In this dilemma he retired into the deep shadow of an old doorway, and covered up the lantern, while he held a whispered consultation with his father.

"It seems to me, my son," said Francisco, sitting down on the chest which he had hitherto carried, "that we have only got out of the frying-pan into the fire; for it is not reason to expect that all the janissaries we chance to meet will let us pass without question, and I fear that you have no sufficient ground of excuse for wandering about the city at such hours in disturbed times in charge of a slave on whose countenance submission sits with so bad a grace."

"True, father," answered Lucien, much perplexed; "perhaps it would be well to remain where we are till a later hour. If any one seeks to enter this dismal staircase, we can easily avoid observation by getting into one of its dark corners, and—"

He was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and immediately retired with his father into one of the corners referred to.

"It is only two streets further on," said a low voice, which sounded familiar in the ears of the listeners. "There you shall be safe, for Jacob Mordecai is a trusty friend, and I will go see how it fares with our—"

"'Tis Bacri," whispered Lucien, as the voice died away in the distance.

"We must not lose sight of him," said Francisco, darting out.

Lucien outran his father, and quickly overtook Bacri and another man, who was completely enveloped in the folds of a burnous, such as was then, and still is, worn by the Bedouin Arabs.

On hearing the footsteps in pursuit, Bacri and his companion had commenced to run, but perceiving that only two men followed them, they turned and stood in an attitude of defence. He who wore the burnous flung back the hood, and, freeing his sword-arm from its folds, displayed to the astonished gaze of Lucien and Francisco the face and form of Mariano.

"Father!" he exclaimed; "Lucien!"

"Mariano!" cried Francisco, throwing his arms round his younger son and giving him a hearty kiss on each cheek.

"Hist! be quiet," said Bacri, seizing Francisco by the arm in his powerful grasp and dragging him along.

The interference of the Jew was not a moment too soon, for several soldiers who were patrolling the streets at the time overheard the sound of their voices and hurried towards them.

They ran now, in good earnest, and quickly reached the door of Jacob Mordecai's house, which Bacri opened with a key, and shut gently after letting his friends pass, so that the soldiers lost sight of them as if by a magical disappearance.

"Your house is plundered," said Francisco to Bacri, after Jacob Mordecai had conducted them to the skiffa of his dwelling.

"I guessed as much. But how came you to escape?" asked Bacri.

Lucien related the circumstances of their escape, while his father dipped his head in the fountain, for the purpose, as he remarked, of cooling his brains.

"And what is now to be done?" asked Mariano, with a look of perplexity. "Bacri has been kind enough to get me out of that horrible Bagnio just in time to save me from torture of some sort; but here we are in the heart of a city in a state of insurrection, with almost every street-corner guarded, and bands of men, that appear to me to be devils in turbans, going about seeking for subjects on whom to exercise their skill."

"The insurrection is over—at least this one is over," said Jacob Mordecai sadly, "though it may well be that another insurrection shall follow close on its heels; but it is probable that there will be some degree of peace now for a time, and the guarded condition of the town will favour your escape."

"How so, Signor Mordecai?" asked Francisco; "it has hitherto been my belief as well as experience that a town in a state of siege was the reverse of favourable to anything implying freedom of action."

"Thou art right, friend," returned Jacob, with a smile, "and that absence of freedom will keep the streets clear of all who might otherwise interrupt thee, while, as to the guarded corners, my brother Bacri knows a variety of passages above and under ground, through which he will guide you past them to the city wall."

"Then let us be gone without delay," urged Francisco, "for, good sirs, my neck has for some time past felt sundry twinges, as though the bow-string were already around it."

"Half an hour must elapse ere we can venture forth with safety," said Bacri. "'Tis well that you have brought the knotted rope with you. Mariano knows how to use it. He will explain the mode of escape which you must follow, while I hold private converse with my brother."

So saying the kindly Jew bowed his tall form to his friends with the air of a king, and accompanied Jacob Mordecai into an inner room.

At the end of the time specified—which had appeared an age to the impatient trio—Bacri returned to the skiffa with two coarse burnouses similar to the one worn by Mariano. He directed Francisco and Lucien to put these on, after exchanging their varied habiliments for the jacket, short drawers, and red fez or cap, worn by Moors of the middle class. He then produced some brown ochre, with which he stained their hands and their legs below the knee—these latter parts being usually uncovered in Moors who did not belong to the wealthy classes.

"Why not paint our faces too?" asked Mariano, amused at the figure they cut, despite the dangers which rendered the disguise necessary.

"Because neither the painting of your faces," replied Bacri, "nor the shaving of your heads—which latter would be essential to the converting of you into genuine Moors—would constitute any disguise were your voices to be heard or your features to be scrutinised. You must be careful to pull the hoods of your burnouses well forward on your faces. All that you can hope to gain by your costume is to avoid attracting the attention of any whom you should chance to meet, or whom you may have to pass at a distance. If any one speaks to you after you reach the open country, refuse to answer. If he should insist on it, you must either run or fight, for which latter purpose I provide you with these short swords, which you will find better suited to your hands than the curved weapons of the Turks."

"Signor Bacri," said Francisco, examining the straight short weapon handed to him, "I thank thee for all thy kindness to me and my boys— especially for these swords, for assuredly unless thou canst also furnish me with a pair of young and active legs, I am like to have more of fighting than running hereafter. However, let us not waste more time in speech, for, as I have said, my neck already itches most uncomfortably."

In deference to Francisco's anxiety to be out of the city, which he was wont to style with great emphasis the Pirates' Nest, Bacri hastened his preparations, and soon led them to the roof of the house of Jacob Mordecai, from which they scrambled to that of a friendly neighbour, and crossed over, with the care of burglars and the quiet steps of cats, to the other side. Here a difficulty met them, in the shape of a leap which was too long for Francisco's heavy person to venture.

He might, indeed, have taken it with ease on level ground and in daylight; but, like his son Mariano on a somewhat similar occasion, he felt it difficult to screw up his courage to the point of springing across a black chasm, which he was aware descended some forty or fifty feet to the causeway of the street, and the opposite parapet, on which he was expected to alight like, a bird, appeared dim and ghostly in the uncertain light.

Twice did the courageous man bend himself to the leap, while the blood rushed with apoplectic violence to his bald head; and twice did his spirit fail him at the moment of need!

"Oh, Bacri!" he said in a hoarse whisper, wiping the perspiration from his brow, as he stood on the giddy height, "if there were only a damsel in distress on the opposite side, or a legion of Turks defying me to come on, I could go over, methinks, like a rocket, but to be required to leap in cold blood upon next to nothing over an unfathomable abyss, really—. Hast never a morsel of plank about thee, Jacob?"

Fortunately for all parties, Jacob had a flower stand on his roof, to which he returned with Mariano, who wrenched a plank therefrom, and brought it to the point of difficulty.

After this they met with no serious obstruction. Sometimes descending below the streets and passing through cellars, at others crossing roofs or gliding along the darkest sides of dark walls and passages, they traversed the town without being challenged, and gained the southern wall near the point at which Mariano had crossed it on a former occasion.

Here the Jew bade them God-speed, and left them.

"I hope thou art sure of the road, Mariano?" said Francisco anxiously.

"Trust me, father; I know it well. Only have a care that you tread lightly and make no noise.—Come."

Leading them to the point on the ramparts where poor Castello's head still stood withering in the night-wind, Mariano bade them remain in shadow while he attached the rope to the spike.

The sentinel could be dimly seen, for there was no moon, pacing to and fro within two hundred yards of them. They watched and lay still while he sauntered towards them, and glided noiselessly and quickly to the rope while his back was turned.

Thus one by one they descended the wall, crossed the ditch, ascended the slope on the other side, without having been observed, and, ere long, were safe among the rocks and fastnesses of the Sahel hills.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

IN WHICH SOLES ARE BEATEN AND MEN ARE SOLD—WITH PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

Comfortably ensconced in the palace of the Deys—elected by a majority of his comrades—the Aga Hamet proceeded to enjoy his high position, and to exercise the authority of ruler of the pirate city.

The day after his ascension of what we may call the dangerous throne, he sent for Hadji Baba the story-teller.

"Thou art a witty fellow, it seems?" said the Dey, when Baba made his appearance.

"So it has been said of me, and so I once thought," replied the jester humbly; "but I have come to doubt the worth of my own wit, since it has led me to dwell in a palace."

"How so, knave? What mean you?"

"In truth, I know not," replied Baba. "My wit is scarce sufficient to make my meaning plain even to myself. Only I feel that the brilliancy of the wit of those who dwell in palaces is too much for me. 'Twere better, methinks, if I had remained on my shoemaker's bench."

"'Twere indeed better for thee to have done so, good fellow, if thou canst say nothing better than that," replied Hamet angrily, for he was a stupid as well as an ambitious man. "Let's have something better from thee, else the bastinado shall drive sense from thy heels into thy head."

