We must return now to the residence of Ben-Ahmed at Mustapha.
When his son Osman--who had seen Hester only once and that for but a few
minutes--discovered that the fair slave had fled, his rage knew no
bounds. He immediately sent for Peter the Great and sternly asked him
if he knew how the English girl had escaped. Their intercourse, we may
remark, was carried on in the same curious manner as that referred to in
connection with Ben-Ahmed. Osman spoke in Lingua Franca and Peter
replied in his ordinary language.
"Oh yes, massa, I know," said the latter, with intense earnestness; "she
escaped ober de wall."
"Blockhead!" exclaimed the irate Osman, who was a sturdy but
ill-favoured specimen of Moslem humanity. "Of course I know that, but
_how_ did she escape over the wall?"
"Don' know dat, massa. You see I's not dere at de time, so can't
'zactly say. Moreober, it was bery dark, an' eben if I's dar, I
couldn't see peepil in de dark."
"You lie! you black scoundrel! and you know that you do. You could tell
me much more about this if you chose."
"No, indeed, I don't lie--if a slabe may dar to counterdick his massa,"
returned Peter humbly. "But you's right when you say I could tell you
much more. Oh! I could tell you _heaps_ more! In de fuss place I was
sotin' wid de oder slabes in de kitchen, enjoyin' ourselves arter
supper, w'en we hear a cry! Oh my! how my heart jump! Den all our legs
jump, and out we hoed wid lanterns an--"
"Fool! don't I know all that? Now, tell me the truth, has the English
slave, George Fos--Fos--I forget his name--"
"Geo'ge Foster," suggested the negro, with an amiable look.
"Yes; has Foster had no hand in the matter?"
"Unpossible, I t'ink," said Peter. "You see he was wid me and all de
oder slabes when de girl hoed off, an' I don't t'ink eben a Englishman
kin be in two places at one time. But you kin ax him; he's in de
gardin."
"Go, fetch him," growled the young Moor, "and tell four of my men to
come here. They are waiting outside."
The negro retired, and, soon after, four stout Moorish seamen entered.
They seemed worthy of their gruff commander, who ordered them to stand
at the inner end of the room. As he spoke he took up an iron
instrument, somewhat like a poker, and thrust it into a brazier which
contained a glowing charcoal fire.
Presently Peter the Great returned with young Foster. Osman did not
condescend to speak directly to him, but held communication through the
negro.
Of course our hero could throw no light on the subject, being utterly
ignorant of everything--as Peter had wisely taken the precaution to
ensure--except of the bare fact that Hester was gone.
"Now, it is my opinion," said Osman, with a savage frown, "that you are
both deceiving me, and if you don't tell the truth I will take means to
force it out of you."
Saying this he turned to the brazier and pulled out the iron poker to
see that it was becoming red-hot. The countenance of the negro became
very grave as he observed this, and the midshipman's heart sank within
him.
"So you deliberately tell me," said the Moor abruptly, as he wheeled
round and confronted Peter the Great, "that you have no knowledge as to
where, or with whom, this girl is?"
"No, massa," answered the negro, with solemn sincerity. "If you was to
skin me alive I not able to tell you whar she is or who she is wid."
Peter said no more than this aloud, but he added, internally, that he
would sooner die than give any further information, even if he had it to
give.
Osman made a motion with his hand as a signal to the four seamen, who,
advancing quickly, seized the negro, and held him fast. One of the men
then stripped off the poor man's shirt. At the same moment Osman drew
the red-hot iron from the fire, and deliberately laid it on Peter's
back, the skin of which hissed and almost caught fire, while a cloud of
smoke arose from it.
The hapless victim did not struggle. He was well aware that resistance
would be useless. He merely clenched his teeth and hands. But when
Osman removed the iron and applied it to another part of his broad back
a deep groan of agony burst from the poor fellow, and beads of
perspiration rolled from his brow.
At first George Foster could scarcely believe his eyes. He was almost
paralysed by an intense feeling of horror. Then there came a tremendous
rebound. Rage, astonishment, indignation, fury, and a host of cognate
passions, met and exploded in his bosom. Uttering a yell that
harmonised therewith, he sprang forward, hit Osman a straight English
left-hander between the eyes, and followed it up with a right-hander in
the gullet, which sent the cruel monster flat on the floor, and his head
saluted the bricks with an effective bump. In his fall the Moor
overturned the brazier, and brought the glowing fire upon his bosom,
which it set alight--his garments being made of cotton.
