The Middy and the Moors: An Algerine Story by R. M. Ballantyne (best books to read in your 20s TXT) 📖

“There’s little doubt of that, Peter,” said Osman, pausing, and looking meditatively at the ground.

“Moreober,” suggested the negro, “when a man wid a cleber head an’ a purswavis tongue like you tackles a t’ing, it’s bery strange indeed if not’ing comes ob it.”

“Well, you may be right after all,” returned the Moor slowly. “I will go and see this father. At all events it can do no harm.”

“None whateber, massa. An’ I better run back and send Ali arter you.”

“Why? What has he to do with it?”

“Oh! I only t’ought dat you was huntin’ togidder. It’s ob no consikence. But I t’ink he knows de janissary officer what has charge ob de gang, an’ if you don’t know him Ali might be useful.”

“There is wisdom in what you say.”

“Eben zough I is a ‘fool?’” asked the negro simply.

Osman laughed.

“At all events you are an honest fool, Peter, and I’m sorry I burned your back the other day. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, nebber mind dat,” returned Peter, feeling really uneasy. “De back’s all right now. Moreober I did deserb it, for I’s an awrful sinner! Wuss dan you t’ink! Now, if you keep right up as you go, an’ when you comes to de Kasba turn to de right an’ keep so till you comes to de right angle ob de sout’ wall. De fadder he work dar. I’ll send Ali arter you, quick’s I can.”

They parted, and while the Moor stalked sedately up the street, the negro hurried back to the cellar with a message to Ali to follow Osman without a moment’s delay.

Meanwhile Ali had been cleverly engaged by the ready-witted Mrs Lilly, who, after fiercely ordering the coffee-pounder to “stop her noise,” come out of the hole, and retire to the kitchen, drew forth a large leathern purse, which she wisely chinked, and, going towards the stairs, invited her master to “come to de light an’ receibe de money which she hab made by de last sale ob slippers.”

Of course the bait took—none other could have been half so successful. But Hester apparently had not courage to take advantage of the opportunity, for she did not quit the hole. Fortunately Peter arrived before the cash transaction was completed. On receiving Osman’s message Ali balanced accounts promptly by thrusting the purse and its contents into his pocket and hastening away.

Then Peter the Great and Lilly sat down, took a long grave look at each other, threw back their heads, opened their cavernous mouths, and indulged in a quiet but hearty laugh.

“Now you kin come out, dearie,” said Lilly, turning to the coffee-hole on recovering composure.

But no response came from the “vasty deep.”

“De coast’s cl’ar, my dear,” said Peter, rising.

Still no response, so Peter descended the few steps, and found Hester lying insensible on a heap of coffee-beans, and still firmly grasping the big pestle. The trial had been too much for the poor child, who had fainted, and Peter emerged with her in his arms, and an expression of solemn anxiety on his countenance.

In a few minutes, however, she revived, and then Peter, hurrying her away from a locality which he felt was no longer safe, placed her under the charge of his sister Dinah—to the inexpressible regret of Mrs Lilly and her black maid-of-all-work.

In her new home the fugitive’s circumstances were much improved. Dinah and her husband had great influence over their owner, Youssef, the proprietor of the small coffee-house already described. They not only managed most of its details for him, but were permitted a good deal of personal liberty. Among other things they had been allowed to select the top of the house as their abode.

To European ears this may sound rather strange, but those who have seen the flat roofs of Eastern lands will understand it. Youssef’s house, like nearly all the other houses of the city, had a flat roof, with a surrounding parapet nearly breast-high. Here had been placed a few wooden boxes filled with earth and planted with flowering shrubs. These formed quite a little garden, to which Youssef had been wont to retreat of an evening for meditative and, we may add, smokative purposes. But as Youssef had grown old, his eyes had nearly, and his legs had quite, failed him. Hence, being unable to climb to his roof, he had latterly given it up entirely to the use of his black slaves, Samson and Dinah White.

There was a small excrescence or hut on the roof—about ten feet by six in dimensions—which formed—their residence. Behind this, hiding itself as it were and almost invisible, nestled a smaller excrescence or offshoot. It was a mere bandbox of a thing, measuring five feet by four; it had a window about twelve inches square, and was entered by a door inside the larger hut. This was the apartment now assigned to Hester, who was quietly introduced into the household without the knowledge or consent of its blind proprietor.

There was a little bed in the small room. True, it was only a trestle frame, and a straw-stuffed mattress with a couple of blankets, but it was clean, and the whole room was neat, and the sun shone brightly in at the small window at the moment that the new occupant was introduced. Poor Hester fell on her knees, laid her head on the bed, and thanked God fervently for the blessed change. Almost in the same moment she forgot herself, and prayed still more fervently for the deliverance of her father.

The view over the housetops from the little window was absolutely magnificent, including as it did domes, minarets, mosques, palm-trees, shipping, and sea! Here, for a considerable time, Hester worked at her former occupation, for Dinah had a private plan to make a little money for her own pocket by means of embroidery.

In this pleasant retreat our fugitive was visited one day by Peter the Great, the expression of whose visage betokened business. After some conversation, he said that he had come for the express purpose of taking Hester to see her father.

“But not to talk to him,” he added quickly—“not eben to make you’self known to him, for if you did, not’ing would keep ’im quiet, an’ you an’ he would be parted for eber. Mind dat—for eber!”

“Yes, yes, I will remember,” said the poor girl, who was profoundly agitated at the mere thought of such a meeting.

“But you mus’ promise,” said Peter solemnly.

“Promise on you’ word ob honour dat you not say one word; not make a sound; not gib an unor’nary look; not try in any way to attrack his attention. Come—speak, else I go home ag’in.”

“I promise,” said Hester, in a low voice.

“An’ you won’t cry?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Come ’long, den, wid me, an’ see you’ poor fadder.”