The Middy and the Moors Part 10

"`Neber mind de yells, Angelica,' says I, `it's only my leetle ways.

But tell me why you allers refuse me before an' accep' me _now_. Is it--de--de fortin?' Oh, you should have seen her pout w'en I ax dat.

Her mout' came out about two inch from her face. I could hab kissed it--but for de broken ribs.

"`No, Peter, for shame!' says she, wid rijeous indignation. `De fortin hab nuffin to do wid it, but your own n.o.ble self-scarifyin' bravery in presentin' your buzzum to de Dey ob Algiers.'

"`T'ank you, Angelica,' says I. `Das all comfrably settled. You's a good gall, kiss me now, an' go away.'

"So she gib me a kiss an' I turn round an' went sweetly to sleep on de back ob dat--for I was awrful tired, an' de ribs was creakin' badly."

"Did you marry Angelica?" asked our middy, with sympathetic interest.

"Marry her! ob course I did. Two year ago. Don' you know it's her as cooks all our wittles?"

"How could I know, Peter, for you never call her anything but `cook?'

But I'm glad you have told me, for I'll regard her now with increased respect from this day forth."

"Das right, Geo'ge. You can't pay 'er too much respec'. Now we'll go an' look at de works."

The part of the wall which the slaves were repairing was built of great blocks of artificial stone or concrete, which were previously cast in wooden moulds, left to harden, and then put into their a.s.signed places by slave-labour. As Foster was watching the conveyance of these blocks, it suddenly occurred to him that Hester Sommers's father might be amongst them, and he scanned every face keenly as the slaves pa.s.sed to and fro, but saw no one who answered to the description given him by the daughter.

From this scrutiny he was suddenly turned by a sharp cry drawn from one of a group who were slowly carrying a heavy stone to its place. The cry was drawn forth by the infliction of a cruel lash on the shoulders of a slave. He was a thin delicate youth with evidences of fatal consumption upon him. He had become faint from over-exertion, and one of the drivers had applied the whip by way of stimulus. The effect on the poor youth was to cause him to stumble, and instead of making him lift better, made him rest his weight on the stone, thus overbalancing it, and bringing it down. In falling the block caught the ankle of the youth, who fell with a piercing shriek to the ground, where he lay in a state of insensibility.

At this a tall bearded man, with heavy fetters on his strong limbs, sprang to the young man's side, went down on his knees, and seized his hand.

"Oh! Henri, my son," he cried, in French; but before he could say more a whip touched his back with a report like a pistol-shot, and the torn cotton shirt that he wore was instantly crimsoned with his blood!

The man rose, and, making no more account of his fetters than if they had been straws, sprang like a tiger at the throat of his driver. He caught it, and the eyes and tongue of the cruel monster were protruding from his head before the enraged Frenchman could be torn away by four powerful janissaries. As it was, they had to bind him hand and foot ere they were able to carry him off--to torture, and probably to death. At the same time the poor, helpless form of Henri was borne from the place by two of his fellow-slaves.

Of course a scene like this could not be witnessed unmoved by our midshipman. Indeed he would infallibly have rushed to the rescue of the bearded Frenchman if Peter's powerful grip on his shoulder had not restrained him.

"Don't be a fool, Geo'ge," he whispered. "Remember, we _must_ submit!"

Fortunately for George, the guards around were too much interested in watching the struggle to observe his state of mind, and it is doubtful whether he would have been held back even by the negro if his attention had not at the moment been attracted by a tall man who came on the scene just then with another gang of slaves.

One glance sufficed to tell who the tall man was. Hester Sommers's portrait had been a true one--tall, handsome, strong; and even in the haggard, worn, and profoundly sad face, there shone a little of the "sweetness" which his daughter had emphasised. There were also the large grey eyes, the Roman nose, the iron-grey hair, moustache, and beard, and the large mouth, although the "smile" had fled from the face and the "lovingness" from the eyes. Foster was so sure of the man that, as he drew near to the place where he stood, he stepped forward and whispered "Sommers."

The man started and turned pale as he looked keenly at our hero's face.

"No time to explain," said the middy quickly. "Hester is well and _safe_! See you again! Hope on!"

"What are you saying there?" thundered one of the drivers in Arabic.

"What you say to dat feller? you raskil! you white slabe! Come 'long home!" cried Peter the Great, seizing Foster by the collar and dragging him forcibly away, at the same time administering several kicks so violent that his entire frame seemed to be dislocated, while the janissaries burst into a laugh at the big negro's seeming fury.

