Threading his way carefully through the badly lighted streets, our middy
went straight to the Kasba, and, rapping boldly at the gate, demanded
admittance.
"Show me to the guard-room. I wish to speak with the officer in
command," he said, in the tone of one accustomed to obedience.
The soldier who admitted him introduced him to the officer in charge for
the night.
"I come, sir," said Foster, with quiet gentlemanly assurance, "to demand
an escort for slaves."
"By whose orders?" asked the officer.
"The order of his Highness the Dey," answered Foster, producing the
ring.
The officer examined it, touched his forehead with it in token of
submission, and asked how many men were required.
"Six will do," returned the middy, in a slow, meditative manner, as if a
little uncertain on the point--"yes, six will suffice. I only wish
their escort beyond the gates. Friends might attempt a rescue in the
town. When I have them a short distance beyond the gates I can manage
without assistance."
He touched, as he spoke, the handle of a silver-mounted pistol which he
carried in his belt. Of course, as he spoke Lingua Franca, the officer
of the guard knew quite well that he was a foreigner, but as the
notables and Deys of Algiers were in the habit of using all kinds of
trusted messengers and agents to do their work, he saw nothing unusual
in the circumstance. Six armed soldiers were at once turned out, and
with these obedient, unquestioning slaves he marched down the tortuous
streets to the Bagnio.
The ring procured him admittance at once, and the same talisman
converted the head jailer into an obsequious servant.
"I have come for one of your slaves," said the middy, walking smartly
into the court where most of the miserable creatures had already
forgotten their wretchedness in the profound sleep of the weary. The
tramp of the soldiers on the stone pavement and the clang of their arms
awoke some of them. "The name of the man I want is Hugh Sommers."
On hearing this one of the slaves was observed to reach out his hand and
shake another slave who still slumbered.
"Rouse up, Sommers! You are wanted, my poor friend."
"What say you, Laronde?" exclaimed the merchant, starting up and rubbing
his eyes.
"Get up and follow me," said Foster, in a stern commanding tone.
"And who are _you_, that orders me as if I were a dog?" fiercely
returned Sommers, who, since the day of the unsuccessful mutiny, had
again become desperate, and was in consequence heavily ironed.
"The Dey of Algiers gives the order through me," replied Foster,
pointing to the soldiers, "and it will be your highest wisdom to obey
without question. Knock off his irons," he added, turning abruptly to
the chief jailer.
The air of insolent authority which our `hipperkritical' middy assumed
was so effective that even Sommers was slightly overawed. While the
irons were being removed, the unhappy Frenchman, Edouard Laronde, sought
to console him.
"I told you it would soon come to this," he said in English. "I only
wish I was going to die with you."
"Knock off this man's irons also," said the middy, to whom a new idea
had suddenly occurred, and who was glad to find that his altered costume
and bearing proved such a complete disguise that his old comrade in
sorrow did not recognise him.
"I thought," said the jailer, "that you said only one slave was wanted."
"I say _two_ slaves are wanted," growled the midshipman, with a look so
fierce that the jailer promptly ordered the removal of Laronde's
fetters.
"Did I not often tell you," muttered Hugh Sommers, "that your unguarded
tongue would bring you to grief?"
"It matters not. I submit, and am ready," returned the Frenchman in a
sad tone. "If it were not for my poor wife and child, the world would
be well rid of such a useless rebel as I."
When the two slaves were ready, Foster demanded a piece of rope with
which he fastened the left and right wrists of the two men together.
Then, placing them in the midst of the soldiers, he led them out of the
prison and along the main street in the direction of the western gate of
the city. Passing through this the little party advanced into the
suburbs until they reached a part of the road beyond which pedestrians
usually found it convenient not to travel after dark. Here Foster
called a halt.
"I thank you," he said to the leader of the soldiers, at the same time
giving him a piece of money. "There is no further occasion for your
services, all danger of rescue being past. I can now take care of them
myself, being armed, as you see, while they are bound. Convey my thanks
and compliments to your commanding officer."
The soldier acknowledged the piece of money with a grave inclination of
the head, ordered his men to right-about-face, and marched back to the
Kasba, leaving the three slaves standing not far from the seashore, and
gazing at each other in silence.