To leap up with a roar of pain and shake off the glowing cinders was the
work of a moment. In the same moment two of the stout seamen threw
themselves on the roused midshipman, and overcame him--not, however,
before one of them had received a black eye and the other a bloody nose,
for Moors do not understand the art of self-defence with the fists.
"Down with him!" shouted Osman, when he had extinguished the flames.
He seized a supple cane, or wand, as the seamen threw Foster down, and
held his feet in the air, after tearing off his shoes.
Wild with fury, Osman brought the cane down on the poor youth's soles.
It was his first taste of the bastinado. The agony took him by
surprise, and extorted a sharp yell. Next moment his teeth were in the
calf of one of the men's legs, and his right hand grasped the baggy
trousers of the other. A compound kick and plunge overturned them both,
and as they all fell into a heap, the cheek of one seaman received a
stinging blow that was meant for the middy's soles.
Things had reached this crisis, and Peter the Great, having hurled aside
his two assailants, was on the point of rushing to the rescue of his
friend, when the door burst open, and Ben-Ahmed stood before them
quivering with indignation.
"Is this your return for my forbearance? Be-gone!" he shouted to his
son in a voice of thunder.
Osman knew his father too well to require a second bidding. He left the
room angrily, and a look from Ben-Ahmed sent the four sailors after him.
The Moor was too well accustomed to his wild son's ways to require any
explanation of the cause of the fracas. Just giving one glance at his
slaves, to make sure that neither was killed, he left the room as
hastily as he had entered it.
"My poor friend," exclaimed the middy, grasping the negro's hand with a
gush of mingled enthusiasm and pity, "I trust you have not been much
injured by that inhuman brute?"
"Oh, bress you! no. It do smart a bit," returned Peter, as he put on
his shirt uneasily, "an' I's used to it, Geo'ge, you know. But how's
your poo' feet?"
"Well, I'm not vary sure," replied Foster, making a wry face as he sat
down to examine them. "How it did sting, Peter! I owe a heavy debt of
gratitude to old Ben-Ahmed for cutting it short. No, the skin's not
damaged, I see, but there are two or three most awful weals. D'you
know, I never before this day felt sorry that I wasn't born a dog!"
"Why's dat, Geo'ge?"
Because then I should have been able to make my teeth meet in yon
fellow's leg, and would have held on! Yes, I don't know what I would
not have given just at that time to have been born a mastiff, or a huge
Saint Bernard, or a thoroughbred British bull-dog, with double the usual
allowance of canines and grinders!
The negro threw back his head and began one of his silent laughs, but
suddenly stopped, opened his eyes wide, pursed his lips, and moved his
broad shoulders uneasily.
"I mus' laugh _easy_ for some time to come," he remarked.
"Poor fellow!" said Foster, "I fear you must. I say--how my soles do
sting!"
"Oh yes, _I_ knows," returned Peter, with a remarkably intelligent nod.
"But come. We mus' go an' see what massa's a-goin' to do, for you bery
sure he won't rest quiet till he's turned ebery stone to find Missy
Hester."
Peter the Great left the room with a brave effort to suppress a groan;
while our middy followed with an equally valorous determination not to
limp. In both efforts they were but partially successful.
As Peter had prophesied, Ben-Ahmed did indeed leave no stone unturned to
recover Hester Sommers, but there was one consideration which checked
him a good deal, and prevented his undertaking the search as openly as
he wished, and that was the fear that the Dey himself might get wind of
what he was about, and so become inquisitive as to the cause of the stir
which so noted a man was making about a runaway slave. For Ben-Ahmed
feared--and so did Osman--that if the Dey saw Hester he might want to
introduce her into his own household.
The caution which they had therefore to observe in prosecuting the
search was all in favour of the runaway.
As time passed by, Hester, _alias_ Geo'giana, began to feel more at ease
in her poor abode and among her new friends, who, although unrefined in
manners, were full to overflowing with the milk of human kindness, so
that at last the unfortunate English girl began to entertain positive
affection for Mrs Lilly and her black handmaiden.
