The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale

One good result, however, followed. Those captives who had been condemned to death, and for whom ransoms had been offered, were reprieved; nevertheless, they were treated with cruel severity. Of course the unfortunates for whom no ransom had been offered were treated with the utmost rigour, and the sentences of such as had been condemned to die were ordered to be carried out. In the case of poor Mariano the sentence was altered, for that headstrong youth had in his despair made such a fierce assault on his jailers that, despite his chains, he had well-nigh strangled three of them before he was effectually secured. He was therefore condemned to be buried alive in one of the huge square blocks of concrete with which the walls of a part of the fortifications were being strengthened.[1 - A very remarkable and authentic instance of this style of punishment is recorded in the annals of Algiers.A Moor named Geronimo was, about the beginning of the seventeenth century, converted to Christianity by a captive. The reigning Pasha ordered him to recant, and gave him twenty-four hours to make up his mind. On his refusal, the Pasha caused Geronimo to be buried alive in the mud which was being poured into moulds and dried into blocks, for the purpose of building fort Bab-el-Oued. In this block the poor martyr was built into the wall of the fort, which was thereafter named the “Fort of the Twenty-four Hours.” The incident was soon nearly forgotten. Two and a half centuries afterwards, (in December 1853), the French, while carrying out their improvements in the town, destroyed the ancient “Fort of the Twenty-four Hours,” but were warned, by one who was well read in the history of the place, to be careful on razing a certain part of the walls to examine them well. They did so, and found the body of Geronimo—or, rather, the mould formed by his body, which latter, of course, had crumbled to dust. A plaster cast was taken from this mould, and this cast—which gives an almost perfect representation of the martyr lying on his face, with his hands tied behind his back—is now in the museum of the library of Algiers.]

While these things were pending, very different scenes were taking place at the French consulate, for great preparations were going on for a mask-ball which was about to take place there.

It may, perhaps, appear strange to some readers that any one could have the heart to engage in gaieties in the midst of such horrible scenes of injustice, cruelty, and death, but it must be remembered that human beings have a wonderful capacity for becoming used and indifferent to circumstances the most peculiar—as all history assures us—and it must also be borne in remembrance that the unfortunate Sicilian captives, whose sorrows and sufferings we have tried to depict, were a mere fraction of the community in the midst of which they suffered. It is probable that the great body of the people in Algiers at that time knew little, and cared less, about the Riminis and their brethren.

Since the reconciliation of the English and French Consuls, at the time when the representative of Denmark was rescued, the Frenchman had displayed great cordiality to the Briton—not only accepting the invitations which before he had refused, but drinking with apparent enthusiasm to the health of the English king, on the occasion of a dinner given in celebration of that monarch’s birthday at the British consulate.

The mask-ball was a very great affair indeed when it came off—which it did at the country residence of the French consul. The mansion, which was Mauresque in style, was splendidly decorated with flags of various nations, and the skiffa, with its sparkling fountain and graceful palmettas, was a perfect blaze of variegated lamps. These hung amid the foliage of the creepers that twined round the curved marble pillars, and their red garish light contrasted powerfully with the clear purity of the star-lit sky, which formed the natural roof of the skiffa.

The grounds around the consulate were also decorated and lighted up with the taste for which the French are peculiarly noted.

Of course all the consuls were invited, with their respective families, and were present, with the exception of Mrs Langley, who happened to be indisposed, and Agnes, who stayed at home to nurse her mother. As an affair of the kind involved a good deal of laxity of what may be styled domestic discipline, many of the superior servants were also permitted to stroll about the grounds in fancy costumes. The consuls themselves appeared in their proper uniforms, but some of the members of their households displayed themselves in forms and aspects which we find it difficult to describe, while others of the guests habited themselves in the skins, and gave themselves the airs, of wild beasts of the forest.

There were wild-boars from the Jurjura Hills, overgrown monkeys from the gorge of “la Chiffa,” lions from Mount Atlas, and panthers from the Zahara, besides other nondescript creatures from nowhere. But these were a mere sprinkling in the gay scene of richly dressed ladies and gentlemen, among whom, strange to say, were not a few Christian slaves! These last were Italian and Portuguese officers who had been captured by the Algerines at various times. Had they been taken by civilised peoples, they would have been deemed prisoners of war, and treated as such, but the pirates styled them slaves, and would certainly have treated them as beasts of burden—as they treated hundreds of their countrymen—but for the fact that they had friends at home who paid an annual sum to purchase for them exemption from such drudgery. Having nothing to do, and no means of escaping, these unfortunate men did what they could to mitigate the woes of their brethren—though they were not allowed to do much—and entered more or less into the society and amusements of the city. Hence, though liable at any moment to be put in chains, or sent to the quarries, or even slain by their savage captors, they were to be found waltzing at the fancy ball of the French consul!

