THE ORPHAN IS PRESENTED AT COURT--IS A BIT NERVOUS--LESSONS IN THE
TURKISH LANGUAGE--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS--THE PASHA OF MANY WIVES--AN
OFFICIAL PRESENT--BOWSTRINGING--AN EXECUTION--HORROR! THE ORPHAN'S
PERIL, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
Having got Chivey and his master together again, we now travel to the
Turkish coast to be in the company of young Jack and his friends.
The orphan had been roused from his slumbers to be presented to the
pasha of that province.
His excellency the pasha had done them the honour to pay them a visit
of ceremony on board ship, and was seated in great state surrounded by
his suite in the best saloon.
After the chief personages on board had been presented, his excellency
had, according to Captain Deering, desired to see that distinguished
personage, Mr. Figgins, _alias_ the orphan.
And now the orphan stood trembling outside the door of the saloon.
"In you go, Mr. Figgins," whispered Captain Deering.
"One moment."
"Nonsense."
"Just a word."
"Bah!" said the captain, with a grin; "you aren't going to have a tooth
out. In with you."
He opened the door, gave the timorous orphan a vigorous drive behind,
and Mr. Figgins stood in the august presence.
The pasha was seated--it would be irreverent to say squatted, which
would better express it--upon a cushion that was, as Paddy says,
hanging up on the floor.
His excellency was in that peculiar, not to say painful attitude, which
less agile mortals find unattainable, but which appears to mean true
rest to Turk or tailor.
The pasha rejoiced in a beard of enormous dimensions, a grizzled
dirt-coloured beard that almost touched the cushion upon which he sat.
A turban of red and gold silk was upon his venerable head.
And beside his excellency upon a cushion were laid his arms, weapons of
barbarous make, thought the orphan.
A scimitar, curved _à la_ Saladin, two long-barrelled pistols, with
jewelled butts, "as though they were earrings or bracelets," the orphan
said to himself, a long dagger with an ivory hilt and sheath, and a
piece of cord.
"That's to tie them together with," mentally decided the orphan. "One
might as well travel with the Woolwich Arsenal or the armoury from the
Tower. Barbarous old beast."
"Now," said Captain Deering, "tuck in your tuppenny, Mr. Figgins; bow
as low as you can."
The orphan put his back into an angle of forty-five with his legs.
"Lower."
"Ugh!"
"A little bit more."
"Lower," said Captain Deering, in an agonised whisper. "We shall all be
bowstrung if his excellency thinks us wanting in respect."
The orphan thus admonished made a further effort, and over he went
Head first!
There was such a chattering, such horrible sounds going on, as Captain
Deering scrambled after the unfortunate orphan, that the latter thought
his time was come.
The captain dragged him to his feet, however.
Then the presentation was proceeded with.
"His Excellency Ali Kungham Ben Nardbake," cried a dignitary standing
beside the pasha, with a voice like a toastmaster.
"Good gracious me!" exclaimed the orphan, "all that?"
"That's not half of it," said Captain Deering. "To the faithful, he is
known as well as Sid Ney Ali Ben Lesters puar Nasr ed Bowstrung and
Strattford Bustum."
Mr. Figgins was greatly alarmed at this.
"Powerful memories his godfathers and godmothers must have had," he
murmured.
Beside the pasha stood an official, with a beard of extraordinary
length.
"Who's that?"
"Hush?" whispered Deering; "don't speak so loud."
"Who is he?" again asked the orphan, sinking his voice.
"The one with the beard?"
"Yes."
"His name is Whiska Said Mahmoud Ben Ross Latreille," returned Deering.
"Dear, dear!" murmured the orphan, in despairing accents, "I shall
never----"
"Ease her, stop her!" cried a familiar voice in Mr. Figgins's ear,
"you've got it in a knot."
It was Nat Cringle.
All was hushed.
The bearded official looked at the pasha, who nodded.
Then drawing his sword, he signed to two of his men, and Nat Cringle,
looking dreadfully frightened, was bustled off behind a curtain which
had been rigged up across the saloon, just at the pasha's back.
"What are they going to do?" asked the orphan, his teeth chattering in
alarm.
Captain Deering was so much affected at this stage of the proceedings
that he covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief.
"Poor Nat!"
"What is it?" faltered Mr. Figgins, faintly.
"Did you not see the cord taken away with Nat?" demanded the captain,
in a funereal bass.
"Ye-es."
"Then hark."
Mr. Figgins did hark, and an awful sound reached him from behind the
curtain.
It was more like the expiring groans of a hapless porker in the hands
of a ruthless butcher, than any thing else you could compare it to.
A fatal struggle was going on behind the curtain.
Groans and dying wails were heard for awhile.
Awful sounds.
Then all was still.
"Oh, what is it?" murmured the orphan, in distress.
"Squiziz Wizen, the pasha's executioner, has dealt upon poor Nat
Cringle."
"What!" gasped Figgins.
"Bowstrung," returned Captain Deering.
The orphan turned faint.
Then he turned to the door, and would have fled.
"Oh, let me go home," he cried. "I don't feel happy here."
But Deering stayed him.
"You must not go, Mr. Figgins," whispered Captain Deering.
"Why not?"
"His excellency is about to address us."
The pasha coughed.
"_Quel est votre jeu?_" demanded his excellency.
"What does he say?" asked Figgins.
"Batta pudn," continued his excellency, with a gracious air; "also bono
Jonni."