"Nay, then, it is hard," returned Baba, with a smile, "to be asked to talk sense when I was hired by thy late master—"

"My late master!" roared the Dey.

"Surely I said 'my late master,' did I not?" returned Hadji Baba, rubbing his forehead as if he were confused—as, in truth, the poor fellow was, by the terrible scenes that had lately been enacted in the palace. "As I meant to say, then,—it is hard for me to talk sense when my late master hired me expressly to talk nonsense."

"H'm, yes, very true," replied the Dey, looking wise. "Let me, then, hear some of thy nonsense."

"Ah, your highness, that is easily done," said Baba, with sudden animation. "What shall be the subject of my discourse?—the affairs of state?"

The Dey nodded.

"Let me, then, make a broad statement of a nonsensical kind, which, in its particular applications may be said to be endless. A throne won by treachery, violence, and bloodshed cannot stand long in—"

"Villain!" shouted the Dey.

"Nay, I do but jest," said Baba, with a look of simplicity.

"Jest or no jest, thou shalt smart for it," cried the Dey, whose anger had been greatly roused.—"Ho! seize him and give him the bastinado, and afterwards bring him hither again."

Two chaouses, who were in attendance in a neighbouring room, at once entered, and, seizing the unfortunate story-teller, hurried him down to an apartment in the palace which was reserved for punishments of various kinds, including strangulation. Here they stripped off Baba's embroidered shoes and white hose.

"We have long been fellow-servants under this roof," said Hadji Baba, as they were about to begin.

"That is true," replied one of the chaouses sternly.

"I shall be forgiven, and depend on it thou shalt not be forgotten," said Baba quietly.

The executioner, who knew that the story-teller had been a man of influence and power in the previous reign, hesitated.

"We have our orders, Hadji Baba," said he, remonstratively, "and you know that it is as much as our lives are worth to fail in our obedience."

"I bid you not to fail in the performance of your duty, but I counsel you to lay on lightly," returned the jester, with a grim smile.

"And how if the Dey should expect to hear thy cries, and afterwards to see thee limp into his presence?" asked the man in a tone of indecision.

"Depend on't he shall both see and hear," exclaimed Baba, with a laugh. "Thinkest thou that my head is not equal to the saving of my feet? Lay on lightly, so that there may be somewhat to show; but see thou dost not over-do it. I will engage to let the tyrant hear on the deafest side of his head, and will limp into his presence with most unfeigned sincerity."

"Well, then, I begin," said the man, applying a few strokes with a lithe rod to the soles of the jester's feet.

Baba was true to his word. He suddenly gave vent to a yell so appalling that the very executioner, accustomed though he was to such sounds, quailed for a moment, and said anxiously—

"Did I hit you too hard?"

"Hard!" echoed Baba, mingling a roar of laughter with his next yell. "Fear not, good comrade; go on, do thy duty—ha! ha!—ho-o-o! Stop! Why, it is worse than I had imagined," he added, as the man delivered a cut that was rather sharp. "But go on," cried Hadji Baba, with another yell; "I must have something to show, and he shall smart for it."

He followed up this remark with a series of amateur shrieks and howls so terrible that the hardened chaouses, being accustomed only to the genuine display of suffering, were overcome, and entreated him to desist.

The excitement of the exercise, the conflict of varied feelings, the smarting of his soles, the indignation of his soul, and the absurdity of the deception, had such an effect on Hadji Baba's spirit, that he experienced no difficulty whatever in limping like a confirmed cripple, and trembling like an aspen leaf when led into the presence of the tyrant.

"Ha!" exclaimed the Dey, "I think I have cured thee. Thou wilt talk no more nonsense, I warrant."

"Not a word, your highness, not a syllable," exclaimed the jester, falling on his knees, as the executioners retired. "Even though your highness were to hold the reins of power with a hand of gentleness and benignity, which I doubt not you will, I would not repeat such nonsense for the world."

"Gentleness and benignity," laughed the Dey, catching at the words, and paying little regard to what followed; "truly that were a novel feature in my character, as thou knowest well.—Now, listen, rascal: as thy feet are in good walking trim, I have an errand for thee. Go, tell Sidi Hassan that I want him, and see thou find him quickly, else another beating awaits thee."

"Your highness shall be obeyed," said the jester, with a profound obeisance, as he turned and limped out of the room.

Sidi Hassan had left the service of the British consul, without leave, just before the insurrection, and was seated in his own town mansion, sipping a cup of coffee, and conversing with Rais Ali, when the message reached him.

"Thou art but a cowardly fellow, a weak villain after all," said Hassan to some remark of the interpreter. "The man who plays fast and loose is sure to be brought low sooner or later. Why not leave the British consul's service now that a chance offers? It will be to thy advantage, for I can speak a good word for thee with the new Dey."

"Because," said Rais Ali anxiously, "although I have not a sensitive conscience, I cannot prevail on myself to betray my old master."

"Very good," said Hassan; "continue to vacillate until thy head is shaken off. Adieu. I must not keep his highness waiting."

So saying, he hastened to the palace, congratulating himself on the expected fulfilment of the promises which the late Aga Hamet had so lavishly made to him.

Like many other sycophants, Sidi Hassan had mistaken his man. The new Dey was well aware that Hassan was a turbulent, ambitious character, and thought that it would be best for his own interests to appoint him governor of a distant province of his dominions. Like many other coarse, though energetic, characters, Hamet also mistook his man. He did not know that Hassan would be content with nothing short of the position of second in command. When, therefore, he handed him, with many compliments, the paper containing his commission to the governorship of the province alluded to, he was greatly surprised to behold his former friend fly into a violent passion, tear the paper to pieces, and fling it on the ground, as he turned on his heel and left the room abruptly.

So suddenly and vigorously was the act done that Hamet's wonted coolness failed him for a moment, and Hassan had passed out into the street before he gave orders, in a voice of thunder, to have him arrested and brought back.

There is no doubt that in his present temper the Dey would have had his late colleague strangled on the spot, but, fortunately for himself, Sidi Hassan, instead of returning to his own house, went straight to the Marina, without having any definite object in view, save that he thirsted for vengeance, and meant to have it if possible.

On his way down he met the sapient interpreter, Blindi Bobi.

"Well, Bobi," he said, making an effort to look calm, "any probability of a rising among the slaves?"

"Not much," replied Bobi, in Turkish, shaking his head; "slaves don't like to have their heads cut off and their skin torn away in bits."

"True!" returned Hassan, smiling grimly. "Do you know where Sidi Omar is?"

"There," said Blindi Bobi in reply, pointing to the individual in question, and sidling rapidly away.

"Something ails you, methinks," said Omar, with a keen glance, as Hassan approached.

"Ay, the new Dey ails me," returned Hassan, with a feeling of desperation, for he felt that he was committing himself in thus speaking to one whom he knew to be his enemy—but anger often leads men into unwise speech.

"Has he deceived you?" asked Omar, with a quiet smile.

"Truly, yes. Had I known him better he should not have had mine aid. My party followed me, not him. I could have led them otherwise, and still can."

"It may not be too late," said Omar pointedly, as he began to suspect that Hassan's thirst for revenge would carry him to any length.—"Are these sbirros in search of you?" he added on observing several of the officers of justice issue from the town gate.

Hassan turned pale.

"Your regrets come too late," said Omar significantly.

"My hand and party," said Hassan quickly, "are with you, Sidi Omar, if— if—"

"Step in here," said the Minister of Marine, pushing open a small side-door which led into his house.

Hassan obeyed, the door was shut, and he felt that he was now completely in the hands of one whom he had hitherto regarded with suspicion and dislike.

Of course the Minister of Marine understood this as well as himself, but he was too wily to let him read his thoughts by his looks or words.

"Hassan," he said, leading him into a small chamber in the seaward ramparts, which was lighted by a very small and strongly-barred window, "you are safe from immediate danger. We may here talk over our plans— for plans I at least have. The Dey fears me too much, as you know, to permit me to remain here as Minister of Marine. He is also so savage and hasty that I do not expect him to restrain his hand for more than a day or two. But I do not mean to give him a chance. My friends are already in possession of the casba—"

"Already!" exclaimed Hassan in surprise.

"Ay, and they hold other places besides. You and your party are of course doomed."

Hassan started to his feet.

"Nay—were doomed," said Omar, with a smile; "but what you have said just now alters the case. Give me your aid, and that of your party, and you shall have from me the post which Hamet has failed to give you. You know me to be a man of my word."

Whether Hassan was much comforted by the last remark is a point of uncertainty; but, feeling that he was now entirely in Omar's power, and knowing that although the soldiers whom he styled his "party" were not nearly numerous or influential enough to place him on the throne, he willingly fell in with Omar's views.

"When do you strike?" he asked.

"To-night," said Omar.

"So soon?"

"The sooner the better. Come, we have time to go together to the casba. There thou wilt assemble thy chief men, and in my presence give them instructions."