Among those who cut a very conspicuous—we may venture to say a beastly—figure that night was our friend Ted Flaggan. The eccentric tar, desiring to enjoy the ball under the shelter of a mask which would preserve his incognito, had, with the aid of Rais Ali, provided himself with the complete skin of a wild-boar, including the head with its enormous tusks, and, having fitted it to his person, and practised a variety of appropriate antics, to the delight of Agnes, who was the only person besides Rais admitted to his secret, he felt himself to be quite up in his part—almost fitted to hold converse with the veritable denizens of the forest.

Flaggan had arranged that he was to put on the boar-dress in the town residence of Rais Ali. Being unwilling to attract the attention of the populace by passing through the streets, in broad daylight, he determined to postpone his advent to an advanced part of the evening.

It was a clear, calm night when he left the country residence of the British consul, with a crescent moon to light him on his way. He had just issued from the garden gate, when an old man, clad in a half-monkish robe, advanced, towards him with strides that would have done credit to a dragoon.

“I’ve me doubts that yer not so ancient as ye look, owld feller,” he said, eyeing the man keenly as he drew near, and moving the head of the thick stick, which, as usual, rested in his pocket, as if to hold it in readiness for instant action.

“Be the Breetish consul at home?” said the old man in broken English and in breathless haste.

“Not at present,” answered the seaman quickly, for he now saw that the man was really old, and that anxiety had given him strength to exert himself beyond his ordinary powers, “but I’m goin’ to meet him—bein’, if I may so spake, his edgedukong. Av you’ve anything in the world to say to his Excellency I’m your man to carry the message.”

“You are Breetish sailor, I zee,” returned the old man, sitting down and heaving a deep sigh, as if unable to recover breath. “You will onderstan’ when I say your Lord Exmouth do come quickly for bombard de city!”

“Onderstand you—is it?” exclaimed Ted, with sudden excitement. “Faix do I, but I don’t belave ye.”

“Man!” said the other, with an earnest look, “doos you tink I come here like dis for tell do Breetish consul a lie!”

“Shure yer right, an’ I’m a goose,” exclaimed the tar, becoming still more excited; “but are ’ee sure yer not mistaken, owld man?”

“Quite sure. Listen. Go, tell consul dat one boat come shore at Pointe Pescade, find me dere, capture me—carry me off. It was fishin’ boat in Breetish pay. Dey find out who I be. Give leave to go shore again, and warn Breetish consul to look out, for Turk ver’ savage when him hear of dis. Lord Exmouth, wid large fleet come straight to Algiers, for delivrin’ all slaves, an’ blow up de city.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Flaggan, in a subdued voice, while he unpocketed the cudgel and twirled it over his head. “Good luck to ’ee, owld man. I’m off to tell the consul. Go in here an’ they’ll give ’ee some grub. Say I sent ’ee.—But, hallo!” he added, when on the point of starting, “what’s yer name?”

“The Padre Giovanni,” replied the old man.

“Och! it’s mesilf has heard of ’ee,” cried the seaman, as he turned and dashed down the road leading to the city. So energetic was he in his motions, and so quick was his pace, on reaching Bab-el-Oued gate, that the guard—a young soldier, lately arrived from Turkey—became suspicious, and ventured to intercept him.

Flaggan was in no humour to be stopped, or even spoken with. He made an attempt to force past, which caused the soldier to present his piece at him. Hereupon Ted drew forth his cudgel, hit the Turk a Donnybrookian whack over the skull that laid him flat on the ground, and took to his heels.

The rest of the guard, who saw this little incident and recognised the now well-known seaman, instantly gave chase; but Ted was too active for them. He doubled down a narrow street on his left, and in five minutes was beyond their reach. He knew now that nothing but prompt action could save him from immediate arrest and probable castigation. He therefore went straight to Rais Ali’s house, and was admitted by an old negress.