"Oh! Geo'ge, Geo'ge," continued Peter, as he dragged the middy along, shaking him from time to time, "you'll be de deaf ob me, an' ob yourself too, if you don't larn to _submit_. An' see, too, what a hyperkrite you make me! I's 'bliged to kick hard, or dey wouldn't b'lieve me in arnist."

"Well, well, Peter," returned our hero, who at once understood his friend's ruse to disarm suspicion, and get him away safely, "you need not call yourself a hypocrite this time, at all events, for your kicks and shakings have been uncommonly real--much too real for comfort."

"Didn't I say I was _'bleeged_ to do it?" retorted Peter, with a pout that might have emulated that of his wife on the occasion of their engagement. "D'you s'pose dem raskils don' know a real kick from a sham one? I was marciful too, for if I'd kicked as I _could_, dere wouldn't be a whole bone in your carca.s.s at dis momint! You's got to larn to be grateful, Geo'ge. Come along."

Conversing thus pleasantly, the white slave and the black left the Kasba together and descended into the town.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE MIDDY OBTAINS A DECIDED ADVANCE, AND MAKES PETER THE GREAT HIS CONFIDANT.

Many months pa.s.sed, after the events narrated in the last chapter, before George Foster had the good-fortune to meet again with Hugh Sommers, and several weeks elapsed before he had the chance of another interview with the daughter.

Indeed, he was beginning to despair of ever again seeing either the one or the other, and it required the utmost energy and the most original suggestions of a hopeful nature on the part of his faithful friend to prevent his giving way altogether, and having, as Peter expressed it, "anoder fit ob de blues."

At last fortune favoured him. He was busy in the garden one day planting flowers, when Peter came to him and said--

"I's got news for you to-day, Geo'ge."

"Indeed," said the middy, with a weary sigh; "what may your news be?"

"You 'member dat pictur' ob de coffee-house in de town what you doo'd?"

"Yes, now you mention it, I do, though I had almost forgotten it."

"Ah! but I not forgit 'im! Well, yesterday I tuk it to ma.s.sa, an' he bery much pleased. He say, bring you up to de house, an' he gib you some work to do."

"I wish," returned Foster, "that he'd ask me to make a portrait of little Hester Sommers."

"You forgit, Geo'ge, de Moors neber git deir portraits doo'd. Dey 'fraid ob de evil eye."

"Well, when are we to go up?"

"Now--I jist come for you."

Throwing down his garden tools, Foster followed the negro to the house, and was ushered into a small chamber, the light of which was rendered soft and mellow, by the stained gla.s.s windows through which it pa.s.sed.

These windows were exceedingly small--not more than a foot high by eight inches broad--and they were placed in the walls at a height of nine feet or more from the ground. The walls of the room were decorated with richly-coloured tiles, and the floor was of white marble, but the part that attracted our hero most was the ceiling, which was arched, according to Moorish form, and enriched with elaborate designs in stucco--if not in white marble, the difference being difficult to distinguish. On the marble floor lay several shawls, richly embroidered in coloured silk and gold, a pair of small scarlet slippers, covered with gold thread, a thin veil, and several cushions of different sizes.

On one of these last reposed a little tame gazelle, whose bright eyes greeted the two slaves with an inquiring look as they entered.

From all these things Foster judged that this was one of the women's apartments, and wondered much that he had been admitted into such a jealously-guarded sanctuary, but relieved his mind by setting it down to that eccentricity for which Ben-Ahmed was noted.

He had just arrived at this conclusion when a door opened, and Ben-Ahmed himself entered with the sketch of the coffee-house in his hand.

"Tell him," said the Moor to Peter, "that I am much pleased with this drawing, and wish him to make one, a little larger in size, of this room. Let him put into it everything that he sees. He will find paper in that portfolio, and all else that he requires on this ottoman. Let him take time, and do it well. He need not work in the garden while thus employed."

Pointing to the various things to which he referred, the Moor turned and left the apartment.

"Now, Geo'ge, what you t'ink ob all dat?" asked Peter, with a broad grin, when he had translated the Moor's orders.

"Really I don't know what to think of it. Undoubtedly it is a step upwards, as compared with working in the garden; but then, don't you see, Peter, it will give me much less of your company, which will be a tremendous drawback?"

"Das well said. You's kite right. I hab notice from de fus' dat you hab a well-const.i.tooted mind, an' appruciates de value ob friendship. I lub your smood face, Geo'ge!"