and office of a common

day-labourer, that requires nothing more than bodily strength; as if

that which is called soldiership by us who profess it, did not include

acts of valour which none but persons of uncommon genius could execute;

or, as if the toil of a warrior who has the charge of an army, or

commands in a town that is besieged, doth not affect the mind as well as

the body. Is it to be supposed, that by mere corporeal strength he can

penetrate and discover the intention of the enemy? To anticipate

designs, baffle stratagems, surmount difficulties, and prevent the

mischief that is to be dreaded, are all efforts of the understanding, in

which the body hath no share; if the profession of arms, therefore,

requires genius, as well as that of letters, let us see which of the two

requires most mental toil: and this question may be determined by

considering the end and aim of each; for that occupation deserves the

highest esteem, which hath the noblest purpose in view, the end and

scope of letters. I speak not here of that divine learning, whose aim is

to raise and conduct the soul to Heaven; to an end so infinite, no

intention whatever can be compared. I speak of human learning, the

ultimate end of which is to regulate distributive justice, render to

every one his due, and to understand and to protect the equitable laws:

an aim certainly generous and highly commendable! yet not so deserving

of the most sublime praise as the profession of arms, the object and the

end of which is peace, the greatest good that mortals can enjoy; for the

first blessed news which this world and mankind heard, were those

pronounced by the angels, on that night which was our day, when they

sung in the air, “Glory be to God on high; and on earth, peace and good

will towards men!” and the salutation, which the best Master, either in

heaven or upon earth, taught his adherents and favourites; which was to

say when they entered any house, “Peace be to this house!” Nay, he

himself at different times, said, “My peace I give unto you! My peace I

leave with you! Peace be among you!” A jewel and legacy well worthy of

him who left it! a jewel, without which there can be no felicity, either

on earth or in heaven! This peace is the genuine aim of war; for arms

and war are the same; and this being taken for granted, the end of war

is nobler than that of learning; wherefore let us next consider the

bodily toil sustained by each, that we may see on which side the balance

lies in that particular.’

In this sensible manner did Don Quixote continue his discourse, from

which nobody that heard him could distinguish that he was mad; on the

contrary, his audience confiding chiefly of gentlemen, to which title

the profession of arms is annexed, they listened with great pleasure,

while he proceeded thus.

‘The hardships of a student, I say, are these; first of all, poverty,

(not that all students are poor, but that we may suppose the worst that

can happen) and when I have named his indigence, the whole of his

misfortune is mentioned; for he that is poor can enjoy nothing that is

good, but must endure necessity in all its forms; sometimes hunger,

sometimes cold, sometimes nakedness, and often all three together.

Nevertheless, his necessity is not so great, but that he eats, though

perhaps later than usual, or though he may feed upon the leavings of the

rich, or which is the greatest misery to which a scholar can be reduced,

go a-sopping[98], as they term it; then they are always admitted to some

charitable person’s fire-side or chimney-corner, where, if they cannot

warm themselves effectually, they may at least defy the cold; and at

night they sleep under cover. I need not descend to minute particulars;

such as want of linen, scarcity of shoes, flimsy and thread-bare

cloaths, nor the surfeits which they so eagerly incur, when their good

fortune sets a plentiful table in their way. By this path, rough and

difficult as I have already described it, after many tumblings,

slidings, risings, and fallings, they at last attain to the wished

degree, which being gained, we have seen many who have passed with a

favourable gale of fortune, through these quicksands and straits of

Scylla and Charybdis; I say, we have seen many such command and dictate

to the world, from a chair of state; their hunger being changed into

satiety, their cold into refreshment, their rags into gay apparel, and

the matts on which they lay, to the richest damask and finest holland: a

recompence which their merit most justly enjoys! but their labours, when

fairly stated and compared, are infinitely short of the warrior’s, as I

shall now clearly demonstrate.’

Footnote 96:

In the original, ‘As will put salt in the skull.’

Footnote 97:

Literally, ‘You shall see when the eggs are fried.’ A phrase alluding

to the story of a thief, who having stole a frying-pan, and being

asked by the owner what he carried under his cloak, replied, ‘You will

see when the eggs are fried.’ Metaphorically, ‘Time will discover.’

Footnote 98:

Alluding to the charity given at the gates of monasteries.

CHAP. XI.

THE SEQUEL OF DON QUIXOTE’S CURIOUS DISCOURSE, ON THE SUBJECTS OF

LEARNING AND WAR.

The knight proceeded thus: ‘Since we began with the student,

representing his poverty in all its circumstances, let us see if the

soldier be more wealthy: and we shall find that poverty itself is not

poorer; for he is restricted to his miserable pay, which comes always

late, if ever, or to what he can plunder by force with the imminent

danger of his life and conscience; and frequently his nakedness is such,

that his slashed buff doublet serves him instead of coat, shirt, and all

other parts of apparel. In a winter campaign, while he remains in the

open field, he has nothing to mitigate the severity of the cold, but his

own breath, which, as it proceeds from an empty place, must, I believe,

be cold, contrary to all the rules of nature: but stay till the approach

of night, when it is to be hoped his bed will make amends for all these

inconveniencies; and this, if it be not his own fault, will never offend

in point of narrowness, for he may measure as many feet of ground as he

thinks sufficient, and there tumble about at pleasure, without any

danger of discomposing the sheets. Then, instead of the day and hour of

receiving the degrees of his art, comes the day of battle, in which his

head is adorned with the doctoral tossle, made in form of a pledgit, to

stuff the wound made by some ball, which perhaps hath gone through his

temples, or left him maimed of a leg or arm; and even if this should not

happen, but merciful Heaven guard and preserve him safe and sound, he

continues as poor as ever; he must risk himself in several more

rencounters and battles, and be victorious in each, before his

circumstances be bettered; but these miracles rarely happen. Tell me,

gentlemen, have you considered what a small proportion those who make

their fortunes by war bear to those who perish in the field? Doubtless,

you must answer that there is no sort of comparison; that the slain are

scarce to be numbered, while the living who are recompensed for their

services, may be comprehended within three figures of arithmetick[99].

The case of the learned is quite the reverse[100]; for, one way or

another, they are all provided: so that, though the toil of a soldier is

greater, his reward is much less. To this observation, it may be

replied, that it is far more easy to reward two thousand scholars than

thirty thousand soldiers; for the first are recompensed with offices,

which must of course be bestowed on people of their profession; whereas,

the others can enjoy no reward, except a share of the property belonging

to their master whom they serve: even this impossibility strengthens my

asseveration.

‘But waving that consideration, which would lead us into a most

intricate labyrinth, let us return to the pre-eminence which arms have

over learning; a point hitherto undecided, of such force are the reasons

alledged on both sides of the question; one of which, in favour of the

last, is, that without letters, the profession of arms could not be

supported, because there are laws to which war itself is subject; and

all laws fall within the province of letters and learned men. To this

observation, the partizans of the other opinion reply, that no laws

could be maintained without arms, which preserve the constitution,

defend kingdoms, guard cities, scour the highways, and clear the seas of

piratical corsairs. In short, that without arms, all republicks,

kingdoms, monarchies, cities, journies by land, and voyages by sea,

would be exposed to the horror and confusion that attend unbridled war,

while it continues in all its licentious privilege and force. It is a

general and established maxim, that every thing ought to be esteemed in

proportion to what it costs. Now, to become eminent in letters, costs

the student much time, watching, hunger, nakedness, vertigoes,

indigestion, and their consequences, which are in part mentioned above:

but, to acquire in a regular manner the character of a good soldier, a

man must undergo all these inconveniences in an incomparably greater

degree; because he is every moment in danger of losing his life. What

fear of indigence and poverty can seize and harrass the student’s

apprehension, equal to that which must possess the soldier besieged in a

fortress, who being placed centinel or guard in some ravelin or

cavalier[101], perceives the enemy at work undermining the very spot

whereon he stands, without daring to stir from his post, or avoid the

danger by which he is so imminently threatened? All he can do, is to

give notice of what passes to his captain, who must endeavour to baffle

the foe by some countermine, while he remains upon the place in terror

and expectation of being suddenly whirled aloft into the clouds without

wings, and of falling thence headlong into the profound abyss: if this

danger seems inconsiderable, let us see whether it be equalled or

exceeded in the grappling of two gallies, by their prows, in the midst

of the extended ocean; when they are locked and fastened into each

other, and the soldier hath not an inch more than two feet of the beak

to stand upon, while he sees himself threatened and opposed by as many

ministers of death as there are cannon in the enemy’s vessel, and these

within a spear’s length of his body; and is sensible, that if his feet

should chance to slip, he would instantly visit the profound bosom of

the sea; yet, nevertheless, with an intrepid heart, incited and

transported by honour, he bears the brunt of their whole artillery, and

endeavours by that narrow passage to board the adverse vessel; and, what

is very much to be admired, is, that as soon as one falls, never to rise

again till the general resurrection, another occupies his place; and

should he also drop into the sea, which, like an enemy, gapes to devour

him, another and another still succeeds, without the smallest

intermission: an instance of gallantry and boldness the greatest to be

found in all the extremities of war. Happy were the ages past, while

strangers to those infernal instruments of artillery, the author of

which is, I firmly believe, now in hell, enjoying the reward of his

diabolical invention, that puts it in the power of an infamous coward to

deprive the most valiant cavalier of life; for, often in the heat of

that courage and resolution that fires and animates the gallant breast,

there comes a random ball, how or from whence no man can tell, shot off,

perhaps, by one that fled, and was afraid at the flash of his own

accursed machine, and, in an instant, puts an end to the schemes and

exigence of a man who deserved to live for ages. This very consideration

makes me almost own, that I am sorry for having chosen this profession

of a knight-errant in this detestable age; for, though no danger can

daunt my resolution, it gives me some uneasiness to think that powder

and shot may deprive me of the opportunity of making myself famous and

renowned through the whole globe, for the valour of my arm, and the

keenness of my sword: but, let the will of Heaven be fulfilled! if I

accomplish my aim, I shall be more esteemed, because I have faced more

danger than ever was incurred by the knights-errant in ages past.’

While the rest of the company were employed in eating, this long

harangue was uttered by Don Quixote, who never thought of swallowing a

morsel; though Sancho frequently put him in mind of eating his supper,

observing, that he would afterwards have time enough to say what he

pleased. The hearers were moved with fresh concern, at seeing a man, who

in every other subject seemed to have a large share of sense and

discernment, lose it so irrecoverably, whenever the discourse turned

upon the cursed mischievous theme of chivalry. The curate observed, that

there was a great deal of reason in what he had advanced in favour of

arms; and that he himself, though a graduate, consequently a man of

letters, was entirely of the knight’s opinion.

Supper being ended, and the table uncovered, while the landlady, her

daughter, and Maritornes, were busied in fitting up the garret of Don

Quixote de La Mancha, in which it was determined the three ladies should

pass the night by themselves; Don Fernando intreated the captive to

recount the story of his life, which he imagined must be both uncommon

and entertaining, from the specimen they had already seen, in his

arriving thus equipped, in company with the fair Zorayda. To this

request the stranger answered, that he would willingly obey his command,

though he was afraid the company would not find the relation to their

liking; but, nevertheless, rather than fail in point of obedience, he

was ready to make it. The curate and whole company thanked him for his

complaisance, and joined in the request; and he seeing himself besought

by so many, said there was no occasion for entreaties, where they might

so effectually command: ‘Lend me your attention, therefore, and you

shall hear a true story, perhaps unequalled by those fictions which are

usually adorned with all the curious and profound artifice of

composition.’

At this preamble, all present adjusted and composed themselves; and he

perceiving the general silence in which they waited for the performance

of his promise, began in this manner, with a grave and agreeable voice.

Footnote 99:

I. e. Do not amount to 1000, which is a number expressed by four

figures.

Footnote 100:

The literal translation is, ‘For, from the skirts—for I would not

mention the ‘sleeves.’ The Spaniards, instead of the English phrase,

‘By Hook or by Crook,’ use this of ‘From the sleeves, or the skirts;’

derived from the practice of taylors, who are supposed to cabbage from

those parts of the habit in which there is the greatest quantity of

cloth; but the knight’s exception of sleeves, on this occasion, seems

to have proceeded from a supposition that poor scholars are generally

provided for in the church, and consequently wear cassocks, which

descend to the heels.

Footnote 101:

Cavalier is an artificial mount raised in a fortress for the

convenience of scouring a field, or opposing a commanding work of the

enemy.

CHAP. XII.

IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE RECOUNTS HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES.

‘In a certain place among the mountains of Leon, my family had its

origin; more beholden to the liberality of nature than to the smiles of

fortune: though, amidst the narrowness of circumstances, which prevails

in that country, my father had the reputation of being rich, and really

was so, had he possessed the art of preserving, as he practised the

means of spending his estate. This liberal and profuse disposition was

owing to his having been a soldier in his youth, the army being a school

in which the miser becomes generous, and the benevolent man grows

prodigal; for a covetous soldier is a monster which is rarely seen. My

father exceeded the bounds of liberality, and bordered upon those of

prodigality; a disposition of very little service to a married man who

has children to succeed him in rank as well as name: and he had no less

than three; all of them sons, already at an age to chuse for themselves.

The old gentleman finding it impossible, as he said, to resist the bent

of his inclination, was resolved to deprive himself of the means that

induced and enabled him to spend so lavishly, by giving up his estate;

as without money Alexander himself must have seemed frugal.

‘One day, therefore, calling us all three together into his chamber, he

delivered himself in these or the like words: “Sons, to say I love you,

is no more than to say and know you are my own children; though it would

seem that I do not love you, by my squandering away the fortune which is

your due. But that you may be henceforth convinced that I love you like

a true parent, rather than seek your destruction like a step-father, I

am resolved to execute a plan which I have formed a good while ago, and

digested with the most mature deliberation. You are now of an age to

chuse settlements for yourselves, or at least to pitch upon employments

which, in your riper years, may conduce to your honour and advantage. My

intention is to divide my estate into four equal parts, three of which

you shall receive among you, in equal shares, without the least

difference or distinction; and the fourth I will reserve for my own

sustenance and support, while Heaven will be pleased to protract the

days of my life. But after you have received your portions, I should be

glad to find you inclined to follow the paths which I shall propose. We

have a saying in Spain, which I believe is very true, as indeed all

proverbs are, because they are short sentences dictated by long and sage

experience; that which I mean, contains no more than these words: The

church, the court, or the sea; as if it more fully expressed the

following advice, ‘He that would make his fortune, ought either to

dedicate his time to the church, go to sea as a merchant, or attach

himself to the court,’ for it is commonly observed that, ‘The king’s

crumb is worth the baron’s batch.’ This I mention, because I wish and

desire that one of you would follow letters, another merchandize, and a

third serve his sovereign in the field, since it is difficult to obtain

an office at court: and although much wealth cannot be expected, there

is a great deal of valour and reputation to be acquired in war. In eight

days I will give each of you his share, in ready-money, without

defrauding you of one farthing, as you will see by my distribution. Tell

me, therefore, if you are willing to follow my advice in what I have

proposed?” said my father, addressing himself to me as the eldest. After

having dissuaded him from parting with his estate, and desired him to

spend as much of it as he pleased, observing, that we were young men,

and capable of making our own fortunes, I concluded with saying, I would

obey his will, and for my own part, chuse to serve God and my king, in

adhering to the exercise of arms. My second brother made the same offer,

proposing to set sail for the Indies, and employ his stock of

ready-money in traffick. The youngest, and I believe the wisest, said he

would qualify himself for the church, by going and finishing his studies

at Salamanca.

