The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale by R. M. Ballantyne (digital book reader .txt) 📖

Chapter Twenty Six. In which Rais Ali and Ted Flaggan play a Vigorous Part.

When Colonel Langley’s star descended, as has been described, his household was, of course, scattered to the winds. Those who were slaves, meekly—or otherwise—awaited their orders, which were various, according to their condition. Some of them were sent to toil at the fortifications, others to carry material into the town. Those who were free betook themselves to their kindred, and their favourite employments. A few members of the household joined the army of defence.

Among these latter was our friend Rais Ali, who, being a Moor, and having been a pirate, and still being young and strong, was deemed a fit subject to defend his hearth and home.

His hearth, by the way, was defended pretty well by the Moorish lady whom we introduced at the beginning of this volume, with the able assistance of a small negro whom Rais had purchased for a few shillings in the slave-market.

It must not be supposed that Rais Ali was a willing defender of his home. If he could have delegated that duty to others, he would have preferred it. Had it been possible for him to have retired into a distant part of the Zahara, and there dwelt at ease, while daily telegrams were forwarded to him of the progress of events, he would have considered himself supremely happy; but such was not his fortune, and, being of a philosophical turn of mind, he wisely succumbed to the inevitable.

It was so fated that Rais Ali was ordered to serve as a gunner at the Fish Market battery, just in front of the mosque Djama Djedid. Bravely did our interpreter proceed daily to his duties, and intensely did he hope that there might never be any occasion for his services.

But whatever fate might decree for him, Rais Ali had a peculiar knack of decreeing a few things for himself which neither fate nor anything else appeared to be able to deprive him of. One of these decrees was that, come what might, he should have his morning cup of coffee; another, that he should have a daily shave; a third, that he should have a bath at least once a week.

As one of the occasions on which he fulfilled his destiny and carried out his own fatal decrees bears on our tale, we will follow him.

Having begun the day, at a very early hour, with his cup of coffee, he proceeded in a leisurely way to a certain street in the town where was kept a Turkish bath. This was not an Anglified Turkish bath, good reader, but a real one; not an imitation, but the actual thing itself fresh from Turkey, managed by Turks, or Moors who were at least half Turks, and conducted in accordance with the strictest rules of Turkish etiquette.

Approaching the door of the bath, he observed a tall dignified and very powerful Arab sauntering in front of it.

Rais Ali seemed troubled by the sight of him, paused, advanced, halted, and again advanced, until the tall Arab, catching sight of him, stalked forward with solemn dignity and held out his hand.

“What for yoo comes here?” demanded Rais rather testily.

The tall Moor slowly bent his hooded head and whispered in his ear—“Faix, it’s more than I rightly know mesilf.”

“Yoo’s mad,” said Rais, drawing the tall Arab into the porch of the bath, where they could avoid the observation of passers-by. “Did not I tell yoo for to keep close?”

“So ye did, Rais Ally,” said Ted Flaggan, for it was he, “and it’s close I kep’ as long as I cu’d, which was aisy enough, seeing that ye brought me purvisions so riglar—like a good feller as ye are; but body o’ me, man, I cudn’t live in a cave all me lone for iver, an’ I got tired o’ lookin’ out for that British fleet that niver comes, so I says to mesilf wan fine evenin’, ‘Go out, Ted me boy, an’ have a swim in the say—it’ll do ’ee good, and there’s not much chance of any wan troublin’ ye here.’ No sooner said than done. Out I wint round beyont the Pint Pescade, an’ off wid me close an’ into the say. Och! but it was plisint! Well, just as I was coming out, who should I see on the rocks above me but a big thief of an Arab? I knew at wance that if I was to putt on close he’d guess, maybe, who I was, so I came out o’ the wather an’ ran straight at him naked—meanin’ to frighten him away like. An’ sure enough he tuk to his heels like a Munster pig. I don’t know how it is, but I have always had a strong turn for huntin’. From the time whin I was a small gosoon runnin’ after the pigs an’ cats, I’ve bin apt to give chase to anything that runned away from me, an’ to forgit myself. So it was now. After the Arab I wint, neck an crop, an’ away he wint like the wind, flingin’ off his burnous as he ran; but I was light, bein’ naked, d’ye see, an’ soon overhauled him. For a starn-chase it was the shortest I remember. When I came up wid him I made a grab at his head, an his hake—is that what ye calls it?—comed away in me hand, leaving his shaved head open to view, wid the tuft o’ hair on the top of it.