"You do not trust me," said Hassan reproachfully.

"I have trusted you with my secret and my life," replied Omar, "it is but fitting that thou shouldst give me some sure guarantee of thy friendship—though I doubt it not."

"Be it so," said Hassan, as he rose, and, following the conspirator into the street, hurried up to the citadel.

When Hamet Dey issued the order to have Sidi Hassan arrested, as already related, Hadji Baba, having returned to his wonted place in the lobby of the palace, heard the order, and, being a bold man, ventured into the audience-chamber after the Dey had left it. There he found the pieces of the torn commission. Picking them hastily up, he retired to his own apartment, put them together, and very soon guessed the nature of the quarrel between his new master and Sidi Hassan. Rightly concluding, from the insolent violence of Hassan's exit and the extremity of the Dey's rage, that the breach was irreparable, and knowing that Hassan was a man of some weight with the army, he resolved to ascertain the views of that worthy, and, in the event of his designing mischief, to aid him.

With this end in view he hastened out to search for Hassan, but, like the officers of justice, failed for some time to find him. He met, however, with two of the searchers in the persons of the chaouses who had so recently administered the bastinado in a mild manner to himself.

"Well met, comrades," he said, with a nod; "we have no chance of finding Sidi Hassan, I fear, for when fools are abroad, wise men stop at home."

"Thou hadst better get thee home, then," retorted the executioner gruffly.

"Not badly thrust," said the jester, laughing; "but have patience with me, comrade. I am no fool to-day. For once in a way I mean to act the wiseacre. You see,"—here he became confidential—"what the household of the palace may expect from our new master."

"I see nothing," replied the man testily, "except that whatever master rules there is always plenty of work for me and my chum here to do; and let me tell you, Master Baba, that I am no revolutionist—I mind my own business."

"Very good, comrade," returned Baba lightly; "thou wilt play the fool to-day and change places with me. But bear in remembrance that a chaouse may have to be beaten as well as a jester, and that it would not be difficult to find others to take thy place. I might even be tempted to do so myself in case of necessity. It would be a rare jest to have a chaouse beaten by a jester, would it not?"

"If it ever comes to that, I hope you will prove grateful and lay on lightly," returned the man, with a grim smile.

"That will depend on thy behaviour. If thou art resolved to play the fool now, I must of necessity be in earnest then."

"What mean you?"

"This," said Baba, with sudden gravity, "that those who stand by a falling man must e'en fall along with him."

"But Hamet Dey is not falling. He has only just risen!" said the chaouse, with a perplexed look.

"He is not the first who has risen to fall," replied Hadji Baba gravely. "I would not stand in his slippers for all the treasure in the casba. Be wise, and take advice from a fool. Sidi Hassan did not quit the palace to-day to go and smoke his pipe. He is a man of power and a malcontent. There are other men of power who are also malcontents and more popular than Hamet. When this is so, it behoves the like of you and me to look carefully after our necks, to say nothing of our soles!"

As he said this an exclamation from the elder chaouse drew his attention to the fact that Sidi Hassan himself had just turned the corner of the street in which they had been conversing, and was at that moment so earnestly engaged in conversation with Sidi Omar, that the two approached without at first observing the officers of justice.

The instant Hassan's eye alighted on them, he stopped and became visibly paler. Omar also stopped, but pretended not to observe the change in his companion's countenance, nor its cause, as he continued the conversation.

"Hist!" whispered Hadji Baba to his companions, "when enemies become sudden friends, we should know how to act."

It was evident from the look of anxiety and uncertainty depicted in the visage of the elder chaouse that he did not by any means know how to act. With the stern resolution of a bull-dog nature, however, he suddenly made up his mind to do his duty.

Advancing quickly toward Hassan, he was about to lay hold of him, when Hadji Baba stepped abruptly before him, and said with an affable air and smile—

"His Highness the Dey has sent these good fellows to arrest Sidi Hassan, and I have taken upon my own shoulders the weighty responsibility— being, as is well-known, a fool—to offer our united services in the reversal of the decree by the arrestment of the Dey instead."

"A bold jest, good fellow, and one that may cost thee thy life, for the present Dey understands not a jest."

"It is no jest," returned Baba, with a keen glance at Omar, whom he knew to be a plotter in the state; "my soles tingle now with what they have already received, and my thoughts tingle with what is yet to come. If you have need of friends in the palace here are two—good and true," said Baba, turning to the chaouses, who stood mute with amazement at the man's impudence, "and I am one, which makes three, according to the rules of arithmetic. If we are not wanted, then these men must do their duty, for Sidi Hassan is wanted, and we may as well go blithely to our doom together."

"Fellow," said Omar sternly, "dost know that I have power to have thee flayed alive without consulting thy master?"

"Nay, not without consulting my master," said Baba, bowing respectfully, "for my master is before me!"

"In sooth thou art a very impudent knave," returned Omar, smiling in spite of himself; "and were I the vile plotter thou imaginest, I should be afraid of having such a changeable friend in the palace."

"Am I changeable for preferring the kind master who was slain to him who slew him?" said Baba simply.

"That is true, Hadji Baba," returned Omar, suddenly changing his tone.—"Sidi Hassan, fortune is favourable to us. We will trust these men. They dare not play us false even though they would, because their own lives would be forfeited.—Hadji Baba, it may be well for thee to know that, while we avail ourselves of thine aid and that of thy friends, we are quite independent of it, because it happens that the train is already laid, and nothing that thou couldst do, not even the instant alarm of the palace guards, could prevent it from being fired, I believe thee faithful, but this information may help to increase thy fidelity. Go, and, hark 'ee, be very careful to have the guards well placed and looked after to-night at the hour of nine."



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

DESCRIBES AN IMPORTANT EVENT IN THE PIRATE CITY.

"Madman!" exclaimed the elder chaouse, after Omar and Hassan had left, "you have put the bow-string round our necks as well as your own."

"True," answered Baba, with a bland smile, "and if we would not have it drawn tight, we must e'en obey the commands of Omar the Dey."

"I suppose we must," returned the chaouse gloomily; "but it is hard enough to be compelled to spend our days in strangling, thrashing, burning, beheading, flaying, and tormenting other men, without the addition of having our own necks put in jeopardy."

The injustice attaching to themselves and their office seemed to weigh heavily for some time on the minds of both the executioners, notwithstanding the sallies and remonstrances of Hadji Baba, but before reaching the palace they had gone through the not difficult process—to a Turk—of setting the whole matter down to the decrees of Fate, and washing their hands of all guilt.

That evening, as the hour for action drew nigh, Hadji Baba and his colleagues began to grow rather uneasy—all the more so that the Dey was in a particularly bad humour.

Being an ignorant and uneducated man, he had found the work of gathering up the reins of government a very difficult task, notwithstanding the boldness of his heart and the determination of his will. True, he had simplified several knotty matters by bastinadoing and cutting off the heads of all concerned, but this left a multitude of matters which could not be disposed of in that summary fashion.

Among other things, he had been thwarted in his resolution to get possession of Angela Diego, whom he intended to have made a slave of the palace. Finding that she had taken refuge with the British consul at his country house, he sent a peremptory order to have the girl returned immediately, and, pending the result of that order, had locked Bacri up in a dungeon, with threats of the bastinado, and even death, in the event of any difficulty being thrown in the way.

After this he called for his coffee and pipe, his tame gazelle, chief executioners, and story-teller, resolving to throw the cares of state aside for the night and enjoy himself.

It was nearly eight o'clock when this order was given, to the consternation of Hadji Baba and his confederates, who were thus deprived of the power of rendering, in the guard-room, any assistance to the insurrectionists. There was, however, no alternative,—obedience was imperative.

"Sit down," said the Dey to the unfortunate jester, when he entered the presence, limping with much apparent difficulty. "We will extend clemency to thee, in the hope that thou wilt redeem thy character. I am fond of marvellous stories. Thou mayest sit on that carpet. Now, look behind thee."

Hadji Baba obeyed, and observed his two friends standing mute and motionless, like statues, ready at a moment's notice to do their master's bidding.

"Knowest thou these men?" asked the Dey.

"Your highness's slave knows them but too well," replied Baba, with a well-feigned shudder, which changed into a real one on his observing that a gorgeous time-piece opposite pointed to the hour of eight.

"Proceed, then, and acquit thee well, else thou shalt come to know them still better ere long."

Thus admonished, the story-teller cleared his throat, wished intensely for a draught of water, and taxed his fertile brain to the uttermost. At last under a feeling of absolute desperation, he began—

"Once upon a time—"

The Dey nodded, as though he thought that not a bad beginning.

"Once upon a time," continued Baba, and then, checking himself—"Your highness wishes a very marvellous story, I believe?"

"Yes, very marvellous," said the Dey, not quite pleased with the interruption.

"Your highness shall have it—a very marvellous story, and, what is more, it shall be a true story."