"You seem to have forgotten me, friends," said the middy in English,
pulling a clasp-knife out of his pocket. "Yet you have both met me
before when we were slaves."
"_Were_ slaves!" repeated the Frenchman, who was the first to recover
from his astonishment, "are we not still slaves?" he asked, glancing at
the cords that bound their wrists.
"Not now," said Foster, cutting the cords with his knife--"at least we
shall soon be free if we make good use of our opportunities."
"Free!" exclaimed both men together, with the energy of a sudden and
almost overwhelming hope.
"Ay, free! But this is no time for explanation. Follow me closely, and
in silence."
Scarcely crediting their senses, and more than half disposed to believe
that the whole affair was one of their too familiar dreams, yet
strangely convinced at the same time that it was a reality, the two men
followed their young leader with alacrity.
The reader will remember that before parting from Foster that day Peter
the Great had taken special care to ascertain that he knew the
whereabouts of the rocks where the boat belonging to Brown and his
friends was concealed. As Foster walked along in the dark he thought a
good deal about this, and felt convinced that Peter must have had some
idea of the event that was likely to follow from his mission to the
Bagnio. But he was much perplexed in attempting to account for his
reticence in the matter. Altogether, there was mystery about it which
he could not see through, so he wisely gave up thinking about it, and
braced his energies to the carrying out of his own little plot. This
was, to lead Hugh Sommers to his daughter and assist them to escape in
the boat, along with Brown the sailor and his companions--intending, of
course, to escape along with them! His taking advantage of the
opportunity to free Edouard Laronde was the result of a sudden
inspiration--a mere afterthought!
The distance to the spot for which they were making was considerable,
and at first the fugitives proceeded with caution and in silence, but as
their distance from the pirate city increased, and the danger of pursuit
diminished, the middy relaxed a little, gave his companions
interjectional scraps of information, and finally revealed to them all
that he knew and purposed.
Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the sight of something
moving at the side of the road. It looked too small for a man, yet its
movements seemed too intelligent for a dog or a stray donkey.
"Stay here, I will soon find out," whispered Foster, drawing his pistol,
and bounding towards the object in question.
It ran from him, but our middy was swift of foot. He quickly overtook
it, and seized firmly by the arm what in the dark he thought to be a
boy.
A slight scream undeceived him, and at the same time caused his heart to
bound.
"Oh, you hurt me!" exclaimed a well-remembered voice.
"Hester!" cried the youth, and next moment, folding her in his arms, he
kissed her--quite unintentionally, but irresistibly.
Thrusting him away with indignation, the maiden said, with flashing
eyes, "You forget yourself, sir, and take advantage of my defenceless
position."
"No--no, indeed! I did not intend to frighten you, dear child," (in his
desperation the middy assumed the paternal _role_). "Pray forgive me,
it was only my joy at the prospect of reuniting you to your father,
and--"
"My father!" cried Hester, forgetting her offended dignity. "Where is
he? You are alone! Peter the Great sent me here to meet him, but he
did not say I should meet _you_."
"Peter the Great sent you here--and alone!" exclaimed Foster, in
amazement.
"Yes; he went out first to make sure that my father was coming, and then
sent me to meet him that we might be alone. But Peter is close at
hand."
"Ho, yis! bery close at hand, Geo'ge!" said Peter himself, suddenly
emerging from a place of concealment. "Now you come along wid me, sar,
an' let dat poo' chile meet her fadder in private."
"But she cannot do that, Peter, for Edouard Laronde is with him."
"Who'n all de wurld's Eddard Larongd?"
Before Foster could reply Hester had bounded from his side, and next
moment was locked in her father's arms.
"Come away, Geo'ge--an' you too, Eddard La--La-whatever-it-is!" cried
the negro, grasping the latter by the arm and hurrying him along the
road in the direction of the seashore, while the reunited father and
child knelt down together and poured out their gratitude to God.
"Dey'll foller us in a minnit or two," continued the negro. "What kep'
you so long, Geo'ge?"