She also began to feel more at ease in traversing the intricate streets
of the city, for the crowds that passed her daily had evidently too much
to do attending to their own business to bestow more than an indifferent
glance at two negro girls. And if the features of one of the two was
not according to the familiar negro type, it is probable that all the
inhabitants of Algiers were aware of the fact that some of the tribes of
black people in the interior of Africa possess the well-formed features
and comparatively thin lips of Europeans.
As Hester's anxieties about herself began to abate, however, her desire
to find out where and how her father was became more and more intense.
But the poor child was doomed to many months of hope deferred before
that desire was gratified.
Peter the Great did indeed make a few efforts to meet with him again--
sometimes in company with George Foster, more frequently alone, and
occasionally he visited Hester--having been informed by his sister Dinah
where to find her--in order to tell of his want of success, and to
comfort her with earnest assurances that he would "neber forsake her,"
but would keep up a constant look-out for her fadder an' an eye on
herself.
Consideration for the girl's safety rendered it necessary that these
visits should be few and far between, and, of course, owing to the same
necessity, our middy was not permitted to visit her at all. Indeed,
Peter refused to tell him even where she was hiding, all the information
he condescended to give being that she was safe.
"You see, my dear," said Peter to Hester, in a paternal tone, on the
occasion of the first of these visits, "if I was to come yar oftin,
massa--spec'ally Osman--would 'gin to wonder, an' de moment a man 'gins
to wonder he 'gins to suspec', an' den he 'gins to watch; an' if it
comes to dat it's all up wid you an' me. So you mus' jest keep close
an' say nuffin till de tide 'gins to turn an' de wind blow fair. De
good Lord kin turn wind an' tide when He likes, so keep your heart up,
Geo'giana!"
As he uttered the last word the negro put his great hand on the girl's
shoulder and patted it.
"_What_ a good name Geo'giana am," he continued, bringing his eyes to
bear on the slender little black creature before him; "an' _what_ a good
nigger you would make if on'y you had an elegant flat nose an' bootiful
thick hips. Neber mind, you's better lookin' dan Sally, anyhow, an' no
mortal could guess who you was, eben if he was told to look hard at
you!"
"But oh, Peter, this is such an anxious, weary life," began Hester, with
a trembling lip.
"Now, hold on dar!" interrupted the negro, almost sternly; "you _mus'_
_not_ cry, whateber you do, for it washes off de black. You mus' larn
to cumtroul your feelin's."
"I will try," returned Hester, attempting to smile. "But it is not that
I am discontented with my lot, for they are as kind to me here as if
they were my mother and sister, and I like doing the embroidery work
very much--it's not that. It is the weary waiting, and hoping for, and
expecting news of my darling father--news which _never_ comes."
"Now, don't you t'ink like dat, Geo'giana, but larn to submit--submit--
das de word. De news'll come all in good time. An' news allers comes
in a heap--suddently, so to speak. It _neber_ comes slow. Now, look
yar. I wants you to make me a solum promise."
"What is that?" asked Hester, smiling in spite of herself at the
intensity of her dark friend's look and manner.
"It am dis. Dat you will neber look surprised, nor speak surprised, no
matter howeber much you may _feel_ surprised."
"You impose a difficult task on me, Peter."
"Ob course I do, Geo'giana, but as your life--an' p'r'aps mine, but dat
ain't much--depends on it, you'll see de needcessity."
"I will certainly try--for your sake as well as my own," returned Hester
fervently.
"Well, I t'ink you will, but it ain't easy, an' I'll test you some day."
It was more than a month after that before Peter the Great paid her
another visit, and, to the poor girl's grief, he still came without news
of her father. He had been all over the Kasba, he said, and many other
places where the slaves worked, but he meant to persevere. The city was
big, and it would take time, but "Geo'giana" was to cheer up, for he
would _neber_ gib in.
One morning Peter announced to Foster that he was going into town to
make purchases, and he wanted his assistance to carry the basket.
"Are we going to make another search for poor Mr Sommers?" asked the
middy, as he walked along the road holding one handle of the empty
basket.
"No, we's got no time for dat to-day. I mus' be back early. Got time
on'y for one call on a friend ob mine. Das all."