Hadji Baba said this with so much energy and fire that the Dey again nodded his approval, and sent two thin clouds of tobacco-smoke through his nostrils, as he patted the gazelle which crouched at his feet, resting its head on his knee, and gazing affectionately at the tyrant with its magnificent eyes.

"Once upon a time," resumed the story-teller with sustained vigour and fluency, as he glanced at the clock, "there was a poor shoemaker who dwelt in a certain town, and was noted among his friends for his powers of song. One day the Sultan of the country chanced to hear of this man's talent, and sent for him to the palace. He was so pleased with him that he made him his chief musician. This shoemaker possessed magical gifts."

"Villain!" exclaimed the Dey, "didst thou not say that the story should be a true one? How can that be, when thou speakest of gifts which do not and never did exist?"

"Your highness's slave," replied Baba, "refers to those powers of legerdemain, or pretended magic, with which some men are gifted."

"Go on," returned the Dey.

"Well, one day the shoemaker offered to amuse the Sultan by mesmerising his guards."

"Mesmerising!" interrupted the Dey, "what is that?"

"Throwing them into a sleep, your highness, against their will."

"Well?"

"Well, the Sultan did not believe him, so he said, 'If thou shalt put these guards into sleep against their wills, I will give thee my daughter in marriage.' The shoemaker was well pleased to hear this, for the Sultan's daughter was virtuous and very beautiful. So he begged the Sultan to order in his guards, which he did. Drawing them up in a line, the man began at the first, and made the passes or signs which are necessary to throw men into the mesmeric state. The first man winked very much, and smiled a little, but did not fall asleep.

"'Ha!' cried the Sultan, on seeing this, 'thou art deceiving me, it seems!'

"'Not so, your highness,' replied the shoemaker; 'it is not every man who can be thus subdued. Permit me to go on, and I will find one who is susceptible.'

"So the shoemaker went on and made the passes and signs which were necessary, until at last he found one who at once fell asleep, and then, one after another, they all fell asleep, and no one could awake them except the shoemaker! I could not have believed this, your highness," said Hadji Baba, "if I had not been told it by the shoemaker himself, who also taught me the mysterious power of thus throwing men in to sleep, which in some languages is signified by the term 'throwing dust into their eyes.'"

"How!" exclaimed the Dey, "dost mean to tell me that thou couldst really do as that shoemaker did, and put my guards to sleep before mine eyes?"

"Your highness's slave presumes to answer emphatically—yes."

"By the beard of the Prophet, thou shalt prove it," said the Dey, whose curiosity was aroused.—"Ho, there! order the guard into my presence."

"Hold!" exclaimed Hadji Baba; "they must appear absolutely unarmed. In order that men should be brought under the influence of this power, it is necessary that they should divest themselves not only of all ordinary weapons, but also of the defensive armour of common-sense. That is the reason why the exercise of the power is so difficult. But, once accomplished, the effect is unquestionable and very amazing."

"Let them leave their arms behind them, then," said the Dey; "only see that two are left to keep the gates."

"Would it not be well," suggested Baba humbly, "that, considering the recent riots, more than two should be left to guard the palace gates? It is true, the more men that are brought under my influence the more likely is my influence to be effectual, but these chaouses might for a few minutes supply their place."

"Be it so!—Thou hearest?" said the Dey, turning to his executioners.

The chaouses went out as the men of the guard entered unarmed, and drew up in a line before the Dey.

"Now, show thy power, Hadji Baba."

"Your highness will, I trust, have patience for a few minutes," said Baba, observing that the clock still indicated ten minutes short of the appointed hour, "while I perform the curious, but necessary, motions which are essential to a happy result."

Saying this he advanced to the first guard in the line, and, throwing himself into a vigorously picturesque attitude, pointed with two fingers of the right hand at his eyes, trembling violently the while, as though he was exerting some tremendous but subtle energy.

The first guardsman gazed at him in mute amazement, but would as soon have cut off his own head as have objected to the operation in such presence. He opened his eyes very wide with surprise, then looked at the points of Baba's fingers, which caused him to squint horribly, and finally smiled in spite of himself; whereupon the thought of having been guilty of such undignified conduct caused him to turn deadly pale with terror, all of which symptoms being regarded by the Dey as indications of coming success, were highly satisfactory.

Suddenly sweeping his hands in front of the man's face, and making a noise with his feet to distract attention, Baba whispered, "Shut your eyes if you would escape death!" and terminated the whole operation with a low growl.

The terrified man instantly shut his eyes, and Baba proceeded to operate on the next.

He had operated thus on about six of the men when there was heard a sudden crash and shouting in the guard-room. The disarmed guard at once made a rush towards the door, but were driven back by the chaouses, who sprang in and cut down two of the foremost with yataghans which were already blood-stained.

"Traitor!" shouted the Dey, drawing his scimitar and leaping furiously on Hadji Baba, but that worthy, being as active with his body as his brain, parried the cut with a cushion, and running in on the Dey seized him round the waist. It would soon have gone hard with him, however, Hamet being a much more powerful man, had not Sidi Omar, with a band of his janissaries, dashed in and secured him.

"But for enemies within thou hadst not overcome me thus easily," said the Dey bitterly, as two of the soldiers held him fast, while others bound his arms behind his back.

"Very true, Hamet," returned Omar, with quiet indifference of manner; "and now it remains with thee to choose thy death, for that must be speedily accomplished.—Ho! there, fetch the cup!"

A silver cup, filled with poison, was brought and presented to the unhappy Hamet by his former friend, Sidi Hassan.

"My undoing has been caused by leniency to dogs like thee," said the Dey, with a dark scowl; then, clearing his brow, and drawing himself up with dignity, he turned to Omar, and added, "I decline to take part in mine own death. If I must die, let me be led forth to the place of public execution. I would die as I have lived: with my face to my foes, and in the sight of my comrades."

"Be it so, we are ready," returned Omar; "let the torch-men lead the way."

As Omar truly said, they were indeed ready, for in a few seconds the front of the palace was lighted up with blazing torches, a procession was formed, and Hamet was led forth to the Bab-Azoun gate, and there strangled in the midst of an overawed and silent populace, who probably cared very little as to which of the unruly Turkish pirates who held them in subjection should misrule the unfortunate city.

Whether it was a touch of pity on the part of Omar, or the lateness of the hour, we know not, but from some cause or other Hamet was spared the too common cruelty of being twice revived with a glass of water during the process, before the final deed of strangulation was accomplished.

Thus was the undesirable throne of Algiers again emptied, and immediately afterwards Sidi Omar ascended it,—the third Dey within forty-eight hours!



CHAPTER TWENTY.

DESCRIBES A RETREAT AMONG THE HILLS.

Let us turn now, good reader, to a scene more congenial—namely, the garden in front of the British consul's country residence.

One evening, two weeks after the event just narrated, Ted Flaggan and Rais Ali chanced to meet at the gate.

"Ye've got stirrin' times of it here intirely. Mister Ally Babby," said the tar, whose familiarity almost verged on impudence; "what betwane you an' the 40,000 thieves—more or less—in the town, I find it rare entertainment."

"Yoos complimentary dis marnin'," returned the interpreter, with a smile.

"It's always the way with me. I howld that purliteness is chape.—Ye've heard the noos, I s'pose?"

"W'at noos?" demanded Ali.

"W'y, the noos that the war betwane this Raigincy of Algiers an' Tunis is goin' on raither favourable, and that forty mules were brought in this morning loaded with human heads."

"Oh yes, I heers dat," replied Ali carelessly, as he filled his pipe from Flaggan's tobacco-pouch. "I sees all de hids as I comes up de road dis marnin'. Twinty more mule hims 'xpec' for come in de morrer mornin'."

"You don't mane it!" said Ted. "They seem to be free of their heads away at Tunis.—But there's more noos than that," continued the seaman, calmly scanning the seaward horizon, as he filled his pipe. "Have 'ee heard that the Dey Omar has cut off the head of Sidi Hassan for nothin' worse than a touch of imperliteness?"

"No, I not heers dat," answered Ali, with a look of interest. "I's werry glad."

"Glad! why so?"

"'Cos Sidi Hassan hims gib me reason to 'xpec' hims cut off my hid soonerer or laterer."

"It's my opinion," said Flaggan, with a peculiar smile, "that if ye go cutting away at one another like that, soonerer or laterer you'll all be like the converse o' the Kilkenny cats, and have nothin' left of 'ee but your heads stickin' on spikes above your gates and walls."

"Pr'aps so," was Ali's complacent reply.

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Angela and her sister Paulina, who carried in her arms the little Angelina. Following them at some distance came the amiable Zubby, bearing aloft on her shoulder—as being the place of greatest safety— Colonel Langley's youngest hope. Master Jim's back-bone had not at that time attained sufficient stiffness to warrant the position, but Zubby never thought of that; and Master Jim consequently complained in a series of yells and wry faces; but Zubby, being ignorant of the state of his feelings, did not mind that. Master Jim soon became purple in the visage, but Zubby, looking up at him, and supposing the effect to be the result of an unusual flow of spirits, rather enjoyed that than otherwise.

