The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale

In regard to this we need say nothing more than that he accomplished his purpose, paid the ransom, and received the seven British seamen, accompanied by whom he commenced the return journey, he and his men riding, and driving the sailors on foot before them as though they had been criminals. On the way, however, they were attacked, not far from Algiers, by a body of predatory Arabs from the Jurjura mountains.

These bold villains, at the very first onset, killed more than half of the Turkish escort, and put the rest to flight. Six of the sailors they captured and carried off, but Ted Flaggan, who was an exceedingly active as well as powerful man, proved himself more than a match for them all. During the mêlée he managed to throw himself in the way of one of the best-mounted among the Arabs, who instantly charged him, but Ted sprang aside and let him pass, ducking low to avoid a cut from his curved sword.

Before he could turn, the Irishman ran close to his side, seized him by the burnous, at the same time grasping his bridle, and pulled him out of the saddle with such sudden violence that he fell headlong to the ground, where he lay quite stunned by the fall. Flaggan instantly sprang into the saddle, as if he had been an accomplished cavalier, though in reality he knew no more about horses than an Esquimaux. However, a man who was accustomed to hold on to a top-sail-yard in a gale was not to be easily shaken off by an Arab charger. He clung to the high saddle-bow with one hand, and with the other grasped his clasp-knife, which he opened with his teeth. Therewith he probed the flanks of his fiery steed to such an extent that he not only distanced all his Arab pursuers, but overtook and passed his own escort one by one, until he reached Sidi Hassan himself. He then attempted to pull up, but the clasp-knife had fired the charger’s blood in an unusual degree. With a wicked snort and fling that lifted Flaggan high out of the saddle, it rushed madly on, left the pirate captain far behind, and at length dashed through the Bab-Azoun gate of Algiers, despite the frantic efforts of the guard to check or turn it. Right onward it sped through the street Bab-Azoun, scattering Turks, Moors, Jews, negroes, and all the rest of them like chaff; passed the Dey’s palace, straight along the street Bab el-Oued; out at the water-gate, with similar contempt of the guards; down into the hollow caused by the brook beyond; up the slope on the other side, half-way towards the summit, on the opposite side of Frais Vallon, and was not finally pulled up until it had almost run down the British consul, who chanced to be riding leisurely homeward at the time.

“You seem to have had a pretty sharp run, my man,” said the consul, laughing, as the Irishman thankfully jumped off, and grasped the bridle of the now thoroughly winded horse.

“Faix an’ I have, yer honour; an’ if I haven’t run down an’ kilt half the population o’ that town, wotever’s its name, no thanks to this self-opiniated beast,” replied Flaggan, giving the bridle a savage pull.

“You’re an Irishman, I perceive,” said the consul, smiling.

“Well, now, yer right, sur; though how ye came to persaive is more nor I can understand.”

“Where have you come from? and how in such a plight?” demanded the consul in some surprise, observing that a troop of janissaries came galloping up the winding road, near the top of which they stood.

“Sorrow wan o’ me knows where we touched at last,” replied the seaman in some perplexity; “the names goes out o’ me head like wather out of a sieve. All I’m rightly sure of is that I set sail four days ago from a port they calls Boogee, or so’thin’ like it, in company with a man called Seedy Hassan; an’ sure he’d ha bin seedy enough be now if his horse hadn’t bin a good ’un, for we wos attacked, and half his party killed and took, forby my six messmates; but—”

“Your name is Ted Flaggan?” inquired the consul hastily.

“It is,” said the seaman, in great surprise; “sure yer honour must be—”

The sentence was cut short by the arrival of the janissaries, who pulled up with looks of considerable astonishment on finding the mad fugitive engaged in quiet conversation with the British consul.

“Gentlemen,” said Colonel Langley, with much urbanity of tone and manner, “I suppose you wish to make a prisoner of this man?”

The soldiers admitted that such was their desire and intention.

“Then you will oblige me,” continued the Colonel, “by allowing me to be his jailer in the meantime. He is a British subject, of whom I can give a good account at the fitting time and place. Sidi Hassan, under whose charge he has been by my orders, will doubtless soon arrive in town, and further enlighten you on this subject.”

Without waiting for a reply the Colonel bowed, and wheeling his horse round rode quietly away, followed by the Irishman, who regarded his new jailer with a very puzzled look, while a touch of humour further tended to wrinkle his remarkably expressive countenance.

Chapter Eight.

Ted Flaggan and Rais Ali proceed on a Mission, and see Impressive Sights

Two days after the events narrated in the last chapter, Mrs Langley, being seated on her favourite couch in the court under the small banana-tree, sent Zubby into the garden to command the attendance of Ted Flaggan. That worthy was gifted with a rare capacity for taking the initiative in all things, when permitted to do so, and had instituted himself in the consul’s mansion as assistant gardener, assistant cook and hostler, assistant footman and nurseryman, as well as general advice-giver and factotum, much to the amusement of all concerned, for he knew little of anything, but was extremely good-humoured, helpful, and apart from advice-giving—modest.