"He says you may present whatever you have brought," whispered the
captain.
"I've brought nothing," returned Mr. Figgins.
"Nothing?"
"No; I forgot."
"Thoughtless man," said Captain Deering. "Take this."
He thrust a parcel of brown paper into his hands.
"What shall I do with it?"
"Place it on the cushion before his excellency."
Mr. Figgins complied.
"Luciousosity," said the pasha, looking upon the offering greedily.
Then he clapped his hands vigorously three times.
The minister appeared, leading two veiled ladies.
The pasha made some remarks in his own language, which Captain Deering
was commissioned to render into English.
"His excellency, recognising your generous offering," said he,
"presents you with the choicest gifts of his seraglio, two wives. You
must cherish them through life."
The orphan's countenance fell at this.
The capital punishment of poor Nat Cringle was as nothing to this.
"Tell him I'd rather not take two," he whispered to Deering.
"Why not?" ejaculated the latter.
"I wish to live single."
The bearded minister approached, leading the two veiled beauties.
"Oh! oh, dear," groaned the poor orphan.
He placed a gloved hand of each upon Mr. Figgins's shoulders.
Then, upon a given signal, they threw their arms around the orphan and
hugged him, while a violent cachinnation was heard.
"What a lovely smile," said Captain Deering. "Did you hear it?"
"Oh! Please don't," cried the orphan.
He struggled to get free.
But the beauties of the seraglio held him tight.
The orphan grew desperate, and jerked himself out of their clutches.
But in the tussle down he flopped on the ground again.
"Infidel dog!" roared the pasha, venting his wrath in English,
"barbarian and idolater, thou shalt die!"
Thereupon, Captain Deering dropped down beside the orphan, and sued for
mercy.
"Be merciful, O great prince!" he cried. "Have pity on your humblest
slave. His heart is filled with gratitude."
The pasha growled some reply that was indistinct, but which to the
startled Figgins, sounded like the rumbling of distant thunder.
"Oh, what shall I do?" moaned the orphan. "Oh, somebody take me home."
"Silence," whispered Captain Deering. "Prostrate yourself as they do.
Bury your face and be silent, until his excellency bids you rise. He
may then overlook it."
Mr. Figgins scarce dared to breathe.
There he lay, with his face upon the ground, humbly awaiting the stern
despot's permission to move.
* * * *
He waited long--very long.
While he waited thus, a strange commotion was observed amongst the
pasha's suite.
The chief officer removed his turban and beard, and--wonderful to
relate!--beneath it was the laughing face of Harry Girdwood.
He winked at his august master, who hurriedly removed his turban and
beard as well.
And then the pasha bore a marvellous resemblance to Jack Harkaway the
younger.
They helped to drag off each other's robes--for beneath their Turkish
garments were their everyday clothes.
The veiled beauties of the harem were disrobed.
Beneath their veils and feminine attire they were familiarly garbed,
and a glance revealed them to be Tinker and his body-guard Bogey.
"Now then, Mr. Figgins," said Nat Cringle, "wake up."
The orphan looked up in amazement at the sound.
"Nat Cringle!"
"Hullo!"
Mr. Figgins looked about in wonderment.
Facing him was Jack Harkaway, sitting upon a camp stool, and beside him
stood his constant companion, Harry Girdwood.
Engaged in conversation with them was Captain Deering, and the subject
of their conversation appeared to be the orphan himself.
The Turkish soldiers and people generally forming the pasha's suite had
disappeared, and in their places were several sailors, some of whom
appeared to be considerably amused at something.
When Mr. Figgins sat up and looked about him, he muttered--
"What's all this?"
"A very serious case, Harry," said Jack, gravely.
"Very."
"A case for the doctor."
"What do you mean?"
"These habits of drinking grow upon one," said Harry Girdwood, sadly.
"I don't understand," faltered the orphan.
"Shall we help you to bed, sir?" asked one of the sailors
compassionately.
"Never!" cried Mr. Figgins, with majesty.
"Oh, yes, do," said Harry.
But nerved to desperation, the orphan tore himself away from them, and
darted to the door.
"I shall go and report upon these outrageous doings to the captain of
the ship," he said, drawing himself up.
"Here's the captain himself," said a good-natured voice behind him.
"And now, what can he do for you, Mr. Figgins?"
The orphan turned.
There was the captain.
"Mr. Figgins," said the captain, with a serious air, and shaking his
forefinger at him, "you have been indulging very early in the day."
"What?"
He could endure no more.
With a cry of disgust, he dashed past the captain, and scrambled up the
stairs on deck.
Once there, he shot like a race horse along the deck, and gaining his
own berth, he locked himself in.
But even here he could not shut out the ringing laughter of the
incorrigible practical jokers.
Mr. Figgins, as you may guess, was seen no more that day.
* * * *
Upon the day following the events just related, Jack received letters
from home.
And among them was one which created no little excitement amongst the
nearest friends of Jack Harkaway.
"Do you think it probable that he'll come?"
"I shouldn't wonder," said Harry Girdwood.
"I should like to see his dear old face again," said Jack.
"I'll bet a penny that we shall see him here yet; if not here, at least
at our next stage," said Harry.
"It would be a rare treat to talk with someone who had seen our dear
folks at home."
"It would indeed. I hope he will come."
And who did they hope would come?
Can you not guess reader? No.
Then read on, and you will learn who it was and what were the reasons
which were to bring a friend from home roaming to this distant shore to
meet Jack and his friends.