"Pr'aps I may be excused for the observation," said Flaggan, removing his pipe for a moment, and gazing over Paulina's shoulder, "but if that youngster ain't being strangulated he looks oncommon—"

A scream from Paulina, as she rushed back and bestowed on Zubby a box on the ear cut short the seaman's observation.

"Have I not told you again and again, girl, never to put the child on your shoulder?"

"Oh, mim, me forgit," exclaimed the penitent Zaharian.

"That will keep you in remembrance, then," said Paulina, giving her another slap.

Her own little one woke up at this point and crowed, being too young, we presume, to laugh.

"Oh, Signor Flaggan," said Angela earnestly, while her sister entered into converse with the interpreter, "have you heers yit 'bout de Signors Rimini?"

Angela had already acquired a very slight amount of broken English, which tumbled neatly from her pretty lips.

"Whist, cushla, whist!" interrupted the seaman, leading the girls slowly aside; "ye mustn't spake out so plain afore that rascal Ally Babby, for though he's a good enough soul whin asleep, I do belave he's as big a thafe and liar as any wan of his antecessors or descendants from Adam to Moses back'ard an' for'ard. What, now, an' I'll tell 'ee. I have heerd about 'em. There's bin no end a' sbirros—them's the pleecemen, you know miss—scourin' the country after them; but don't look so scared-like, cushla, for they ain't found 'em yet, an' that feller Bacri, who, in my opinion, is the honestest man among the whole bilin' of 'em, he's bin an' found out w'ere they're hidin', an—" here the seaman's voice descended to a hoarse whisper, while his eyes and wrinkled forehead spoke volumes—"an' he's put me in commission to go an help 'em!"

"Dear man!" exclaimed Angela.

"Which,—Bacri or me?" asked Flaggan.

"Bacri, o' course," returned Angela, with a little laugh.

Flaggan nodded significantly.

"Yes, he is a dear man w'en you go to his shop; but he's as chape as the most lib'ral Christian w'en he's wanted to go an' do a good turn to any one."

"And yoo sure," asked the girl, with rekindled earnestness in her large black eyes, "dat all Rimini safe—Francisco an' Mar—"

"Ah, all safe,—Mariano inclusive," said the sailor, with an intelligent nod. "I sees how the land lies. Depend on it that young feller ain't likely to part with his skin without a pretty stiffish spurt for it."

Although much of Flaggan's language was incomprehensible to the pretty Sicilian, it was sufficiently clear to her sharp intelligence to enable her to follow the drift of his meaning; she blushed, as she turned away her head with a queen-like grace peculiarly Italian, and said—

"When yoo go hoff—to seek?"

"This werry minit," answered the sailor. "In fact I was just castin' about in my mind w'en you came up how I could best throw Ally Babby off the scent as to w'ere I was goin'."

"Me manages dat for yoo," said Angela, with a bright significant smile, as she turned and called to the interpreter.

Ali, who was rather fond of female society, at once advanced with a bow of gracious orientality.

"Com here, Ali; yoo most 'xplain de flowers me bring hom yiserday."

The polite Moor at once followed the pretty Italian, leaving Ted Flaggan with her sister.

"You'll excuse me, ma'am, if I bids you raither an abrup' good marnin'. It's business I have on me hands that won't kape nohow."

Leaving Paulina in some surprise, the blunt seaman put his hands in his pockets, and went off whistling in the direction of Algiers. Turning aside before reaching the town, he ascended the Frais Vallon some distance, meeting with a few Arabs and one or two soldiers, none of whom, however, took much notice of him, as his stalwart figure and eccentric bearing and behaviour had become by that time familiar to most of the inhabitants of the town. It was known, moreover, that he was at the time under the protection of the British consul, and that he possessed another powerful protector in the shape of a short, heavy bludgeon, which he always carried unobtrusively with its head in the ample pouch of his pea-jacket.

As he proceeded up the valley, and, gradually passing from the broad road which had been formed by Christian slaves, to the narrow path at its somewhat rugged head, which had been made by goats, he grew more careless in his walk and rollicking in his air. At last he began to smile benignantly, and to address to himself a running commentary on things in general.

"You've got a fine time of it here all to yersilf, Mister Flaggan. Ah, it's little the Dey knows what yer after, me boy, or it's the last day ye'd have to call yer own. Well, now, it's more like a drame than anything I knows on. What wid Turks an' Moors an' Jews, an' white slaves of every lingo under the sun, I can't rightly make out to remimber which it is—Europe, Asia, Afriky, or Ameriky—that I'm livin' in! Never mind, yer all right wid that blissid cownsl at yer back, an' this purty little thing in yer pokit."

He became silent, and seemed a little perplexed at this point, looking about as if in search of something.

"Coorious; I thought it was here I left it; but I niver had a good mimory for locality. Och! the number of times I was used to miss the way to school in Ould Ireland, though I thravelled it so often and knowed it so well! Surely an' it worn't under this rock I putt it, it must have bin under a relation. Faix, an' it was. Here ye are, me hearty, come along—hoop!"

Saying this, he gave a powerful tug at something under the rock in question, and drew forth a canvas bag or wallet, which had the appearance of being well filled.

Slinging this across his shoulder, Ted Flaggan pursued his way, moralising as he went, until he came to a rugged hollow among the hills, in which was a chaos of large stones, mingled with scrubby bushes. Here he paused again, and the wrinkles of perplexity returned to his brow, as he peered hither and thither.

Presently he observed a sharp-edged rock, which, projecting upwards, touched, as it were, the sky-line behind it. Moving to the right until he brought this rock exactly in line with another prominent boulder that lay beyond it, he advanced for about fifty yards, and then, stopping, looked cautiously round among the bushes.

"It must be hereabouts," he muttered, "for the Jew was werry partikler, an' bid me be partikler likewise, seein' that the hole is well hid, an' wan is apt to come on it raither—hah!"

Suddenly poor Ted fell headlong into the very hole in question, and would infallibly have broken his neck, if he had not happened to descend on the shoulders of a man who, crouched at the bottom of the hole, had been listening intently to the sound of his approach, and who now seized his throat in a grip that was obviously not that of a child!

The British tar was not slow to return the compliment with a grasp that was still less childlike—at the same time he gasped in much anxiety—

"Howld on, ye spalpeen, it's after yersilf I've come, sure; what, won't ye let go—eh?"

It was quite evident, from the tightening of the grip, that Mariano had no intention of letting go, for the good reason that, not understanding a word of what was said, he regarded the seaman as an enemy. Feeling rather than seeing this, for the hole was deep and dark, Flaggan was under the necessity of showing fight in earnest, and there is no saying what would have been the result had not Lucien suddenly appeared from the interior of a subterranean cavern with which the hole communicated.

Lucien understood English well and spoke it fluently. One or two of Flaggan's exclamations enlightened him as to the true character of their unexpected visitor.

"Hold, Mariano!" he cried; "the man is evidently a friend."

"What's that ye're saying?" cried Flaggan, looking up, for he was still busy attempting to throttle Mariano.

"I tell my brother that you are a friend," said Lucien, scarce able to restrain laughter.

"Faix, then, it don't look like it from the tratement I resaive at yer hands.—Howsoever," said the seaman, relaxing his grip and rising, while Mariano did the same, "it's well for you that I am. Bacri sent me wid a few words o' comfort to 'ee, an' some purvisions, which I raither fear we've bin tramplin' about in the dirt; but—no, here it is," he added, picking up the wallet, which had come off in the struggle, "all right, an' I make no doubt it'll be of use to 'ee. But it's a poor sort o' lodgin' ye've got here: wouldn't it be better for all parties if we was to go on deck?"

"Not so," said Lucien, with a smile, as he fell in with the seaman's humour. "'Twere better to come to our cabin; this is only the hold of our ship.—Follow me."

So saying he went down on his hands and knees and disappeared in an impenetrably dark hole, not three feet high, which opened off the hole in which they stood.

Mariano pointed to it and motioned to the sailor to follow.

"Arter you, sir," said Ted, bowing politely.

Mariano laughed and followed his brother, and Ted Flaggan, muttering something about its being the "most strornar companion hatch he'd ever entered," followed suit.

A creep of two or three yards brought him into a cavern which was just high enough to admit of a man standing erect, and about eight or ten feet wide. At the farther extremity of it there was a small stone lamp, the dim light of which revealed the figure of stout Francisco Rimini sound asleep on a bundle of straw, wrapped negligently in his burnous, and with a stone for his pillow. Beside him stood an empty tin dish and a stone jar of the picturesque form peculiar to the inhabitants of the Atlas Mountains; the sword given to him by Bacri lay within reach of his half-open hand.