“Flaggan,” said Mrs Langley, when the stout seaman appeared, hat in hand, “I want you to accompany our interpreter, Rais Ali, into town, to bring out a message from a gentleman named Sidi Omar. Ali himself has other duties to attend to, and cannot return till evening, so take particular note of the way, lest you should miss it in returning.”

“I will, ma’am,” replied Ted, with a forecastle bow, “Does Mister Ally onderstand English?”

“Oh yes,” returned Mrs Langley, with a laugh. “I forgot that he was absent when you arrived. You will find that he understands all you say to him, though I’m not quite sure that you will understand all he says to you. Like some of the other Moors here, he has been in the British navy, and has acquired a knowledge of English. You’ll find him a pleasant companion, I doubt not. Be so good as to tell him that I wish to see him before he leaves.”

Obedient to the summons, Rais Ali quickly appeared. The interpreter was a stout, tall, dignified man of about thirty-five, with a great deal of self-assertion, and a dash of humour expressed in his countenance.

“Ali,” said Mrs Langley, “you are aware that Sidi Omar is to be married to-morrow. I have been invited to the wedding, but have stupidly forgotten the hour at which I was asked to see the bride dressed. Will you go to Sidi Omar, or some of his people, and find this out? Take the sailor, Mr Flaggan, with you, and send him back with the information as soon as possible.”

“Yis, mum,” replied the interpreter; “an’ please, mum, I was want too, tree days’ leave of absins.”

“No doubt Colonel Langley will readily grant your request. Have you some particular business to transact, or do you merely desire a holiday?”

“Bof,” replied the Moor, with a mysterious smile. “I’se got finished the partikler bizziness of bein’ spliced yesterdays, an’ I wants littil holiday.”

“Indeed,” said Mrs Langley in surprise, “you have been very quiet about it.”

“Ho yis, wery quiet.”

“Where is your bride, Ali? I should like so much to see her.”

“Her’s at ’ome, safe,” said Rais Ali, touching a formidable key which was stuck in his silken girdle.

“What! have you locked her up?”

“Yis—’bleeged to do so for keep her safe.”

“Not alone, I hope?” said Mrs Langley.

“No, not ’lone. Her’s got a bootiflul cat, an’ I means buy her a little nigger boy soon.”

Having arranged that Mrs Langley was to visit his bride on her way to Sidi Omar’s wedding the following day, Rais Ali set out on his mission, accompanied by Mr Flaggan.

The Irishman soon discovered that the Moor was a conceited coxcomb and a barefaced boaster, and ere long began to suspect that he was an arrant coward. He was, however, good-humoured and chatty, and Ted, being in these respects like-minded, rather took a fancy to him, and slily encouraged his weakness.

“Ye must have seed a power o’ sarvice in the navy, now,” he said, with an air of interest; “how came you to git into it?”

“Ha! that wos cos o’ me bein’ sitch a strong, good-lookin’ feller,” replied Ali, with an air of self-satisfaction.

“Just so,” said Flaggan; “but it’s not common to hear of Moors bein’ taken aboard our men o’ war, d’ee see. It’s that as puzzles me.”

“Oh, that’s easy to ’splain,” returned Ali. “The fac’ is, I’d bin for sev’l year aboord a Maltese trader ’tween Meddrainean an’ Liverp’l, and got so like a English tar you coodn’t tell the one fro’ the oder. Spok English, too, like natif.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Ted, nodding his head gravely—“well?”

“Well, one night w’en we was all sleeperin’ in port, in a ’ouse on shore, the press-gang comes round an’ nabs the whole of us. We fight like lions. I knock seven men down, one before the tother, ’cause of bein’ very strong, an’ had learn to spar a littil. You know how to spar?”

“Well,” returned Ted, looking with a smile at his huge hands, “I can’t go for to say as I know much about the science of it, d’ee see; but I can use my fists after a fashion.”

“Good,” continued the Moor. “Well, then, we fights till all our eyes is black, an’ all our noses is red, an’ some of our teeths is out, but the sailirs wos too many for us. We wos ’bleeged to gif in, for wot kin courage do agin numbers? so we wos took aboord a friggit and ’zamined.”

“An’ what?” asked the seaman.

“’Zamined. Overhauled,” replied the Moor.

“Oh! examined, I see. Well?”

“Well, I feels sure of git hoff, bein’ a Algerine Moor, so w’en my turn comes, I says to the hofficer wot ’zamined us, says I, ‘I’s not a Breetish man!’

“‘Wot are you, then?’ says the hofficer.