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

“I should like to be commander-in-chief when the war of conquest begins,” said Mariano.

“A poor job you’d make of it, my son,” said Francisco.

“Why so, father?”

“Why? because hot blood and a giddy head with a revengeful spirit are not the best elements wherewith to construct a commander-in-chief.”

“Ah! father, with every wish to be respectful I cannot refrain from reminding you of a certain pot which was reported once to have called a kettle black. Ha!” continued Mariano, turning towards the little old lady, “you should have seen him, granny, in the Bagnio of Algiers, when the guards were inclined to be rather hard on some of the sick—”

“No, no!” interrupted the old lady, shaking her head; “don’t talk of that.”

“Well, I won’t, except to say that I’m thankful we are well out of it.”

“It seems all like a strange dream,” returned the old lady thoughtfully.

“So it does, mother,” murmured Francisco, “so it does,—an almost incredible dream.”

And so it seems to us, reader, now that we have closed the record of it; nevertheless it was no dream, but a sad and stern reality to those who played their part in it—to those who sorrowed and suffered, sixty years ago, in the Pirate City.