Arraying himself in the skin of the wild boar, he attempted to cover himself with an Arab burnous, but, do what he could, he found it impossible to draw the hood over him in such a way as to conceal the head of the boar, and after his recent escapade with the guard, he felt that it was not safe to venture forth again uncovered. He therefore resolved to keep the boar’s head exposed, and to venture boldly forth, despite the attention it was sure to attract.

To his great relief Rais himself came in just as he was about to start, and after relating his adventure, that worthy suggested that he should join half a dozen of the French consul’s own servants, who were about to set out for the scene of festivities.

Agreeing to this plan, he passed through the streets without attracting much more attention than did his somewhat wildly-habited companions, and soon reached the French consul’s residence, which was not more than half a mile beyond the southern gate of the city.

The blaze of light and buzz of musical noise that reigned here immediately swallowed them up, so that Ted felt himself, for the time at least, to be safe. His grotesque figure did indeed attract some attention at first, for he was an exceeding tall and sturdy boar, but there were so many other notabilities from the forest and desert around him that he quickly sank into comparative insignificance.

Some of the other creatures referred to gave him a little uneasiness by their curiosity and desire to claim acquaintance, if not kindred, with him, but by humouring some, frightening others, running away from several, and tumbling a few into the bushes, he managed to push through the crowd of domestics unrecognised, and made his way into the outer lobby of the mansion.

Here, seated under the shadow of a Moorish arch way, drinking lemonade, in default, as he said, of better tipple, Ted resolved to bide his time, but his time seemed rather long of coming. He therefore boldly entered the magnificent skiffa in search of Colonel Langley.

His appearance was greeted with a shout of delight by several children who were present, and the French consul, willing to amuse them, went up, and, shaking hands with the boar, begged of him to join in the dance.

Poor Ted would have given anything to have known what was said to him, but, being utterly ignorant of French, shook his head and bowed with an air of profound respect, which piece of politeness caused his short and rather ill-fitting tail to stick straight up in the air for a moment, and drew roars of laughter from the company.

“Dansez, dansez-vous,” said the Frenchman, with more emphasis.

“Och! it’s that ye want, is it?” said Ted, much relieved; “sure I’ll do it with all the pleasure in life.—Clear the deck, boys!”

And without more ado the lively tar began to whistle a sailor’s hornpipe, and to dance the same with an amount of vigorous dexterity that had in former years made him the favourite of the forecastle.

The surprise soon merged into admiration, for our hero danced exceedingly well, and all eyes were attracted to him. Among others the British consul came forward to look on with much interest and curiosity, for his ear was perhaps the only one present to which the tune whistled was familiar.

Dancing close up to him, Ted Flaggan suddenly slipped, and, staggering as if about to fall, flung his arm over the consul’s shoulder.

“Take care!” said the latter, catching him.

“Och!” gasped Ted, sinking down and almost dragging the other after him, “spake to me av ye love me.”

Amazed by this tender appeal, and suddenly suspecting the personality of the boar, the consul bent down while the rest of the onlookers crowded round,—and said in a low voice—

“Why, Flag—”

“Whist! whist! blood an thunder! it’ll rain scimitars an’ grape-shot av ye say a word! Mate me in the gardin’ dear, under the palm.”

This was said in the midst of a writhing and growling which would have done credit to a lunatic boar, if such there were!

“Not hurt, I hope?” said the French consul, coming forward.

“Not at all,” replied Colonel Langley, rising with a smile, “the fellow is one of my domestics, and has almost over-acted his part. He will be all right in a minute if some one will be kind enough to fetch him a glass of water—”

“An’ brandy, ochone!” exclaimed the boar, with another tremendous growl, that again sent the children into shouts of delight.

The brandy and water was brought, and Ted making a polite bow to the company, passed down the room with a slight tremor of the hornpipe in his legs, and a faint trill of the tune on his lips, both of which melted gradually into a boarish grunt and roll as he reached the lobby and passed out into the garden.

Hastening to a stately date-palm, of which there happened to be only one specimen in the garden of the French residence, the heated seaman pushed off his head, wiped his brow, drank the brandy and water, and threw away the tumbler, after which he sat down on a root, mechanically pulled out his pipe, and was in the act of filling it when Colonel Langley came hurriedly forwards.

“Why, Flaggan,” he asked, “what’s wrong? for something must be, to induce your strange conduct.”

“Lord Exmouth, sir,” replied Ted, rising up with an air of dignified importance which the elevated snout of the boar tended sadly to impair, “is in the offing with fifty sail o’ the line, more or less, comin’ to blow this precious city into the middle of next week.”