"Well, now, Peter, I will say no more, for as you profess to be fond of
me, and as I can truly say the same in regard to you, we may be sure
that each will help the other if he gets the chance. But, tell me, are
you really one of the crew of this pirate vessel?"
"No, massa, only for dis viage. I b'longs to a old sinner called
Hassan, what libs in de country, not far from de town. He not a bad
feller, but he's obs'nit--oh! as obs'nit as a deaf an' dumb mule. If
you want 'im to go one way just tell him to go toder way--an' you've got
'im."
At that moment the captain's voice was heard shouting down the hatchway,
demanding to know what detained the negro and his prisoners. He spoke
in that jumble of languages in use at that time among the Mediterranean
nations called Lingua Franca, for the negro did not understand Arabic.
"Comin', captain, comin'," cried the negro, in his own peculiar
English--which was, indeed, his mother tongue, for he had been born in
the United States of America. "Now, den, sar," (to Foster), "w'en you
goin' to move you stumps? Up wid you!"
Peter emphasised his orders with a real kick, which expedited his
prisoner's ascent, and, at the same time, justified the negro's claim to
be a thorough-paced "hyperkrite!"
"Where's the other one?" demanded the captain angrily.
"Escaped, captain!" answered Peter.
"How? You must have helped him," cried the captain, drawing his
ever-ready sword and pointing it at the breast of the negro, who fell
upon his knees, clasped his great hands, and rolled his eyes in an
apparent agony of terror.
"Don't, captain. I isn't wuth killin', an' w'en I's gone, who'd cook
for you like me? De man escaped by jumpin' out ob his body. He's gone
dead!"
"Fool!" muttered the pirate, returning his sword to its sheath, "bind
that prisoner, and have him and the others ready to go on shore
directly."
In a few seconds all the prisoners were ranged between the cabin
hatchway and the mast. The hands of most of the men were loosely tied,
to prevent trouble in case desperation should impel any of them to
assault their captors, but the old Dane and the women were left
unfettered.
And now George Foster beheld, for the first time, the celebrated city,
which was, at that period, the terror of the merchant vessels of all
nations that had dealings with the Mediterranean shores. A small pier
and breakwater enclosed a harbour which was crowded with boats and
shipping. From this harbour the town rose abruptly on the side of a
steep hill, and was surrounded by walls of great strength, which
bristled with cannon. The houses were small and square-looking, and in
the midst, here and there, clusters of date-palms told of the almost
tropical character of the climate, while numerous domes, minarets, and
crescents told of the Moor and the religion of Mohammed.
But religion in its true sense had little footing in that piratical
city, which subsisted on robbery and violence, while cruelty and
injustice of the grossest kind were rampant. Whatever Islamism may have
taught them, it did not produce men or women who held the golden rule to
be a virtue, and certainly few practised it. Yet we would not be
understood to mean that there were none who did so. As there were
Christians in days of old, even in Caesar's household, so there existed
men and women who were distinguished by the Christian graces, even in
the Pirate City. Even there God had not left Himself without a witness.
As the vessel slowly entered the harbour under a very light breeze, she
was boarded by several stately officers in the picturesque costume--
turbans, red leathern boots, etcetera--peculiar to the country. After
speaking a few minutes with the captain, one of the officers politely
addressed the old Dane and his family through an interpreter; but as
they spoke in subdued tones Foster could not make out what was said.
Soon he was interrupted by a harsh order from an unknown Moor in an
unknown tongue.
An angry order invariably raised in our hero the spirit of rebellion.
He flushed and turned a fierce look on the Moor, but that haughty and
grave individual was accustomed to such looks. He merely repeated his
order in a quiet voice, at the same time translating it by pointing to
the boat alongside. Foster felt that discretion was the better part of
valour, all the more that there stood at the Moor's back five or six
powerful Arabs, who seemed quite ready to enforce his instructions.
The poor middy glanced round to see if his only friend, Peter the Great,
was visible, but he was not; so, with a flushed countenance at thus
being compelled to put his pride in his pocket, he jumped into the boat,
not caring very much whether he should break his neck by doing so with
tied hands, or fall into the sea and end his life in a shark's maw!
In a few minutes he was landed on the mole or pier, and made to join a
band of captives, apparently from many nations, who already stood
waiting there.
Immediately afterwards the band was ordered to move on, and as they
marched through the great gateway in the massive walls Foster felt as if
he were entering the portals of Dante's Inferno, and had left all hope
behind. But his feelings misled him. Hope, thank God! is not easily
extinguished in the human breast. As he tramped along the narrow and
winding streets, which seemed to him an absolute labyrinth, he began to
take interest in the curious sights and sounds that greeted him on every
side, and his mind was thus a little taken off himself.
And there was indeed much there to interest a youth who had never seen
Eastern manners or customs before. Narrow and steep though the streets
were--in some cases so steep that they formed flights of what may be
styled broad and shallow stairs--they were crowded with bronzed men in
varied Eastern costume; Moors in fez and gay vest and red morocco
slippers; Turks with turban and pipe; Cabyles from the mountains; Arabs
from the plains; water-carriers with jar on shoulder; Jews in sombre
robes; Jewesses with rich shawls and silk kerchiefs as headgear; donkeys
with panniers that almost blocked the way; camels, and veiled women, and
many other strange sights that our hero had up to that time only seen in
picture-books.
Presently the band of captives halted before a small door which was
thickly studded with large nails. It seemed to form the only opening in
a high dead wall, with the exception of two holes about a foot square,
which served as windows. This was the Bagnio, or prison, in which the
slaves were put each evening after the day's labour was over, there to
feed and rest on the stone floor until daylight should call them forth
again to renewed toil. It was a gloomy courtyard, with cells around it
in which the captives slept. A fountain in the middle kept the floor
damp and seemed to prove an attraction to various centipedes, scorpions,
and other noisome creatures which were crawling about.
Here the captives just arrived had their bonds removed, and were left to
their own devices, each having received two rolls of black bread before
the jailor retired and locked them up for the night.
Taking possession of an empty cell, George Foster sat down on the stone
floor and gazed at the wretched creatures around him, many of whom were
devouring their black bread with ravenous haste. The poor youth could
hardly believe his eyes, and it was some time before he could convince
himself that the whole thing was not a dream but a terrible reality.