The Pirate City - Robert Michael Ballantyne (grave mercy TXT) 📗

walk and rollicking in his air. At last he began to smile benignantly, and to address to himself a running commentary on things in general.

"You've got a fine time of it here all to yersilf, Mister Flaggan. Ah, it's little the Dey knows what yer after, me boy, or it's the last day ye'd have to call yer own. Well, now, it's more like a drame than anything I knows on. What wid Turks an' Moors an' Jews, an' white slaves of every lingo under the sun, I can't rightly make out to remimber which it is--Europe, Asia, Afriky, or Ameriky--that I'm livin' in! Never mind, yer all right wid that blissid cownsl at yer back, an' this purty little thing in yer pokit."

He became silent, and seemed a little perplexed at this point, looking about as if in search of something.

"Coorious; I thought it was here I left it; but I niver had a good mimory for locality. Och! the number of times I was used to miss the way to school in Ould Ireland, though I thravelled it so often and knowed it so well! Surely an' it worn't under this rock I putt it, it must have bin under a relation. Faix, an' it was. Here ye are, me hearty, come along--hoop!"

Saying this, he gave a powerful tug at something under the rock in question, and drew forth a canvas bag or wallet, which had the appearance of being well filled.

Slinging this across his shoulder, Ted Flaggan pursued his way, moralising as he went, until he came to a rugged hollow among the hills, in which was a chaos of large stones, mingled with scrubby bushes. Here he paused again, and the wrinkles of perplexity returned to his brow, as he peered hither and thither.

Presently he observed a sharp-edged rock, which, projecting upwards, touched, as it were, the sky-line behind it. Moving to the right until he brought this rock exactly in line with another prominent boulder that lay beyond it, he advanced for about fifty yards, and then, stopping, looked cautiously round among the bushes.

"It must be hereabouts," he muttered, "for the Jew was werry partikler, an' bid me be partikler likewise, seein' that the hole is well hid, an' wan is apt to come on it raither--hah!"

Suddenly poor Ted fell headlong into the very hole in question, and would infallibly have broken his neck, if he had not happened to descend on the shoulders of a man who, crouched at the bottom of the hole, had been listening intently to the sound of his approach, and who now seized his throat in a grip that was obviously not that of a child!

The British tar was not slow to return the compliment with a grasp that was still less childlike--at the same time he gasped in much anxiety--

"Howld on, ye spalpeen, it's after yersilf I've come, sure; what, _won't_ ye let go--eh?"

It was quite evident, from the tightening of the grip, that Mariano had no intention of letting go, for the good reason that, not understanding a word of what was said, he regarded the seaman as an enemy. Feeling rather than seeing this, for the hole was deep and dark, Flaggan was under the necessity of showing fight in earnest, and there is no saying what would have been the result had not Lucien suddenly appeared from the interior of a subterranean cavern with which the hole communicated.

Lucien understood English well and spoke it fluently. One or two of Flaggan's exclamations enlightened him as to the true character of their unexpected visitor.

"Hold, Mariano!" he cried; "the man is evidently a friend."

"What's that ye're saying?" cried Flaggan, looking up, for he was still busy attempting to throttle Mariano.

"I tell my brother that you are a friend," said Lucien, scarce able to restrain laughter.

"Faix, then, it don't look like it from the tratement I resaive at yer hands.--Howsoever," said the seaman, relaxing his grip and rising, while Mariano did the same, "it's well for you that I am. Bacri sent me wid a few words o' comfort to 'ee, an' some purvisions, which I raither fear we've bin tramplin' about in the dirt; but--no, here it is," he added, picking up the wallet, which had come off in the struggle, "all right, an' I make no doubt it'll be of use to 'ee. But it's a poor sort o' lodgin' ye've got here: wouldn't it be better for all parties if we was to go on deck?"

"Not so," said Lucien, with a smile, as he fell in with the seaman's humour. "'Twere better to come to our cabin; this is only the hold of our ship.--Follow me."

So saying he went down on his hands and knees and disappeared in an impenetrably dark hole, not three feet high, which opened off the hole in which they stood.

Mariano pointed to it and motioned to the sailor to follow.

"Arter you, sir," said Ted, bowing politely.

Mariano laughed and followed his brother, and Ted Flaggan, muttering something about its being the "most strornar companion hatch _he'd_ ever entered," followed suit.

A creep of two or three yards brought him into a cavern which was just high enough to admit of a man standing erect, and about eight or ten feet wide. At the farther extremity of it there was a small stone lamp, the dim light of which revealed the figure of stout Francisco Rimini sound asleep on a bundle of straw, wrapped negligently in his burnous, and with a stone for his pillow. Beside him stood an empty tin dish and a stone jar of the picturesque form peculiar to the inhabitants of the Atlas Mountains; the sword given to him by Bacri lay within reach of his half-open hand.