As the negro did not seem inclined for conversation, Foster forebore to
trouble him, but observed, without remarking on the circumstance, that,
instead of taking their accustomed way to the market-place, they passed
along many narrow, steep, and intricate streets until they reached what
the midshipman conceived to be the very heart of the city.
"Dis am de house ob my friend," said Peter, stopping in front of an
opening which descended into a cellar. "Foller me, Geo'ge, an' bring
down de baskit wid you. Hallo, Missis Lilly! Is you widin?"
"Hi! Das you, Peter de Great?" came in shrill tones from below as they
descended.
"Dumb!" exclaimed Peter, with peculiar emphasis on reaching the cellar.
"How you do, Missis Lilly? Oberjoyed to see you lookin' so fresh. Just
looked in to ax how you's gettin' along."
Need we say that Peter's warning word was not thrown away on Hester
Sommers, who was seated in her corner embroidering with gold thread a
pair of red morocco slippers. But, forewarned though she was, her
presence of mind was put to a tremendous test when, all unexpectedly,
George Foster descended the steps and stood before her. Fortunately,
while the youth was bestowing a hearty nautical greeting on Mrs Lilly--
for his greeting was always hearty, as well to new acquaintances as to
old friends--Hester had time to bend over her work and thus conceal the
sudden pallor followed by an equally sudden flush which changed her
complexion from a bluish grey to a burnt sienna. When George turned to
glance carelessly at her she was totally absorbed in the slipper.
The negro watched the midshipman's glance with keen interest. When he
saw that only a passing look was bestowed on Hester, and that he then
turned his eyes with some interest to the hole where Sally was pounding
coffee and gasping away with her wonted energy, he said to himself
mentally, "Ho, Dinah, but you _am_ a cleber woman! Geo'ge don't rignise
her more'n if she was a rigler coloured gal! I do b'lieve her own
fadder wouldn't know her!"
He then proceeded to have a talk with Mrs Lilly, and while he was thus
engaged the middy, who had an inquiring disposition, began to look round
the cellar and take mental-artistic notes of its appearance. Then he
went up to Hester, and, taking up one of the finished slippers, examined
it.
"Most beautiful! Exquisite!" he said. "Does it take you long to do
this sort of thing?"
The girl did not reply.
"She's dumb!" said Peter quickly.
"Ah, poor thing!" returned Foster, in a voice of pity. "Deaf, too, I
suppose?"
"Well, I don't know as to dat, Geo'ge."
"Is this one dumb too?" asked the middy, pointing to the coffee-hole.
"Oh dear no!" interposed Lilly. "Sally a'n't dumb; she's awrful sharp
with 'er tongue!"
"She ought to be deaf anyhow, considering the row she kicks up down
there!"
"Come now, Geo'ge, it's time we was goin'. So pick up de baskit an' go
ahead."
Bidding Mrs Lilly an affectionate adieu, the two shaves left the
cellar, to the intense relief of poor Hester, who scarce knew whether to
laugh or cry over the visit. She had been so eagerly anxious to speak
to Foster, yet had managed to keep her promise in spite of the
peculiarly trying circumstances.
"Peter," said the middy, when they had got well out of the town on their
way home, "what made you say `dumb' so emphatically when you descended
into that cellar?"
"_Did_ I say `dumb?'" returned the negro, with an inquiring look at the
clouds.
"You certainly did."
"'Phatically, too?"
"Yes, most emphatically."
"Well, now, das most remarkably strange!"
"Not so strange as my finding Hester Sommers in a coal-hole making
golden slippers!"
At this Peter set down the basket, threw back his head, and took a
prolonged silent laugh.
"Now dat _is_ de strangest t'ing ob all. Didn't I t'ink you not rignise
her one bit!"
"Peter," returned the midshipman gravely, "you ought to know from
experience that true love pierces every disguise."
"Das troo, Geo'ge," said Peter, as he lifted his end of the basket and
resumed the journey. "Lub is a wonderful t'ing, an' I ain't sure what
might come ob it if I was took unawares to see my Angelica arter she'd
bin painted white. But dere's one t'ing as comforts me a leetle, an'
dat is, dat Peter de Great ain't de biggest hyperkrite in de world arter
all, for de way you purtended not to know dat gal, an' de way she
purtended not to know _you_, hab took de wind out ob my sails
altogidder!"