"Couldn't manage it sooner. But can you guess, Peter, why Ben-Ahmed
behaved in the strange way he has done? He got into a rage when I
attempted to tell him honestly, that I did not intend to go back to him,
or to take Sommers to his house, and that I'd try to escape along with
him if I could, but he would not listen or let me say a word."
"Did you t'ink ob tellin' him all dat?" asked Peter.
"I certainly did."
"Well, you're not half such a hipperkrite as I t'ink you was."
"I'm glad to hear you say so, for I don't like to play the part of a
hypocrite, Peter; I like to be all fair and above-board."
"Was it all fair an' above-board, Geo'ge, to kiss dat leetle gal when
she was all alone and unpurtected? Was it all fair an' above-board to
call her you dear _chile_, as if you was her fadder?"
"Come, come, Peter, `everything is fair,' you know, `in love and war.'
But that's not the point. Can you guess, I ask, Ben-Ahmed's motive for
acting so oddly?"
"Oh! yis, Geo'ge, I kin guess a'most anybody's motives, zough, p'r'aps,
I mightn't guess right. I shouldn't wonder, now, if Ben-Ahmed will hab
to account to do Dey for de tottle disappearance of Hugh Sommers--to say
not'ing ob Eddard La--La--what's-'is-name--an' p'r'aps he'd like to be
able to say he'd no notion o' what de man he sent to fetch de slabe was
goin' to do. Now he couldn't hab say dat, you know, if he let you tell
him all about it--like a goose as you was. So he let you go off, d'ye
see, gib you your orders so far, an' labes de rest to your good sense--
zough dere wasn't too much ob dat to leab it to, or you wouldn't hab
bring away Eddard La--La--t'ing-um-bob."
"But do you really mean to tell me, Peter, that Ben-Ahmed intended me
and Hugh Sommers to escape?"
"Das really what I means to tell you, Geo'ge."
"Then why didn't you tell me all, this before, and save me from a deal
of uncertainty?"
"Cause, in de fuss' place, I had no time to tell you; in de second
place, I was ordered not to tell you; in de t'ird place, it's good for
midshipmen to be put on deir mettle, an' lef' to find deir own way out
ob diffikilties, an', in de fourf place, slabes hab no business to be
axin' de outs an' ins, de whys an' de wherefores of deir massa's
affairs."
"Well, I always knew Ben-Ahmed had a kind heart, but little thought it
was so kind and self-sacrificing as to buy Sommers for the very purpose
of setting him free. I regret, deeply, that I did not know this sooner,
and that I cannot now have the chance of thanking him with all my heart
and soul, and bidding the good man farewell. It is one comfort,
however, that I'll be able to send a message back by you. And I'm also
glad that I shall not have to part from you, my dear Peter, without
telling you how much I love you and how sorry, very, _very_ sorry, I am
to say good-bye."
"Geo'ge," returned the negro earnestly, "don't you count your cheekins
afore dey's hatched! You're not away yit."
Foster made no reply. To say truth, he felt a little hurt by the way in
which his protestations of regard were received, and, by way of changing
the subject, he asked if Peter had ever heard anything about the old
Dane and his wife and daughter who had been captured at the same time
with himself.
"Dey's bin ransom'd, all ob dem. Got rich friends, you see. Hole your
tongue now, Geo'ge, we's comin' to de place."
By that time Sommers and his daughter had overtaken the party. As they
all proceeded silently along the road, wondering how the matter would
end, they observed a figure, like that of a female, glide, as it were,
out of the darkness, and, taking Peter quietly by the arm, walk along
with him.
Impelled by curiosity, Foster went forward and looked into her face.
"Angelica!" he exclaimed in surprise.
"Ob course!" answered her husband for her, "you don't suppose de wife ob
Peter de Great would let Geo'ge Foster go away widout comin' to de boat
to see him off?"
Ere the middy could recover from his astonishment, the party came
suddenly upon a small cavern in which a light glimmered. At its
entrance lay a boat, and beside it, engaged in putting it to rights,
were Brown and his three companions--the two British tars and the
Maltese seaman.
"Is all right?" asked Brown, in a low voice, as they approached.
"All right," answered Peter.
"Now, Geo'ge, you go in."
