The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale, R. M. Ballantyne [great novels of all time .TXT] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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“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!
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,
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