‘We having thus agreed in the choice of our different employments, our

father embraced us all affectionately, and within the time he had

proposed, performed his promise of giving us our portions, which to the

best of my remembrance amounted to three thousand ducats each; for an

uncle of ours paid ready-money for the whole estate, that it might not

be alienated from the family. In one day, all three took leave of our

worthy father; when I thinking it a piece of inhumanity to leave him so

straitened in his old age, prevailed upon him to accept two thousand of

the three I had received, as the remainder was sufficient to accommodate

me with all the necessaries of a soldier. Each of my brothers, induced

by my example, gave him back one-third of their shares; so that he

remained possessed of four thousand ducats in cash, and the value of

three thousand more in land, which he did not chuse to sell. At length,

I say, we took leave of him, and that uncle whom I have mentioned, not

without great concern and many tears on all sides; they charging us to

seize every opportunity of making them acquainted with our adventures,

either in prosperity or adversity. Having given this promise, and

received their embraces and blessing, one took the road to Salamanca,

another went to Seville, and I set out for Alicant, where I understood

there was a ship taking in a lading of wool for Genoa. Two and twenty

years are now elapsed since I left my father’s house; and during all

that time, though I have written several letters, I never received the

least information concerning him or my brothers. What hath happened to

myself within that period, I will now briefly relate.

‘Embarking at Alicant, I had a favourable passage to Genoa, from whence

I went to Milan, where I provided myself with arms and some gay military

furniture. Then I departed for Piedmont, with a resolution of inlisting

in the service; and being upon the road to Alexandria de la Paglia, was

informed that the great duke of Alva was on his march into Flanders.

Upon receiving this intimation, I changed my design, attended him to the

Low Countries, served in all his campaigns, and was present at the death

of the counts Egmont and Horn. There I obtained an ensign’s commission

in the company of a famous captain of Guadalajara, whose name was Diego

de Urbina: but after I had been some time in Flanders, the news arrived

of the league between his Holiness Pope Pius the Fifth of happy memory,

and the Spanish monarchy, against their common enemy the Turk, who about

that time had, by means of his fleet, made a conquest of the famous

island of Cyrus, which was under the dominion of the Venetians; a most

lamentable and unfortunate loss. It was certainly known that the most

serene Don John of Austria, natural brother to our good King Philip, was

to be general of this league; and the vast preparations for this war

were publickly reported. All these rumours raised and excited within me

the desire and resolution of being present in a campaign of such

expectation; and though I had strong hopes, and indeed certain promises,

of being promoted to the rank of a captain as soon as a vacancy should

happen, I chose to quit that prospect, and go, as I actually did, to

Italy; and luckily for me, Don John of Austria was then at Genoa, just

going to embark for Naples, in order to join the Venetian fleet, which

he afterwards found at Messina. In short, I served in that most happy

campaign, and was advanced to the rank of captain of foot, which

honourable post I obtained more by good fortune than merit, and that day

which was so fortunate for Christendom, on which the world was convinced

of the error they had espoused in believing the Turks invincible by sea;

on that day, I say, when the Ottoman pride and insolence were humbled

and broke among so many happy Christians there present, (and sure those

who fell were happier than the living victors!) I alone was unfortunate;

for, instead of receiving a naval crown, which would have been my

reward, had I lived in the Roman ages, on the night that succeeded that

glorious day, I found myself a captive loaded with chains! And this was

the cause of my misfortune: Uchali, King of Algiers, a bold and

fortunate corsair, having attacked and mastered the capitan galley of

Malta, in which there remained only three knights alive, and these

desperately wounded; the vessel commanded by John Andrea Doria, in which

my company was stationed, hastened to her relief, and I doing my duty on

that occasion, leaped into the enemy’s ship, which disengaging herself

immediately from our galley, that was grappled with her, my soldiers

were prevented from following their officer, and I found myself alone

among my foes, whom, by reason of their numbers, I could not resist;

therefore was obliged to submit after having been almost covered over

with wounds; and Uchali, as you have heard, gentlemen, having saved

himself with his whole squadron, I remained his prisoner, the only sad

person amidst the general joy, and captive among so many that were set

free; for full fifteen thousand Christians who came into the action

chained to the Turkish oars, that day recovered their long wished for

liberty.

‘I was carried to Constantinople, where Selim, the grand Turk, created

my master general of the sea, for having done his duty in the battle,

and as a proof of his valour brought off the high standard of Malta.

Next year, which was that of seventy-two, I rowed in the capitan galley

of the Three Lanthorns, at Navarino, where I saw and observed the

Christians lose the opportunity of taking the whole Turkish fleet in the

harbour; for, all the Levantines and Janissaries belonging to it laid

their account with being attacked in port, and had actually got in

readiness their knapsacks and passamaques, (which are a kind of shoes)

in order to go on shore, and seek their safety in flight, without

waiting for the assault; such was the consternation that prevailed among

them! But Heaven ordained things to happen in another manner; not

through any error or neglect of the general who commanded the

expedition, but on account of the sins of Christendom; it being the will

and permission of God, that we should never want executioners to

chastise us. In short, Uchali retreated to Modon, which is an island

almost contiguous to Navarino, where he disembarked his men, fortified

the mouth of the harbour, and remained until Don John set sail on his

return. In this expedition, the galley called the Prize, commanded by a

son of the famous corsair Barbarossa, was taken by the capitan galley of

Naples called the She-wolf, the commander of which was that thunderbolt

of war, that father of his soldiers, that fortunate and invincible

chief, Don Alvaro de Basan, marquis of Santa Cruz: and I cannot help

mentioning what happened at the taking of this prize. The son of

Barbarossa was so cruel, and treated his captives so inhumanly, that

when the rowers perceived the She-wolf ready to board, and in a fair way

of taking her, they quitted their oars all at once, and seizing the

captain, who stood upon the strentrel[102], calling to them to row

lustily, they tossed him forwards from bench to bench, and bit him so

severely as he went along, that before he passed the main-mast, his soul

passed into hell. Such was his barbarity, as I have already observed,

and such the revenge which their hatred to him inspired!