Neither the scuffle outside nor the entrance of the party had disturbed the old man.

"My father is worn out with a fruitless search for food!" said Lucien, sitting down on a piece of rock and motioning to the seaman to do likewise. "We can venture out in search of food only at night, and last night was so intensely dark as well as stormy that we failed to procure anything. Our water jar and platter are empty."

"Then I've just come in the nick of time," said Flaggan, proceeding to unfasten his wallet and display its much-needed contents.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

SOCIAL INTERCOURSE IN THE CAVERN.

"Here you are," cried the sympathetic Irishman, enlarging on the nature of the viands, as he spread them temptingly before the hungry men; "here's food fit for a Dey, to say nothin' of a month. Here's a loaf— ain't it?—about a fut an' a half long an' three inch thick. Coorious to look at, but a good un to eat I make no doubt—that's a foundation for 'ee—there, cut 'im up an' fire away; ye can't listen properly to me discoorse till you git yer jaws to work. This here is a pie o' some sort, I shud say, havin' regard to the shape, only that ain't the sort o' wittles a Jew would send 'ee, is it? P'raps it's wild-boar, for I've seed no end o' them critters in the market. Maybe it's lion, for they do says there's lots o' the king o' beasts in the mountains hereabouts, though I can't say I've heerd 'em roar yet. Hows'ever, wotever it is, here it is, so go ahead.—Hallo!" exclaimed Flaggan remonstratively, as he cast a glance at the sleeping man beside him, "you've begun without the ould man. Don't 'ee think it 'ud be but filial-like to wake him up an' start fair?"

"No, we'll let him sleep on," answered Lucien, as he began to eat with right good-will, in which he was ably seconded by his brother. "My father needs rest quite as much as food at present. He shall eat when he awakes."

"Well, you knows best," returned the seaman, taking out his pipe and tobacco-pouch; "it's wan comfort anyhow that the wittles can't get colder than they be now, and there's overmuch for 'ee to ait the whole consarn at one bout, so the ould man'll git his grub, though I must own it'd have liked to have seed 'im start fair.—Hand over the glim, plaise."

Lucien passed the small lantern to Flaggan, whose hard good-humoured features were for a few seconds suffused with a ruddy glow as he put the light close to it, and drew the flame vigorously into the bowl of his very black little pipe. Then, setting it down beside him, he smoked in silence and in much satisfaction, as he contemplated the hearty manner in which the young men enjoyed their meal.

When he had finished, Lucien bowed his head for a few seconds in silent thanksgiving, and Mariano paused respectfully while he did so. Then, taking a long draught from the earthenware bottle; the elder brother expressed his gratitude to the Jew for the opportune relief.

"That seems to be good stuff to judge be the way ye smacked yer lips," observed Ted, removing his pipe and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

"Try it," said Lucien, handing him the bottle with a smile.

"Got no smell," remarked the tar, as he put the bottle to his mouth—"wather!" he added contemptuously, as he put it down and resumed the pipe.

"The best of drink for man and beast," said Lucien, laughing.

"May be so," returned Flaggan shortly, "but I ain't used to it."

"Is it long since you came to this country?" asked Lucien, while he and Mariano rolled up two of those neat little cigarettes with which the denizens of Algiers at the present day are wont frequently to solace themselves.

This question called forth from the seaman the greater part of his recent history, in return for which Lucien, drawing forward the hood of his burnous, and resting his elbows on his knees, briefly related that of himself and his kindred.

"But why are you staying here, since, being a British subject, you are free to go when you please?" asked Lucien.

"Bekaise," answered Flaggan, "it ain't every day that a British ship calls in at this piratical nest, and I'd raither go off in a man-o'-war if I could manage it. There's a merchantman came into port yesterday, I'm towld, an' the cownsl advised me to go away with it; but it seems the Turks have made some difficulty about her, so I'll wait. I'm in no hurry. The Flaggans, as a race, have been noted since the time of Adam—if not earlier—for takin' life aisy."

"Then the Flaggans must be nearly related to the Arabs, for they take life easier than any race I ever met with," said Lucien, laughing.

"I shud doubt that, 'cause they're lazy, and we ain't.—Talkin' o' that, sir," said the seaman, as a sudden thought struck him, "I'm towld that you are learned in lingos an' histories: could ye tell me who was the first people that got howld o' this country? 'cause I'm coorious to know, having had a stiffish argiment on that pint with Rais Ali. He howlds that it was the Moors, an' I've heerd say it was the Arabs."

"You are both partly right," replied Lucien; "for the Arabs were among the first conquerors of the land, but you are wrong in supposing Moors and Arabs to be altogether different races. When the Arabs came into the land some of them took to the plains inland, and continued their wild wandering idle style of life—half predatory, half pastoral; others took up their abode on the coast, became more mingled with the people of other sea-faring tribes, built towns, and came at last to be known as Mauri or Moors, from which the part of the land they dwelt in was known of old by the name of Mauritania."

"But the aborigines," continued Lucien—

"The abor-what? sir," asked Flaggan, removing his pipe.

"The aborigines—the original inhabitants of the land—"

"Ah, I see, sir," returned Ted; "them as was at the werry beginnin', just arter Adam and Eve like; 'zactly so—fire away!"

"Well, I'm not quite sure," replied Lucien, with a laugh, "that they came here immediately after the time of Adam, but at all events they came before the time of an authentic history, for our earliest historians record the fact that before any other nation invaded the northern shores of Africa, the country was in possession of a very warlike race, who, although overcome and driven from the plains by the more civilised and better-armed nations that successively attacked them, remained in the fastnesses of the Atlas Mountains absolutely unconquerable, and the descendants of these original inhabitants, known as Kabyles, remain a free and independent people at the present day, having successfully defied the might of Romans, Vandals, Arabs, and others, since the beginning of time." (See Note 1.)

"You don't say so, sir," remarked Flaggan, blowing a thin cloud of admiration into the air; "well, an' how did things git along arter the abridginal inhabitants was fust druv back into the mountains?"

"They did not get along quite so quietly as might have been desired," said Lucien.

"The early history of the northern shores of Africa, now known as Algeria," he continued, "is involved in the mists of antiquity."

"Arrah! now, don't misremimber," said Ted, with a quiet grin, "that I ain't bin edicated quite up to that."

"Well, the beginning of it all," said Lucien, returning the grin with a smile, "is rather foggy."

"Ah! that's plain enough. Heave ahead, an' whativer ye do, steer clear o' jaw-breakers," murmured the seaman.

"The region," said Lucien, "was first known as Numidia and Mauritania; Numidia being so named by the Greeks, who styled its wandering tribes Nomads. They were pastoral in their habits and thievish in their propensities, without laws or government worthy of the name. The Mauri, or Moors, devoted themselves to more settled pursuits, became traders and inhabitants of towns, and were a mixed race, although originally springing from the same stock as the Nomads, or Arabs. These were the early inhabitants, who lived during the foggy period.

"The Medes, Armenians, and Persians afterwards founded a colony, and traded with the natives of the interior. Then the Phoenicians landed, and began to build towns, of which Carthage, founded B.C. 853, was the chief. The Punic wars followed; Carthage, the city of Dido, fell, and Mauritania was annexed to Rome. For hundreds of years after this the country was a scene of frequent and bloody warfare, in which many great historical names figured, and many great armies were swept away to gratify human pride, ambition, and cupidity on the one hand, and to defend hearth and home on the other, until the Roman power extended far and wide, from the Libyan desert to the Atlantic, and from the Mediterranean to the Zahara. Near the time of our Saviour, (B.C. 46), Sallust was established by Julius Caesar as governor of Numidia, where he collected materials for his history of the Jugurthine wars, and at the same time enriched himself by the plunder of the now highly civilised and prosperous country."

"Trust 'em, they're all sure to do that, the haythens!" said Ted, whose pipe, by its varying cloudlets, became a pretty fair index to his feelings.

"Roman remains are now to be found," continued Lucien, "all over the land, even in the wildest regions of the Atlas Mountains, although the Romans utterly failed to subdue the hardy prehistoric natives of these mountains, who rose against them at frequent intervals, despite temporary defeats, and successfully defied all the various races who assailed them. During this Roman period the country was so well cultivated that it became, and was styled, 'the granary of the Roman Empire.' Christianity was also introduced, and became so wide-spread that at one time there were no fewer than a hundred and sixty bishoprics in northern Africa. Unquestionably there were then, as there always were and will be, some who were imbued with the peace-loving spirit of Christianity, including among them such men as Augustine, Tertullian, and Cyprian—whom, I dare say, Signor Flaggan, you never before heard of,—but it cannot be doubted that a vast majority possessed nothing of our religion but the name, for they constantly resorted to the most bitter warfare and violence to maintain their views.