Neither the scuffle outside nor the entrance of the party had disturbed the old man.

"My father is worn out with a fruitless search for food!" said Lucien, sitting down on a piece of rock and motioning to the seaman to do likewise. "We can venture out in search of food only at night, and last night was so intensely dark as well as stormy that we failed to procure anything. Our water jar and platter are empty."

"Then I've just come in the nick of time," said Flaggan, proceeding to unfasten his wallet and display its much-needed contents.


CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.


SOCIAL INTERCOURSE IN THE CAVERN.

"Here you are," cried the sympathetic Irishman, enlarging on the nature of the viands, as he spread them temptingly before the hungry men; "here's food fit for a Dey, to say nothin' of a month. Here's a loaf-- ain't it?--about a fut an' a half long an' three inch thick. Coorious to look at, but a good un to eat I make no doubt--that's a foundation for 'ee--there, cut 'im up an' fire away; ye can't listen properly to me discoorse till you git yer jaws to work. This here is a pie o' some sort, I shud say, havin' regard to the shape, only that ain't the sort o' wittles a Jew would send 'ee, is it? P'raps it's wild-boar, for I've seed no end o' them critters in the market. Maybe it's lion, for they do says there's lots o' the king o' beasts in the mountains hereabouts, though I can't say I've heerd 'em roar yet. Hows'ever, wotever it is, here it is, so go ahead.--Hallo!" exclaimed Flaggan remonstratively, as he cast a glance at the sleeping man beside him, "you've begun without the ould man. Don't 'ee think it 'ud be but filial-like to wake him up an' start fair?"

"No, we'll let him sleep on," answered Lucien, as he began to eat with right good-will, in which he was ably seconded by his brother. "My father needs rest quite as much as food at present. He shall eat when he awakes."

"Well, you knows best," returned the seaman, taking out his pipe and tobacco-pouch; "it's wan comfort anyhow that the wittles can't get colder than they be now, and there's overmuch for 'ee to ait the whole consarn at one bout, so the ould man'll git his grub, though I must own it'd have liked to have seed 'im start fair.--Hand over the glim, plaise."

Lucien passed the small lantern to Flaggan, whose hard good-humoured features were for a few seconds suffused with a ruddy glow as he put the light close to it, and drew the flame vigorously into the bowl of his very black little pipe. Then, setting it down beside him, he smoked in silence and in much satisfaction, as he contemplated the hearty manner in which the young men enjoyed their meal.

When he had finished, Lucien bowed his head for a few seconds in silent thanksgiving, and Mariano paused respectfully while he did so. Then, taking a long draught from the earthenware bottle; the elder brother expressed his gratitude to the Jew for the opportune relief.

"That seems to be good stuff to judge be the way ye smacked yer lips," observed Ted, removing his pipe and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

"Try it," said Lucien, handing him the bottle with a smile.

"Got no smell," remarked the tar, as he put the bottle to his mouth--"wather!" he added contemptuously, as he put it down and resumed the pipe.

"The best of drink for man and beast," said Lucien, laughing.

"May be so," returned Flaggan shortly, "but I ain't used to it."

"Is it long since you came to this country?" asked Lucien, while he and Mariano rolled up two of those neat little cigarettes with which the denizens of Algiers at the present day are wont frequently to solace themselves.

This question called forth from the seaman the greater part of his recent history, in return for which Lucien, drawing forward the hood of his burnous, and resting his elbows on his knees, briefly related that of himself and his kindred.

"But why are _you_ staying here, since, being a British subject, you are free to go when you please?" asked Lucien.

"Bekaise," answered Flaggan, "it ain't every day that a British ship calls in at this piratical nest, and I'd raither go off in a man-o'-war if I could manage it. There's a merchantman came into port yesterday, I'm towld, an' the cownsl advised me to go away with it; but it seems the Turks have made some difficulty about her, so I'll wait. I'm in no hurry. The Flaggans, as a race, have been noted since the time of Adam--if not earlier--for takin' life aisy."

"Then the Flaggans must be nearly related to the Arabs, for they take life easier than any race I ever met with," said Lucien, laughing.

"I shud doubt that, 'cause they're lazy, and _we_ ain't.--Talkin' o' that, sir," said the seaman, as a sudden thought struck him, "I'm towld that you are learned in lingos an' histories: could ye tell me who was the first people that got howld o' this country? 'cause I'm coorious to know, having had a stiffish argiment on that pint with Rais Ali. He howlds that it was the Moors, an' I've heerd say it was the Arabs."

"You are both partly right," replied Lucien; "for the Arabs were among the first conquerors of the land, but you are wrong in supposing Moors and