‘We returned to Constantinople; and during the following year, which was

seventy-three, understood that Don John had taken Tunis, wrested that

whole kingdom from the Turks, and put Muley Hamet in possession of the

whole; thus cutting off all the hopes of a restoration from Muley

Hamida, the most valiant and most cruel Moor of his time. The grand

Signior was deeply affected with his loss, and practising that sagacity

which is peculiar to all those of his family, clapped up a peace with

the Venetians, who were much more desirous of it than he. Next year,

being seventy-four, he attacked the goleta and fort, which Don John had

left half-finished, near Tunis: and on all these occasions I was

present, being tied to the oar, without the least hope of freedom,

especially by ransom; for, I was resolved not to write to my father an

account of my misfortune. At length, the goleta and fort were both lost,

having been besieged by seventy-five thousand Turkish soldiers,

regularly paid, and upwards of four hundred thousand Moors and Arabs

from the other parts of Africa; this multitude being provided with a

vast quantity of warlike stores and ammunition, and attended with such a

number of pioneers, that, by throwing handfuls of earth, they might have

covered both the places they came to besiege. The goleta, which had been

counted impregnable, was first taken; not through any fault of the

besieged, who performed all that men could do in its defence, but

because experience shewed that trenches could be made with ease in that

loose sand, under which, though water was commonly found at the depth of

two spans, the Turks, at that time, dug as many fathoms, without finding

one drop; and so filling a vast number of sacks, raised their works so

high as to overlook the fort; then mounting this cavalier with cannon,

kept such a firing as rendered it impossible for the garrison to make

any longer defence. It was a common opinion, that our troops ought not

to have shut themselves up in the goleta, but opposed the disembarkation

in the plain; however, those who talk in that manner, speak at random,

and must be persons of small experience in such affairs; for, if the

whole garrison in both places scarce amounted to seven thousand

soldiers, how could such a small number, though ever so valiant, take

the field, and at the same time defend the forts, against such a

multitude of foes? And how could the forts be possibly maintained

without supplies, in an enemy’s country, when they were hemmed in by

such a numerous and obstinate army? But others thought, and I am of the

same opinion, that Heaven manifested a particular grace and favour to

Spain, in permitting them to destroy that rendezvous and pretence of

mischief, that sink, spunge, and devourer of infinite sums of money,

which were there unprofitably spent, without serving any other purpose

than that of preserving the memory of its being the most happy conquest

of the invincible Charles the Fifth: as if it was necessary for those

stones to support his fame, which is already immortal. The fort was also

yielded, though the Turks won it by inches; for the garrison behaved

with such gallantry and resolution, that in two and twenty general

assaults, the enemy lost upwards of twenty-five thousand men; and of the

three hundred Spanish soldiers that remained alive, they did not make

one prisoner who had not been wounded during the siege: a clear and

certain proof of the obstinate valour with which the places were

defended. A small fort, or tower, that stood in the middle of the lake,

under the command of Don Juan Zanoguera, a Valentian knight and

celebrated soldier, surrendered upon terms: but, Don Pedro

Puertocarrero, general of the goleta, was made prisoner; and though he

did all that man could do in defence of the place, he was so deeply

affected by the loss of it, that he died of grief on the road to

Constantinople, whither they were carrying him captive. The general of

the fort, whose name was Gabrio Cerbellon, a Milanese gentleman, a great

engineer, and excellent soldier, was likewise taken prisoner; and in

these two forts perished many persons of note, among whom was one Pagan

d’Oria, a knight of St. John, a gentleman of a most generous

disposition, as appeared from his excessive liberality to his brother

the famous Juan Andrea d’Oria; and what made his death still more

lamentable, was, that he perished by the hands of some Arabs, to whom,

seeing the fort already lost, he trusted himself, relying upon their

promise to carry him disguised in a Moorish dress, to Tabarca, which is

a small port or settlement belonging to the Genoese, who fish for coral

on that part of the coast; but those perfidious Arabs cut off his head,

which they carried to the general of the Turkish navy, who fulfilled

upon them our Castilian proverb, which imports, that though we love the

treason, we abhor the traitor; for it was reported, that he ordered them

all to be hanged, because they had not brought him alive.

‘Among the Christians who were taken in the fort, was one Don Pedro de

Aguilar, a native of some town in Andalousia, who had been an ensign in

the garrison, a soldier of great worth and rare endowments, particularly

blessed with a happy talent for poetry. This circumstance I mention,

because it was his fate to belong to our galley, where he was my

companion at the oar, and fellow-slave; and before we departed from that

harbour, he composed two songs, by way of epitaph upon the goleta and

the fort. As I have them both by heart, I believe it will not be

disagreeable to the company if I repeat them.’

When the captive mentioned Don Pedro de Aguilar, Don Fernando looked at

his companions, who smiled; and when the stranger was going to repeat

the songs, one of the three said to him, ‘Before you proceed, I beg the

favour to know what became of that Don Pedro de Aguilar?’—‘All that I

know of the matter,’ replied the captive, ‘is, that after having staid

two years at Constantinople, he made off in the habit of an arnaut[103],

with a Greek spy: but I do not know whether or not he obtained his

liberty, though I believe be succeeded; for about a year after, I saw

the same Greek at Constantinople; but I had not an opportunity to

enquire about the success of their scheme.’—‘Then I can satisfy you in

that particular,’ resumed the cavalier; ‘Don Pedro is my brother, and

now lives at home, in good health and easy circumstances, blessed with a

wife and three hopeful sons.’——‘Thanks be to God for the great mercies

bestowed upon him!’ answered the captive; ‘for, in my opinion, there is

no happiness on earth equal to that of liberty regained.’—‘Besides,’

said the gentleman, ‘I retain in my memory the songs which my brother

composed.’—‘Be so good, then,’ replied the stranger, ‘as to entertain

the company with them; for, doubtless, you can repeat them more

perfectly than I can.’—‘With all my heart,’ said the cavalier: ‘that

upon the goleta runs thus.’

Footnote 102:

The strentrel, or estanterol, is a post that supports the awning of

the poop.

Footnote 103:

A Dalmatian trooper.

CHAP. XIII.

THE CONTINUATION OF THE CAPTIVE’S HISTORY.

I.

“Ye happy shades, whose deeds renown’d

”Have freed you from encumb’ring clay;

“From this low scene, where woes abound,

”Ascending to eternal day.

II.

“With glorious zeal your bosoms glow’d,

”Your bodies brav’d excessive toil:

“Your blood with that of Pagans flow’d,

”To drench the hostile, barren soil.

III.

“Your lives, but not your courage, fail’d;

”Death seal’d your just, victorious claim;

“Enjoy, still honour’d and bewail’d,

”Immortal happiness and fame.“

‘These are the very words which I remember,’ said the captive. ‘And if

my memory does not fail me,’ replied the gentleman, ‘the other upon the

fort is this.

I.

“Lo! from yon ruins on the desart plain,

”Oppress’d with numbers, in th’ unequal fight,

“Three thousand souls of Christian warriors slain,

”To happier regions, wing’d their joyous flight.

II.

“Yet not before in vain they had essay’d

”The force and vigour of their dauntless arms;

“Till wearied and reduc’d, though undismay’d,

”They welcom’d death, encompass’d with alarms.

III.

“On Afric’s coast, as records tell,

”The scene of past and present woes,

“More valiant bodies never fell,

”More spotless spirits never rose.“

The songs were not disliked; and the captive rejoicing at the good

fortune of his comrade, proceeded thus in his narration.

‘The goleta and forts being taken, the Turks ordered the first to be

dismantled, the other being quite demolished before it was surrendered;

and that this might be done with the less trouble, and greater dispatch,

it was undermined in three parts, but they could by no means blow up the

old walls, which seemed to be the weakest part, while that which was

executed by Fratin, was destroyed with great facility. In short, the

victorious fleet returned in triumph to Constantinople, where, in a few

months, happened the death of my master Uchali, who went by the name of

Uchali Fartax, which, in the language of that country, signifies the

Scabby Renegado; for such he actually was, and it is a custom among the

Turks, to bestow epithets upon people, derived either from some defect

or virtue inherent in them: this method they practise, because they have

but four families distinguished by particular names, and these are

descended from the house of Ottoman; so that the rest, as I have

observed, adopt some appellation, either from the blemishes of the body,

or the virtues of the mind. This leper, therefore, tugged at the oar,

during fourteen years, as slave to the Grand Signior; and when he was

turned of thirty-four, apostatized, out of resentment against a Turk,

who struck him at the oar; renouncing his religion, that he might be

able to revenge the affront. Such was his gallantry and conduct, that

without practising those vile steps and methods by which the sultan’s

favourites are raised, he was promoted to the throne of Algiers, and

afterwards created general at sea, which is the third post in the

empire. He was a native of Calabria, a man of good morals, and behaved

with great humanity to his slaves, who, to the number of three thousand,

were at his death, in consequence of his last will, divided between his

renegadoes and the Grand Signior, who is also coheir with the children

of all his deceased subjects. I fell to the share of a Venetian, who had

been a common sailor when he was taken; and Uchali had such an affection

for him, that he enjoyed the greatest share of his favour, and became

the most cruel renegado that ever was known. This man, whose name was

Azanaga, acquired great riches, and even succeeded to the crown of

Algiers, to which place I accompanied him from Constantinople, with some

degree of satisfaction, at the thoughts of being so near my own country;

not that I intended to send home an account of my unhappy fate, but to

see if fortune would not prove more favourable at Algiers than at

Constantinople, where I had laid a thousand schemes for my escape,

without having an opportunity of putting one of them in execution; but I

was in hope of finding at Algiers some other more effectual means of

obtaining that which I so ardently desired: for the hope of gaining my

liberty never forsook my breast; on the contrary, when all my pains,

efforts, and expectations, miscarried, far from abandoning myself to

despair, I endeavoured to find out some new expedient, which though ever

so frail and unsubstantial, served to support my spirits, and flatter my

imagination. Thus I made shift to live within a house or prison, called

a bath, in which the Turks confine the Christian captives, whether

belonging to the king, or private persons, or of that class which they

call magazine-slaves; these are the captives of the council, who serve

the state in publick works, and other kinds of day-labour; and find

great difficulty in obtaining their freedom, because they belong to the

community, and have no particular master with whom they can treat

concerning their ransom, even though they can command money for the

purpose.

