“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.
The End
notes
1
In 1795 the Americans concluded peace with the Algerians by the payment of half a million piastres, and an annual tribute of 24,000 piastres.
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.
1
It is said that the treasure in Algiers about the end of that century amounted to 4,000,000 pounds, most of which was paid by other governments to purchase peace with the Algerines.
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.