"Towards the decline of the Roman Empire, Boniface, the proconsul, revolted against the Emperor Valentinian. The latter asked the aid of Genseric, king of the Vandals. Genseric most willingly agreed, went to Africa with 90,000 of his stalwart light-haired 'barbarians' of the north, was joined by the natives, and conquered the whole of Barbary, not for the Romans, but for himself! This was in the year 428, and the Vandals held the land for a hundred years.

"The Romans, in the year 533, again invaded northern Africa, re-took Carthage, and finally regained the country from the Vandals, but for only a short time, for the Moors constantly harassed them, until the land became desert in many places, owing to the decreasing population.

"Then came the followers of Mohammed, about the year 645, from across the Eastern deserts, enforcing religion by their favourite means, the sword; and in half a century they swept completely over the land to the Atlantic, causing the Crescent to supplant the Cross.

"But the Arabs did not stop here. About 711 they crossed over the sea, and carried the Crescent into Europe, under the bold and daring General Tarick, (Gebel-el-Tarick), from whom the spot where they landed came to be called Gibraltar. Hosts of Moors followed the Arab conquerors, and the Spaniards, confounding them, styled them all Moors.

"Barbary was for a long time after this under the rule of Emirs, appointed by the Caliphs; but they found little rest in Africa, for the Berbers and others harassed them continually.—It would weary you to go over the whole history of the wars and disputes which tore the wretched country to pieces during hundreds of years after this; but it may interest you to know that this city of Algiers was founded in the year 944 by Ziri, governor of Aschir, who established a hereditary throne for his race. But his dynasty came to an end in course of time, and so did that of others. Race rose against race, and tribe against tribe, conquering and re-conquering; only a few of the coast towns being able to maintain their position as independent powers, and supporting themselves by piracy.

"By degrees the pirates of the Barbary coast began to be very formidable and daring, insomuch that from time to time various nations sent expeditions against them, with more or less success, but without materially checking their depredations. They were greatly strengthened in numbers at the time of the expulsion of the Moors from Spain. An expedition was fitted out against them by Ferdinand in 1501, and in 1505 the Spaniards made themselves masters of some of the chief Barbary towns, including Algiers.

"About this time two famous pirates ravaged the coasts of the Mediterranean—the brothers Barbarossa, sons of a fisherman. They were ambitious scoundrels, and aimed at a throne. An opportunity ere long presented itself. The Algerines invited them, in 1510, to come and free them from the Spanish yoke. They went gladly, defeated the Spaniards, and then the elder Barbarossa proclaimed himself king, after beheading Hassan, another famous corsair, killing the king, and committing fearful excesses on the inhabitants. This villain was slain by the men of an expedition sent against the Algerines by Charles the Fifth, but the Turks made his brother Hayradin king in his stead. In 1518 Hayradin Barbarossa sought recognition by the Sultan of Turkey. He was made Pasha, and from that time till now Algiers has remained a nominal dependency of Turkey;—a pest to the civilised world, and a disgrace to humanity."

"Well, now," observed Ted Flaggan, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and refilling it; "there are more surprisin' things in the history of this here world than I was aware of. It's my unwarnished opinion—"

The expression of the seaman's opinion was here cut short by the sudden awakening of the elder Rimini, who immediately sat bolt upright and stared at the stranger with eyes like those of an owl in sunshine.

Lucien hastened to explain, and to spread the food sent by Bacri before his father.

Feeling sensations like those of a starved wolf, Francisco merely smiled, nodded, and shook hands with the sailor, and then, seizing the remains of the loaf and the pork,—"wild-boar," or "lion," pie, commenced with infinite gusto to his unexpected meal.

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Note 1. This held true of the Kabyles until they were conquered, disarmed, and completely subdued by the French, who now hold possession of their land.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

SHOWS HOW THE PIRATES WERE WONT TO TREAT MEN OF NOTE.

When his hunger was appeased, Francisco Rimini turned to Ted Flaggan and asked him, through Lucien, to go over again in detail the course of action which Bacri advised him and his sons to adopt in order to effect their escape out of the country. "For," said he with emphasis, "I'm neither a lion nor a rabbit, and cannot therefore make up my mind to spend the rest of my days in a hole."

We will spare the reader Mister Flaggan's repetition of the details referred to, merely remarking that they embraced careful directions as to when and where a boat would be found on the coast ready to carry them out to sea, and that they contained many earnest cautions to be wary, as nothing short of death by slow torture would be their fate if recaptured—this being their second attempt at escape.

Meanwhile circumstances were transpiring which gave a new turn to the state of affairs in the pirate city.

We have elsewhere remarked on the amazing fact that the great powers of Europe and America tolerated the system of barefaced piracy which was carried on by the Algerines against all nations that did not pay them "black-mail," but it must not be supposed that this disgraceful submission was the result of fear or of indifference. The truth is, that the great powers were so busily engaged in throttling each other that they had no time to give proper attention to the Algerine wasps that stung them, and the wasps themselves were so besottedly ignorant of European affairs and of their own relative insignificance, so puffed up indeed by their supposed greatness—a delusion which was shamefully fostered by the action towards them of the great powers themselves—that they wilfully proceeded to extremities which a very little knowledge of other nations would have convinced them was the certain way to bring about their own ruin. The immense sums raised year after year by various European nations, and given to the pirates for the redemption of thousands of Christian slaves, proved that they were not indifferent to the scourge of the Mediterranean. (See Note 1.)

But in the midst of this disgraceful forbearance of the nations, there was an occasional growl from one and another, and a fierce side-glance at the wasps, which might have let them see that their nest was in danger.

For instance, in 1804 Admiral Nelson menaced the town with a large fleet, and not long afterwards the Americans absolutely declined to pay their "black-mail," and sent a squadron to procure, or, if need were, to compel a favourable treaty of peace with the Algerines. Other clouds arose here and there and overhung the doomed city, but the infatuated pirates remained blind as bats and insolent as monkeys.

Thus matters stood when the Dey Omar ascended the throne, and for some time afterwards.

One morning the English consul was summoned to attend the divan of the Dey, in connexion with a vessel which had lately been brought in as a prize by one of the Algerine corsairs.

The consul had previously presented himself at Court—as did all the other consuls—to pay his respects to the new Dey, and on a subsequent occasion had made an effort to press a point which had always been a matter of deep interest with him, namely, the bringing about of peace between the Algerines and the Portuguese. There were many Portuguese slaves in the town and neighbourhood at the time, and several officers of that country dwelt there, exempt from the duty of labouring like beasts of burden at the works on the walls and about the harbour, solely in virtue of annual tribute being paid by their friends. The former Dey, Achmet, had declined to oblige his friend Colonel Langley by making peace with Portugal, on the ground that he could not forego the advantages resulting from a state of warfare. The new Dey, Omar, was still less capable of being influenced by considerations of humanity.

"What would you have?" he said, when Colonel Langley spoke to him on the subject; "my people are brigands, and I am their chief! If I make peace with Portugal, it will be absolutely necessary that I should declare war with America, merely to keep my people employed!"

This was at all events candid, and the consul felt that it would be vain to press the matter he had so much at heart as long as Omar occupied the throne.

On his way down to the Marina, where the divan referred to was to be held, he met Blindi Bobi looking rather disconsolate. Having an hour or more to spare, he resolved to have a chat with him.

"Well, Bobby, my boy," said the consul kindly, for the eccentric interpreter was a favourite, "you seem sad. Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Not wi' me, nohow," responded Bobi, shaking his head. "Nuffin never wrong wi' me. Always too well. Health to the mast-head—more nor I knows wat to do wid. Wishes I could die, I do—sometimes."

"I grieve to hear that," said the consul earnestly, for he saw that the man was in no jesting humour. "Let me know what distresses you."

"Sidi Cadua," said Bobi.

"What! the father of poor Ashweesha, widow of my late friend Achmet Dey?" said the consul.

"Yis. Hush! Omar Dey—de divl," growled Bobi in a low tones, "gits the berry stones to listen an' reports wat peepil say."

"Never fear," returned the consul, smiling, "they dare not report what I say. Come, tell me about it."

"Oh! it shockable," said Bobi. "Come an' see." So saying, the poor man hurried off in the direction of a low-lying part of the town, closely followed by the consul. Here, seated on a plain mat in an empty cellar, which was destitute of furniture and almost of light, they found the father of the late Sultana. His gentle, kindly spirit seemed, like his frail old body, to be bowed to the very dust.

"My dear friend," exclaimed the consul, almost overwhelmed with grief at the sight, "has the villain robbed you of all your wealth?"

"He has," replied the old man, taking the consul's proffered hand and pressing it warmly; "but he has done worse than that—"

"What! has he dared to—"

Sidi Cadua interrupted and answered the question by quietly removing the lower part of his robe, and exposing his feet, which were dreadfully swollen and scarred with the bastinado.

"Even that is not the worst of it," said the old man, re-covering his mutilated feet; "my daughter, my sweet, tender Ashweesha, has been cruelly bastinadoed for—"

He broke down here, and, covering his face with his withered hands, groaned aloud.