‘In these baths, as I have already said, some private persons lodge

their slaves, especially when their ransom is agreed upon; and there

they remain secure, and at their ease, until it arrives. Neither do the

king’s captives, who are to be ransomed, go out to work with the rest of

the crew, except when the money is delayed; and then, that they may be

induced to write with more importunity, they are sent out with the rest

to cut wood, an office of no small mortification and toil. As they knew

I had been a captain, I in vain assured them, that I had neither

interest nor money; they put me into the number of those who were to be

ransomed, loading me with a chain, rather to denote my condition than to

secure my person; so that I spent my time in that bath, among a great

many cavaliers and people of fashion, who were thus marked and designed

for ransom; and though we were sometimes, nay, almost always exposed to

hunger and nakedness, nothing gave us so much pain, as to hear and see,

upon every occasion, the new and unheard of cruelties which my master

exercised upon the Christians. He was every day hanging one, impaling

another, maiming a third, upon such slight occasions, frequently without

any cause assigned, that the Turks themselves owned he acted thus out of

mere wantonness or barbarity, as being naturally of a savage

disposition, and an inveterate enemy to the whole human race. The person

who used the greatest freedom with him was a Spanish soldier, called

such-a-one de Saavedra; who, though he did many things which those

people will not soon forget, in attempting to regain his liberty, he

never gave him one blow, nor ordered him once to be chastised, nor even

chid him with one hasty word; and yet the least of all his pranks was

sufficient, as we thought, to bring him to the stake: nay, he himself

was more than once afraid of being impaled alive. If time would permit,

I could here recount some of that soldier’s actions, which perhaps,

might entertain and surprize you more than the relation of my own story.

‘But to return to the thread of my narration: just over the yard of our

prison were the windows of a rich and principal Moor; but, according to

the custom of the country, they were rather like peep-holes than

windows, and even these covered with very thick and close lattices. One

day I chanced to be on the terrace of our gaol, with three of my

companions, passing the time in trying which of us could leap farthest

in our shackles, the rest of the Christians being gone out to work; I

casually lifted up my eyes, and perceived a cane with a handkerchief

tied to it, held out at these little openings I have mentioned, and

waving to and fro, as if by way of signal for some of us to go and catch

it. This object was no sooner observed, than one of my companions ran

hastily to the place that was directly under it, to see if the cane

would be dropped, or what would be the consequence; but when he arrived

it was pulled up, and moved from one side to another, as if a man should

signify his dissent from any proposal, by shaking his head: when the

Christian returned, the cane was lowered again, with the same motion as

at first, upon which another of our company tried the experiment, but

succeeded no better than the first; a third went, and miscarried like

the other two. Observing their disappointment, I was resolved to try my

fortune also; accordingly, I had no sooner placed myself under the cane

than it was dropped, and fell down within the bath, just at my feet. I

snatched it up immediately, and untied the handkerchief, in which I

found a knot containing ten zianiys, which are pieces of bad gold,

current among the Moors, each of them valued at ten rials of our money.

It would be superfluous to say that I rejoiced at this windfall: indeed,

my joy was equal to my surprize; for I could not conceive from whence

that present could come, especially to me, the circumstance of the

cane’s being refused to every other person plainly shewing that the

favour was intended for me. I pocketed this lucky sum, broke the cane,

returned to the terrace, and looked at the window, through which

appeared a very white hand, that opened the lattice, and hastily shut it

again: from this circumstance we understood, or at least imagined, that

we owed the present to some lady who lived in that house; and, in token

of thanks, made our obeisance in the Moorish manner, by bowing the head,

bending the body, and crossing the hands upon the breast. Soon after

this ceremony, a small cross made of cane, was held out at the window,

and immediately withdrawn: a signal which confirmed us in the opinion

that we were befriended by some Christian woman, who lived as a slave in

that house; but this supposition was changed, when we reflected upon the

whiteness of the hand, and the bracelets which we had perceived; and

then we concluded that she must be one of those Christian renegades whom

their masters frequently take to wife; and even think themselves

fortunate in having such an opportunity; for they esteem them much more

than the women of their own nation. But all our conjectures were wide of

the truth.

‘From this day forward, our whole entertainment was to gaze at the

window, as the north in which the star of the cane had appeared; but

full fifteen days elapsed, before we had another glimpse either of that

or the hand, or indeed of any other signal; and during this interval,

though we endeavoured by all the means in our power to learn who lived

in that house, and whether or not there was a Christian renegado in it,

we never could get any other information, but that it belonged to a rich

Moor of great note, called Agimorato, who had been alcaide of Pata, an

office of great honour among that people; but, when we least expected

another shower of zianiys, the cane reappeared all of a sudden, with

another handkerchief, and a larger knot than before, and this occurrence

happened as formerly, when none but ourselves were in the bath: we made

the usual experiment, each of my three companions, going towards it as

at first without success, until I approached, and then it was

immediately dropped. I untied the knot, within which I found forty

crowns in Spanish gold, and a paper written in Arabian characters, with

a large cross at the head of the page. I kissed the sacred sign, put up

the money, returned to the terrace, where we made our obeisance; the

hand appearing again, I made signs that I should read the letter, and

then the window was shut. We were equally pleased and perplexed at this

event, for none of us understood Arabick; and although our impatience to

know the contents of the paper was very great, the difficulty of finding

an interpreter was still greater. At length I determined to trust a

renegade a native of Murcia, who had professed himself my friend, and

given me such pledges of his fidelity, as obliged him to keep any secret

I should think proper to impart: for those renegades who intend to

return to Christendom, usually carry about with them certificates signed

by the principal captives, attesting in the most ample form they can

devise, that such a renegade is an honest man, who hath always been

obliging to the Christians, and is desirous of making his escape with

the first opportunity. Some there are who procure these testimonials

with a good intention, others use them occasionally, as the instruments

of their craft: for, going to rob and plunder on the Christian coasts,

if they should chance to be shipwrecked or taken, they produce their

certificates, and observe that these papers will shew the real design of

their coming on a cruize with Turks, which was no other than to take the

first occasion of returning to their native country; by these means they

escape the first fury of resentment, and are reconciled to the church,

without suffering the least damage; but when they see their opportunity,

they return to Barbary, and re-assume their former way of life; whereas

those who procure recommendations with a good design, make use of them

accordingly, and remain in peace among the Christians. Such a renegado

was this friend, who had obtained certificates from all my companions,

conceived in the strongest terms of confidence and applause; for which,

had he been detected, the Moors would have burned him alive. I knew that

he could both speak and write the Arabian tongue; but, before I would

disclose the whole affair, I desired him to read that paper which I had

found by chance in a corner of my cabbin. He opened it accordingly, and

having pored and perused it a good while, muttering between his teeth, I

asked if he understood the contents. He answered in the affirmative,

bidding me, if I chose to have the literal meaning, furnish him with pen

and ink, that he might translate it the more exactly. I accordingly

accommodated him with what he desired; and when he had made an end of

the translation at his own leisure, he said, “This that I have written

in Spanish is the literal meaning of that Moorish paper; and you are to

take notice, that wheresoever you meet with the words Lela Marien, they

signify our Lady the Blessed Virgin.”