The middy entered the cave, and with, if possible, increased surprise,
he found Ben-Ahmed standing there!
"You are astonished, my friend," said the Moor with a gentle smile, as
he extended his hand.
"I am indeed," returned the middy, heartily grasping and warmly shaking
it, "but I am also rejoiced that I have the opportunity--which I had not
hoped for--of thanking you for all your great kindness to me in time
past--especially for this crowning act."
"You have not to thank me," returned the Moor, "you have to thank the
little English girl;" as he spoke he made a graceful motion of the hand
towards Hester, who, with her father, entered the cave at the moment.
"Little Hester has taught me--not by word but by example--the grand
lesson of your Christian Scriptures, that a man should do to others what
he would have others do to him. I have resolved to keep no more slaves,
and, as a first step, I now set you all free!"
"God's blessing rest on you for that, sir," said Hugh Sommers, stepping
forward and grasping the hand that Foster had relinquished. "Have you,
then, forsaken the faith of Mohammed and adopted that of Christ?"
"Be not over-curious," said the Moor reprovingly. "Sufficient for you
to know that fresh water cannot spring from a salt fountain. We must
not waste time. The boat is in the water by this time. Farewell. Kiss
me, my child. We may not meet again on earth, but--we shall certainly
meet hereafter!"
Hester, who saw the Moor assume all shapes and sizes through the tears
that filled her eyes, ran to him, and, throwing her arms round his neck
gave him a hug that made even her father jealous.
"Now, away, all of you," cried Ben-Ahmed, when he was released, "and may
the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob go with you."
While he was yet speaking the clatter of horses' hoofs in the distance
was heard. Instantly the party made for the boat. There was no time
for last adieux. Ben-Ahmed helped to shove off the boat and bundle them
in.
"You will hear pistol-shots," he cried, "but fear not for me. My horse
can outrun the best in Algiers. I will only fire to decoy them away.
Farewell!"
He ran up into the shrubbery that bordered the road, and next minute the
sound of the horse's feet was heard in the distance, as the boat skimmed
swiftly out to sea under the powerful impulse of its stalwart crew.
A few minutes later and, as the Moor had prophesied, pistol-shots were
heard on shore. From the sound they appeared to come from a short
distance in the interior of the land, but musket-shots were also heard
among them, and from the flashes on the beach it became evident that the
Moor had not succeeded in turning all their pursuers off the scent--a
fact which was further illustrated by the skipping of a musket ball
close past the boat.
Just then it struck George Foster that Peter the Great and his wife were
seated beside him.
"Hallo, Peter!" he exclaimed; "how are you and Angelica to get on
shore?"
"We's not goin' on shore at all, Geo'ge."
"What do you mean, Peter?"
"I means what I says. De fact is, Geo'ge, dat I's come to de conclusion
dat I couldn't lib widout you. Angelica's ob de same opinion, so we's
made up our minds, wid massa's purmission, to go wid you to ole England.
We's all goin' togidder, Geo'ge. Ain't dat jolly?"
"But how can we ever get to England in a small boat like this?" asked
the middy, in much anxiety, for in the hurry and excitement of the start
the difficulty had not occurred to him.
"No fear about that, sir," answered Brown, who pulled the bow oar; "we
ain't such fools as to make the voyage in a cockle-shell like this! The
boat b'longs to a privateer as is owned by a friend o' mine, an' the
wessel's lyin' off an' on waitin' for us."
"There she goes!" said one of the sailors. "Look out!"
As he spoke a large schooner loomed up against the dark sky, and was
hailed. A gruff voice replied. Another moment the sails flapped, and
the boat was towing alongside. Our middy was first to leap on deck--and
not without a purpose in view, for he was thus in a position to hand up
the passengers.
"Do you forgive me, Hester?" he whispered humbly, as he stooped to grasp
her little hand.
"I forgive you!" she whispered timidly, as she passed him, and was led
by her father into the vessel's cabin.
That night two of the swiftest of the piratical war-vessels were seen to
warp out from the Mole, and put to sea, but long before the land breeze
filled their peaked sails the privateer was cleaving her way, homeward
bound, through the dark waters of the Mediterranean.