For a few moments Colonel Langley could not speak.

"But why," he said at length, "why such cruelty?"

Recovering himself, Sidi Cadua slowly related the circumstances. An enemy, he said, had accused him to the Dey Omar of having hidden away a large amount of treasure, and he had been put to the torture in order to force him to disclose the truth; but the truth was that he had never concealed treasure, and had no confession to make. Believing that his silence was the result of sheer obstinacy, and that the truth might perhaps be extorted from his daughter, the cruel monster had the gentle Ashweesha dragged from her apartments and subjected to the bastinado.

"Dreadful!" exclaimed the consul. "Where is she now?"

Sidi Cadua silently pointed to a ragged old burnous in a dark corner of the little cellar, under which a human form lay crouched up and motionless.

"Not dead?" asked the consul anxiously.

"No, not dead," replied the old man, with an upward glance of gratitude.

"Sidi Cadua," exclaimed the consul, rising hastily, "excuse my leaving you now. I have to attend the divan. You shall hear from me soon. You—you,"—looking round—"have no other house than this—no food?"

"Nothing!" said the old man in a low voice, as his white head sank on his bosom.

"Listen, my man," said the consul earnestly, as he hastened down to the Marina.

"Yis, Signor," answered Bobi.

"Can you find time to go out to my house just now?"

"Yis, Signor."

"Then, go—go as fast as legs or horse can carry you. See my wife; tell her what we have seen; let her send Rais Ali into town with other servants—separately, not to attract attention—with baskets—full baskets, you understand?"

"Yis, Signor, full to bustin'," answered Bobi, with glittering eyes.

"Full as they can hold of all that is needful—she will understand that.—There, be off—lose no time," said the consul, thrusting a quantity of silver into the man's hand.

"Kurnul Langley," said Bobi, with enthusiasm glowing in his solitary eye, as he turned to go; "you—by the beard of the Prophet!—you're the ace of trumps!"

With this strong, if not elegant expression of his sentiments, the sympathetic Bobi hurried away, and Colonel Langley entered the divan, where were assembled the Dey and the chief officers of state.

The discussion on that occasion was conducted warmly, for the pirates believed that they had made a good and legitimate prize in the shape of a Greek vessel, which was owned by a Mr and Mrs de Lisle, who, with their little son, were also captured.

Colonel Langley claimed these as British subjects, and the vessel as British property.

In this case the pirates had taken a precaution which, they had hoped, would save them all trouble. On boarding the vessel they had demanded all Mr de Lisle's papers and passports, which, when delivered up, were torn into atoms and thrown into the sea. Thus they sought to destroy all evidence of the nature of the prize.

Mr de Lisle was a native of Guernsey, and therefore an English subject. Early in life he had entered a commercial house in Holland, and been naturalised there. Afterwards he was sent to a branch of the same house in Naples, which at that time was occupied by the French. Amassing considerable property, he resolved to return to his native land, and hired a Greek vessel, as being a neutral one, to convey him. On his way, he fell into the hands of the Algerines.

At the divan the British consul claimed that Mr de Lisle and his family and property should be delivered up to him.

The Turks, with whom Colonel Langley was out of favour now that his friend Achmet was dead, were furious. How could he be an Englishman, they said, when it was well-known that the French would not have permitted one of their chief enemies to remain at Naples?

"And besides," added Omar, with a touch of sarcasm, "where are his papers to prove that what he says is true?"

The consul had made his demand with unusual firmness and dignity, for the memory of poor Sidi Cadua was strong upon him, but this latter remark somewhat perplexed him. Fortunately, at the moment, de Lisle himself, who was present, started up and said in English, across the divan—

"If I am permitted to go on board my vessel, I can still bring satisfactory evidence of my nationality."

The Turks were extremely unwilling to concede this, but when the consul turned and said to the Dey, "I trust your highness will not refuse so reasonable a request," he was permitted to go. In a short time he returned with the certificate of his marriage, which proved that he had been married in Guernsey, and was a British subject, to the inexpressible rage of the divan, who were compelled, however, to give in.

"Nevertheless, Monsieur le Console," said the Dey sternly, "if it shall be proved, even twenty years hence, that you were wrong in this matter, you shall have to answer for it."

From that time the British consul and the Dey became open enemies, which was a matter of gratulation to the consuls of some of the other powers, who had been rather jealous of Colonel Langley's influence with the late Dey, Achmet.

Not long afterwards they would have been glad if his influence could have been restored; for Omar, being soured by what had occurred at the divan, as well as by many other things that crossed his imperious will, commenced to act in such an outrageous manner that the various consuls felt not only their independence but their lives in jeopardy.

Sending for the Danish consul one morning, Omar told that unfortunate man that his government had already been warned more than once to pay the tribute which was past due, and that he was going to stand their neglect no longer. He therefore ordered him to be put in chains, and sent forthwith to work in the stone-quarries.

The order was at once obeyed. A chaouse, at a signal from the Dey, seized the Danish consul by the waist-band, thrust him out of the palace, and along the streets to the Bagnio, there loaded him with chains, and led him forth to work with the slaves!

The consternation of the other consuls was of course extreme. The instant Colonel Langley heard of it, he ordered his horse and galloped into town, accompanied by Rais Ali and Ted Flaggan, the latter having constituted himself a sort of extra aide-de-camp or special attendant of the consul, in order to gratify the more easily an insatiable thirst for knowledge as to all that took place around him.

They went direct to the residence of the Danish consul, where they found his poor wife and children in the deepest grief and alarm at what had occurred, for it had been reported to them that Omar had said he would order the wife and children of the Danish consul to be put up for sale in the public slave-market if the tribute due by Denmark were not paid without further delay.

"Trust me, madam," said the Colonel with indignation, "we shall not suffer this barbarian to carry out his threats, and we will, moreover, see instant justice done to your husband."

Hastily writing several notes requesting a meeting with his brother consuls in the residence of the Dane, he despatched them by his two satellites, and very speedily the whole were assembled.

"Gentlemen," said Colonel Langley, after some conversation, "it is imperative that we should act at once, unitedly and with decision. Anything like vacillation at such a crisis will encourage these barbarians to proceed to extremities which may end in our ruin. Need I call to your remembrance the recent case of the unhappy Dutch consul, who had dwelt twenty-three years in this city, and who, although an old and infirm man, was loaded with irons of sixty pounds' weight, and marched out to labour with the other slaves, from which treatment he soon after died—all, forsooth, because his government had delayed to send the accustomed annual 'present' to the Dey at the appointed time? It concerns us all, gentlemen, that we should act promptly. We must proceed in a body at once—within this hour—to the palace, and demand that our brother consul shall instantly be set at liberty. For this purpose, if you agree with me, we must elect one of our number to be spokesman."

At this point the other consuls interrupted the Colonel, by begging him to accept the office, and to lead them out at once.

"I accept it with pleasure," said the Colonel, turning to Rais Ali, who stood at his elbow.—"Rais, you will accompany me to interpret—"

"Oh, Monsieur!" exclaimed Rais, who had not many minutes before been boasting to his friend Flaggan that he was a brave English tar as good as himself, but who now turned very pale; "oh no, no! Please, Monsieur, demand me not to go dis time for interprit. For certain the Dey hims kill me—hims kill all of us."

"Well then, Rais," replied the Colonel, somewhat amused at the man's undisguised terror, "we shall all die together, and you will at least have the comfort of falling in goodly company."

"But, master," supplicated Rais, "I's not a Turk; me dare not defy the Dey to hims visage. I's only a craulie!"

By which the unhappy man meant to explain that he was only the son of a Turk by an Algerine mother, and that as such he could expect no mercy if he aided in bearding the Dey in his den; but the Colonel was inexorable, and poor Rais Ali was obliged to submit.

At this time, the English and French being at war, there existed a somewhat natural feeling of estrangement between the representatives of the two nations at Algiers. Colonel Langley thought the present a good opportunity to effect a better understanding between them. He therefore offered his arm to the French consul, who accepted it politely, though with feelings of surprise. Thus they walked out two and two into the street, and marched down the principal thoroughfare, across the great square, and straight into the palace.

The amazement of the Algerines at this sight was great, for they were well aware of the bad feeling which had for many years existed between the leading couple in this little procession, or rather between their predecessors, some of whom had taken undignified, not to say disgraceful, methods of displaying their jealousy.

"Allah!" exclaimed the Algerines, turning up their eyes, "the English and French consuls walking together! Surely the old prophecy is about to come true, 'When Christians are at peace among themselves the downfall of Algiers is decreed!'"

It is said that there really does exist a very old prophecy to this effect among the Mussulmans of Algeria, and certain it is that the prophecy was ultimately fulfilled, but at the time of which we write it was only anticipated.

Demanding an immediate audience, the party were admitted into the presence-chamber, where they created feelings of great surprise in the breasts of the pirate-king and his piratical courtiers.