‘The paper contained these words—“When I was a child, my father had a

woman slave, who in my own language taught me the Christian worship, and

told me divers things of Lela Marien. This Christian died, and I am sure

her soul did not go to the fire, but to Ala; for I saw her twice after

her death, and she advised me to go to the land of the Christians, where

I should see Lela Marien, by whom I was beloved. I know not which way to

go; many Christians I have seen from this window, but not one who seems

so much a gentleman as yourself. I am very beautiful and young, and have

a great deal of money in my possession. If thou canst find out any

method of carrying me to thy country, thou shalt there be my husband, if

thou art so inclined; but, if that be contrary to thy inclination, I

shall not be uneasy, for Lela Marien will provide me with a spouse. I

write this with my own hand; let nobody read it, but such as you can

trust. Beware of the Moors, for they are altogether deceitful; therefore

I am very much concerned, for I would not have it disclosed to any

person whatever; because, if it should come to my father’s ears, he

would instantly cause me to be sunk in a well, and covered with stones.

I will fasten a thread to the cane, to which thou mayest tie thine

answer; and if thou hast not a proper person to write for thee in

Arabick, let me know by signs; for Lela Marien will help me to

understand them. May she and Ala preserve thee, by means of this cross,

which I often kiss, according to the direction of my deceased slave!”

‘You may easily conceive, gentlemen, whether or not we were surprized

and rejoiced at the contents of this paper. Indeed, the symptoms of joy

and admiration appeared so plain in our behaviour, that the renegado

suspected it was not found by accident, but actually written and

addressed to one of our company. He accordingly intreated us to tell him

if his conjecture was true, protesting that we might safely trust to his

fidelity, and assuring us, if we would favour him with our confidence,

he would venture his life in procuring our freedom. So saying, he pulled

from his bosom a crucifix of metal, and with many tears, swore by the

God represented under the form of that image, in whom he, though a

wretched sinner, fully and faithfully believed, that he would be trusty

and secret in every thing we should please to communicate; for he firmly

believed, and as it were prognosticated, that by means of her who had

written the paper, we should all obtain liberty, and he accomplish that

which he had so much at heart, namely, his re-admission into the bosom

of his holy mother church, from which he, through his ignorance and

guilt, had been like a rotten member, divided and cut off. This

declaration he made with so many tears and signs of repentance, that we

unanimously agreed to intrust him with the affair, and accordingly gave

him an account of every thing that had happened, without suppressing one

circumstance; and shewed him the window at which the cane appeared: so

that from thence he had took, his mark of the house, resolving to inform

himself, with great care and caution, of the name and quality of those

who lived in it. Meanwhile, we were all of opinion, that there was a

necessity for answering the billet; and there being a person present,

who could perform that office, the renegado that instant wrote in

Arabick what I dictated, which was literally as I shall now repeat, for

of all the material circumstances of that affair, not one hath escaped

my memory, which will retain them all to my last breath. In short, this

was the answer which I sent to the beautiful Moor.

“MY DEAR LADY!

“Mayest thou be protected by the true Ala, and that blessed Mary the

real mother of God, who, because she loves thee, hath put it into

thy heart to go to the land of Christians; beseech her therefore,

that she will be pleased to teach thee how thou mayest obey her

commands; for she is so benevolent that she will grant thy request.

For my own part, and in behalf of those who are my fellow prisoners,

I promise to serve thee with our whole power, even unto death. Fail

not to write and give me notice of what thou shalt resolve to do;

and I will always answer thy letters; for the great Ala hath

favoured us with the friendship of a Christian captive, who can

speak and write thy language, as thou wilt perceive by this paper;

wherefore thou mayest communicate thy will and pleasure to us

without fear. As to thy offer of becoming my wife, when thou shalt

be safely settled in the land of the Christians, I pledge myself

thine, on the faith of a good Christian; and know, that those of our

religion perform their promises more punctually than the Moors. God,

and his mother Mary, take my dear lady into their holy protection!”

‘This letter being written and sealed, I waited two days until the bath

was empty, and then went to the usual place on the terrace, to look for

the cane, which in a little time appeared. I no sooner perceived the

sign, though I could not see who made it, than I held up the letter to

make her understand that she should fasten a thread to the cane; but

that was already done, and I tied the paper to it accordingly. In a

little time our star appeared again, loaded with the white flag of

peace; which being dropped, I took it up, and found, in different coins

of gold and silver, to the amount of fifty crowns, which increased our

satisfaction fifty-fold, and confirmed us in the hope of obtaining our

freedom. That same night our renegade returned, and told us, he was

informed the house was inhabited by that same Moor I have mentioned

under the name of Agimorato, who was excessively rich, and had only one

daughter to inherit his whole fortune; that by the current report in the

city, she was the most beautiful woman in Barbary; and that many of the

viceroys who went thither, had demanded her in marriage, but she would

never yield her consent; he likewise understood that she had once a

Christian slave, who had died some time ago; so that all these

circumstances agreed with the contents of her letter. We then consulted

with the renegade about the means of transporting ourselves with the

Moorish lady, into Christendom; and, at length, we came to the

resolution of waiting for another intimation from Zorayda, which is the

name of her who now desires to be called Maria; for we plainly

perceived, that by means of her, and no other, we should be enabled to

surmount all the difficulties that occurred.

‘Having come to this determination, the renegado bid us give ourselves

no uneasiness, for he would either procure our liberty or forfeit his

own life. The bath being full of people during four days, no cane

appeared all that time; at the end of which the usual solitude

prevailing, we perceived it with a handkerchief so pregnant as to

promise a most happy birth. I stood under it; the whole was dropped as

usual, and I found in the handkerchief another paper with one hundred

crowns in gold, without any mixture of other coin. The renegade being

then present, we carried him to our cabbin, where we desired him to read

the letter, which he interpreted in these words.

“I know not, dear Sir, how to give directions about our passage into

Spain; nor hath Lela Marien told me, though I have earnestly

implored her assistance. But what may be easily effected is this: I

will from this window furnish you with a great quantity of money; so

that you may ransom yourself and your companions; and going to the

land of the Christians, purchase a bark with which you may return

for the rest; and you will find me in my father’s garden, which is

by the gate of Barbazon, close to the sea-side. There I shall be

during the whole summer, with my father and servants; and from

thence you may, in the night, carry me to the bark without fear. But

remember thou shalt be my husband; otherwise I will pray to Marien

to chastise thee. If thou canst depend upon no other person for

purchasing the bark, ransom thyself for that purpose. I know thou

wilt be more apt than any other body to return, because thou art a

gentleman and a Christian. Be sure to inform thyself well about the

garden. When I see thee walking where thou art at present, I shall

know the bath is empty, and provide thee with more money. Ala

preserve thee, my dear gentleman!”

‘These were the contents and purport of the second paper; which being

read in presence of us all, each proposed himself as the person to be

ransomed, promising to go and return with the utmost punctuality; I

likewise offered myself for that purpose. But the renegado opposed the

proposal; saying, that he could by no means consent that one should be

set free, before we had all obtained our liberty: because experience had

taught him, how ill those who are free perform the promises they have

made in their captivity; for prisoners of note had often practised the

expedient of ransoming one of their number, to go to Valencia or

Majorca, with money to purchase an armed bark, and return for his

companions, but they never saw his face again; for having once obtained

his own liberty, the dread of losing it again, by returning, blots all

manner of obligations out of his remembrance. As a confirmation of the

truth of what he alledged, he briefly recounted a case which had lately

happened to some Christian gentlemen, attended with the strangest

circumstances ever known even in these parts, where the most uncommon

and surprizing events occur almost every day. In short, he told us, the

most practicable and prudent scheme was, to give him the money we should

receive for our ransom, with which he would purchase a bark at Algiers,

under pretence of becoming merchant, and trading to Tetuan, and the

other places on that coast; and that being master of the vessel, he

would soon contrive the means of disengaging us from the bath, and

getting us all on board; especially if the Moorish lady should perform

her promise in supplying us with money sufficient to pay the ransom of

our whole company; in which case, being no longer slaves, we might

embark with the greatest ease and safety, even at noon-day. The greatest

difficulty that occurred, was the backwardness of the Moors, to allow a

renegade to purchase or command a vessel, unless it be a large cruizer

for pirating; because they suspect, especially if he be a Spaniard, that

his sole motive in buying a small bark, is to make his escape into

Christendom; but he undertook to remedy that inconvenience, by giving a

share of the bark and profits of the merchandize to a Tangarin Moor; by

which means he should be master of the bark, and of consequence have it

in his power to accomplish the whole affair.

‘Although, in the opinion of me and my companions, there was no better

plan than that of sending to Majorca for a bark, as the Moorish lady had

proposed, we durst not contradict the sentiments of the renegade, lest

he, being disobliged by our acting contrary to his intention, should

make a discovery of our correspondence with the fair Moor, and endanger

not only our lives, but also that of Zorayda, for which we would have

willingly sacrificed our own. We therefore determined to rely upon God

and the renegado; and immediately wrote an answer to Zorayda, importing,

that we would adhere in every thing to her advice, which was as prudent

as if it had been dictated by Lela Marien; and that it depended solely

upon her, either to hasten or retard the negociation; pledging my faith

anew to become her spouse. In consequence of this intimation, the very

next day, when the bath happened to be empty, she, at different times,

by means of the cane and handkerchief, transmitted two thousand crowns

in gold, with a paper signifying, that on the first Jama, which is

Friday, she should set out for her father’s garden, but before her

departure, supply us with more money; and desired us to inform her, if

we should find that insufficient; for she would give us as much as we

could desire, her father having such vast sums, that he would never be

sensible of what she took, especially as all his keys were in her

possession. We immediately accommodated the renegado with five hundred

crowns, for the purchase of the bark; with eight hundred more I ransomed

myself, depositing the money with a Valentian merchant then residing at

Algiers, who bargained for my ransom with the king, and obtained my

freedom, upon giving his word to pay the money on the arrival of the

first ship from Valencia; for, if he had paid it immediately, the king

would have suspected that the ransom had been some time at Algiers, and

that the merchant had hitherto detained it for his own convenience. In

short, my master was so contentious, that I durst by no means disburse

the money at once. On the Thursday before the fair Zorayda removed to

her father’s country house, she gave us another thousand crowns, and

apprized us of her departure; intreating me, as soon as I should be

ransomed, to make myself acquainted with her father’s garden, and find

some opportunity of going thither to see her. I answered, in few words,

that I would obey her in every thing, desiring she would fervently

recommend us to Lela Marien in all those prayers which she had learned

of the slave.

‘This affair being transacted, means were concerted for ransoming my

three companions; lest, seeing me at liberty and themselves confined,

since I had money enough to procure their freedom, they should be

chagrined and tempted by the devil to do something to the prejudice of

Zorayda; for, although their honour and integrity might have secured me

against any such apprehension, I would not run the smallest risk, and

therefore took care they should be ransomed by the same canal through

which my liberty was obtained; depositing the whole sum required in the

merchant’s hands, that he might with more certainty and confidence act

the part of their bondsman; though we never disclosed to him our secret

commerce with Zorayda, for fear of what might happen.’

CHAP. XIV.

THE CONTINUATION OF THE CAPTIVE’S ADVENTURES.

‘Before fifteen days had elapsed, our renegado had purchased a stout

vessel capable of containing thirty persons at least; and to secure what

he had done with a favourable pretext, he made a voyage to a place

called Sargel, about thirty leagues from Algiers, towards the coast of

Oran, where there is a great traffick of dried figs; and he made two or

three trips of this kind in company with the Tagarin Moor already

mentioned. The Moors of Arragon are in Barbary called Tagarins, and

those of Grenada go by the name of Mudajares; though these last are in

the kingdom of Fez called Elches, being the people whom the king chiefly

uses in his wars. I say, then, in every passage, the renegado brought

his bark to an anchor in a small creek, within two bow shots of

Agimorato’s garden, and there purposely employed himself and his Moorish

rowers in practising the Zala[104], or attempted that in jest which he

intended to execute in earnest. He went frequently to Zorayda’s garden,

on pretence of asking fruit, which he always received from her father,

though he did not know him; but although, as he afterwards owned, he

wanted to speak with Zorayda, and tell her that he was the person

appointed by me to carry her off to the land of the Christians, that she

might be satisfied and secure of his fidelity; he never had an

opportunity of executing his design, for the Moorish women avoid the

sight of their own countrymen and the Turks, unless when they are

commanded to appear by their parents and husbands: though they talk and

converse with Christian captives even more freely than decency allows. I

should have been very much concerned had he spoke with her, because it

would perhaps have given her great uneasiness to see renegades intrusted

with the affair; but God, who ordained all for the best, gave him no

opportunity of fulfilling his well-meaning intention.

‘Perceiving how securely he traded to and from Sargel, and anchored

when, where, and how he pleased, his partner submitting to his direction

in all things; and that I being ransomed, there was nothing wanted but

some Christians to row, he desired me to pick out those who should

accompany me exclusive of my friends who were ransomed, and bespeak them

for the Friday following, which he had appointed for the day of our

departure. Seeing him thus determined, I spoke to a dozen Spaniards, all

of them able-bodied rowers, and people who could easily get out of the

city; and indeed it was no small difficulty to find so many at that

conjuncture, for no fewer than twenty gallies being then out upon the

cruize, almost all the rowers were employed; so that I should not have

found those I have mentioned had not their master staid at home that

summer to finish a vessel which he had on the stocks. All I said to them

was, that next Friday in the evening they should slily slip out of the

city one by one, and betake themselves to Agimorato’s garden, where they

should wait my coming; and I directed every one by himself, if he should

meet with other Christians at the rendezvous, to say nothing but that I

had ordered him to wait for me in that place.

‘This point being settled, another precaution still more necessary

remained untaken; this was to advertise Zorayda of the situation of our

affairs, that she might be prepared and guarded against surprize at our

sudden assault, before she could think it possible that the Christian

bark was arrived. Resolved therefore to see and speak with her if

possible one day before our departure, I went to the garden on pretence

of gathering some herbs, and the first person I met was her father, who

spoke to me in a language used through all Barbary, and even at

Constantinople, between the captives and the Moors; it is neither

Arabick nor Castilian, nor indeed peculiar to any nation, but a mixture

of different tongues by which we may make shift to understand each

other. I say, he asked in this sort of jargon who I was, and what I

wanted in his garden? I answered that I was a slave belonging to Arnaute

Mami, who I knew to be an intimate friend of his, and that I wanted a

few herbs for a sallad. In consequence of this answer, he enquired

whether or not I was to be ransomed, and what my master demanded for my

freedom? And while we were thus conversing together, the fair Zorayda

came out into the garden. She had already perceived me from a window of

the house; and as the Moorish women make no scruple of shewing

themselves to Christians, with whom, as I have already observed, they

are not at all shy, she without any hesitation walked towards the place

where I was standing with her father, who no sooner saw her, than he

called at a distance desiring her to come up. It would be a difficult

task for me at present to describe the exceeding beauty, the genteel

mien, the gay and rich ornaments with which my beloved Zorayda then

presented herself before mine eyes: I shall only observe, that the

pearls about her beauteous neck and ears, out-numbered the hairs of her

head. On her ancles, which were bare, according to the custom of the

country, she wore carcaxes, (by which name the bracelets for the feet

are called in the Morisco language) of the purest gold, set with such a

quantity of diamonds, that she afterwards told me her father valued them

at twenty thousand ducats; and those she wore upon her wrists were of

equal richness. The pearls, though in such a vast number, were extremely

fine; for the greatest pride and magnificence of the Moorish women lie

in pearls and embroidery; consequently there is a greater quantity of

pearls and seed-pearl in Barbary than in all the other nations of the

world, and Zorayda’s father had the reputation of possessing the

greatest number and the best in Algiers, together with a fortune of two

hundred thousand Spanish crowns, of all which she who is now mine was

once mistress. Whether with the assistance of all these ornaments she

appeared beautiful or not, and what she must have been in her

prosperity, may be conjectured by what remains after the great fatigues

she hath undergone; for it is well known that the beauty of some women

hath its days and seasons, and is diminished or increased according to

the circumstances that happen; being improved or impaired, nay, often

totally destroyed, by the passions of the mind. In short, she approached

in all the pomp of dress, and all the excess of beauty; at least to me

she seemed the most beautiful creature I had ever seen; which

circumstance, joined to the obligation I lay under, made me look upon

her as an angel sent from heaven for my delight and deliverance. When

she came up, her father told her in their own language that I was a

captive belonging to his friend Arnaute Mami, and had come for a sallad;

upon which she took up the discourse, and in that jumble of languages

before-mentioned, asked if I was a gentleman, and why I did not ransom

myself? I answered that I was already ransomed, and that she might see

in what esteem I was with my master by the sum he received for my

freedom, which was no less than fifteen hundred sultanins. To this

observation she replied, “Truly, if thou hadst belonged to my father, he

should not have parted with thee for twice the sum; for you Christians

always dissemble, and call yourselves poorer than you really are, with a

view of imposing upon the Moors.”—“That may be sometimes the case,

Madam,” said I, “but I adhered to the truth in bargaining with my

master, and will deal honestly with all mankind.” She then asked how

soon I intended to depart: and I answered, “To-morrow, I believe; there

is a French ship in the harbour to sail in the morning, and I have some

thoughts of taking my passage on board of her.”—“Had not you better stay

till the arrival of a vessel from Spain,” said Zorayda, “than trust

yourself with the French, who are no good friends of yours?”—“No,

Madam,” answered I; “though, as there is a Spanish ship expected, if she

arrives immediately, I believe I shall wait for her; but it is more

likely that I shall sail to-morrow; for the desire I have to see myself

in my native country with those I love, is too strong to let me wait for

any other convenience, let it be ever so good.”—“Without doubt,” said

Zorayda, “thou art married in thy own country, and therefore desirous of

being with thy wife?”—“I am not yet wedded,” I replied; “but under

promise of being married at my return.”—“And is the woman beautiful to

whom thou hast pledged thy faith?” said she. “So beautiful,” answered I,

“that, to compliment her, and tell thee the truth, she is the exact

resemblance of thyself.”

‘Her father laughed heartily at this declaration, saying, “Truly,

Christian, she must be very handsome indeed, if she resembles my

daughter, who is the most beautiful woman in this kingdom: look at her,

and thou wilt see whether or not I speak truth.”

‘In the greatest part of this conversation, Agimorato served as

interpreter for his daughter, he being better acquainted with this

spurious language, which though she understood a little in consequence

of its being much spoke among the Moors, she explained, her meaning by

signs, oftener than by words.

‘While we were engaged in this and other such conversation, a Moor ran

towards us, crying aloud, that four Turks having got through the pales,

or leaped over the garden wall, were gathering the fruit, though it was

not yet ripe. At this information the old man and Zorayda started; for

the Moors are commonly, and as it were, naturally, afraid of the Turks,

especially the soldiers, who are so insolent and imperious to their

Moorish subjects, that they treat them worse than if they were slaves.

Accordingly, the father said to Zorayda, “Daughter, retire to the house,

and lock thyself up, while I go and talk to those dogs; and thou

Christian,” (turning to me) “gather thy herbs, and depart in peace; and

Ala send thee safe into thy own country!” I made my obeysance, and he

went in search of the Turks, leaving me alone with Zorayda, who

pretended to go homeward according to her father’s desire; but no sooner

was he out of sight, among the trees of the garden, than she came back,

with her eyes drowned in tears, saying, “Amexi, Christiano, amexi!” the

signification of which address is, “Thou art going away, Christian, thou

art going away!”—“Yes, Madam,” answered I, “but by no means without you:

on the next Jama expect me, and be not afraid when you see us; for we

shall certainly go to the land of the Christians.” I made shift to

express myself in such a manner, that she understood this, and every

thing else that I said; and throwing her arm about my neck, began to

walk towards the house, with a slow and faultering pace: but it pleased

fortune, which might have proved very unlucky, had not Heaven otherwise

ordained, that while we walked in this attitude, with her arm about my

neck, we were observed by her father, on his return from having sent

away the Turks; and we immediately perceived ourselves discovered.

Nevertheless, Zorayda, prompted by her discretion and presence of mind,

would not take her arm from my neck; but, on the contrary, coming closer

to me; let her head drop upon my bosom, and her knees sunk under her, as

if she was fainting; while I seemed to support her with a sort of

strained civility.

‘The father seeing his daughter in this situation, ran towards us with

great concern, and asked what was the matter: but she making no reply,

“Doubtless,” said he, “she hath fainted with the fright occasioned by

the insolence of those dogs.” Then, taking her out of my arms, he

supported her in his own; while she, fetching a deep sigh, the tears

still continuing in her eyes, repeated, “Amexi, Christiano,

amexi!——Begone, Christian, begone.”—“There is no necessity for the

Christian’s departure,” said the father, “he hath done thee no harm; and

as the Turks are gone already, be not disturbed: thou hast no cause to

be uneasy; for as I have already said, the Turks, at my entreaty, went

out as they had come in.”—“Indeed, Sir,” said I, “they have discomposed

her very much, as you observe; but since she desires me to go, I will

not stay to give offence. Peace be with you! I will, with your

permission, return to this garden for herbs, if they should be wanted;

for my master says there are none better to be found in any other

place.”—“Thou mayest come as often as thou wilt,” answered Agimorato:

“what my daughter says is not out of resentment against thee or any

other Christian; but instead of bidding the Turks begone, she applied

the words to thee, or else thought it was time for thee to go and gather

thy herbs.” I then took leave of them both; and she, as if her soul had

been rent from her body, went away with her father; while I, on pretence

of culling my sallad, went round the whole garden at my pleasure,

observing all the entries and outlets, together with the strength of the

house, and every convenience that might tend to facilitate our purpose.

‘Having thus reconnoitered, I went and communicated my observations to

the renegado and the rest of my companions, longing eagerly for the hour

of seeing myself in peaceable possession of the blessing which fortune

presented in the beauteous and charming Zorayda. At length the

intervening time elapsed, and the long-wished-for day and period

arrived, when all of us, following the order and plan which had been

often canvassed, and at last settled, after the most mature

deliberation, our desires were happily accomplished. On the Friday after

I had spoke with Zorayda, Morrenago, which was the renegade’s name,

anchored his bark, at night-fall, opposite to the place where my

charming mistress resided; and the Christians who were to row, in

consequence of my directions, lay already concealed in different

corners, all around the place, waiting for me with impatience, joy, and

desire of attacking the vessel which was in view; for they were ignorant

of our confederacy with the renegade, and believed that they must win

and maintain their liberty by force of arms, in killing all the Moors

who belonged to the bark; wherefore, as soon as I and my companions

appeared, those who were hid came and joined us immediately, about the

time when the city gates were shut, so that not a soul was to be seen in

the fields. Being all met together, we were in some doubt whether we

should go immediately for Zorayda; or first of all secure the Moorish

rowers belonging to the bark. While we hesitated on this point, the

renegado arriving, asked what we waited for; observing, that now was the

time, the Moors being altogether unguarded, and the greatest part of

them actually asleep. We told him the subject of our doubt; upon which

he assured us, that it was of the greatest consequence to make ourselves

first masters of the bark, a precaution which might be easily taken,

without running the least hazard, and then we could go in quest of

Zorayda, with greater security. His advice was unanimously approved; and

therefore without farther delay, we followed him as guide to the vessel,

into which he leaped, and drawing a scymitar, called in the Moorish

language, “Let none of you stir on pain of death.” The Christians were

at his back in an instant; while the Moors being naturally

pusillanimous, hearing their master talk in this manner, were seized

with consternation: and as there were few or no arms on board, suffered

themselves, without the least resistance, to be fettered by the

Christians, who performed this office with infinite dexterity and

dispatch, threatening to put them all to the sword, if any one of them

should raise his voice, or attempt to make the least noise.