“I laughed to that extint at this that he got away from me, so I gave him a finishin’ Irish howl, by way o’ making him kape the pace goin’, an’ thin stopped and putt on the hake. By and by I comes to where the burnous was, and putts it on too, an faix, ye couldn’t have towld me from an Arab, for the bare legs an’ feet and arms was all right, only just a taste over light in colour, d’ee see? Thinks I to mesilf, Ted, me boy, ye cudn’t do better than remain as ye are. Wid a little brown dirt on yer face an’ limbs, yer own mother wouldn’t know ye. An’ troth, Rais, I did it; an’ whin I lucked at mesilf in a smooth pool on the baich, it was for all the world as if somebody else was luckin’ at me. To be short wid ye, I’ve bin wanderin’ about the country for the last three or four days quite free an’ aisy.”

“Nobody see yoo?” asked Rais in great surprise.

“Och! lots o’ people, but few of ’em tuk a fancy to spake to me, an’ whin they did I shuck me head, an’ touched me lips, so they thought I was dumb.”

“But why you comes to town?” asked Rais Ali, in a remonstrative tone.

“Just bekaise I’m hungry,” replied the seaman, with a smile. “Ye see, Ally Babby, the gale of day before yesterday sint a breaker into the cave that washed away all the purvisions ye brought me last, so it was aither come here and look for ’ee or starve—for the British fleet has apparently changed its mind, and ain’t goin’ to come here after all. I meant to go d’rec’ to yer house, but knowin’ yer fondness for baths, and rememberin’ that this was yer day, I thought it betther to cruise about here till you hove in sight.”

While Ted Flaggan was relating all this, his friend’s countenance expressed alternately doubt, disapproval, anxiety, amusement, and perplexity.

When he had finished, Rais informed him that instead of the fleet having changed its mind, there was great probability of its sudden appearance at any moment. He also mentioned the arrest of the British consul and the boat’s crew of the “Prometheus,” and explained that the most energetic measures were being taken to place the city in a state of defence.

“Oho!” exclaimed Flaggan, in a low tone, “that clears up wan or two things that’s been puzzlin’ me. I’ve bin thinkin’ that the ship I saw lave the port was British, but the weather bein’ thick I cudn’t quite make out her colours. Then, I’ve been sore perplexed to account for the flocks of armed Arabs that have bin steerin’ into the town of late, an’ whin I passed the gates this mornin’ I was troubled too, to make out what was all the bustle about. It’s all clare as ditch-wather now.—But what’s to be done with me, Rais? for if the cownsl an’ the British gin’rally are in limbo, it’s a bad look-out for Ted Flaggan, seein’ that I’m on the black list already.”

Rais Ali appeared to ponder the case for a few seconds.

“Come an’ have one bath,” he said, with sudden animation; “after that we go brikfast togidder.”

“Av we cud ‘brikfust’ fust, Ally Babby, it would be plisinter,” returned the hungry seaman; “but, I say, I dursn’t go into the bath, ’cause what would they think of a man wid dark-brown arms, legs, an’ face, an’ a pink body? Sure, they’d take me for a spy or a madman, an’ hand me over to the p’leece!”

“Wash here, fust,” said Rais, leading his friend to a small fountain in a retired angle of the court. “Ebbery body here too bizzy ’joyin’ theirselfs to look to yoo. An’ des corner dark. Me stan’ ’tween you an’ dem.”

“But who ever heard of a white Moor?” objected Ted.

“Oh, lots of ’em—’alf-castes, almost white as you,” said Rais.

“But I ain’t got a shaved skull with a top knot,” returned the seaman, still objecting.

“Nebber mind; sailors of France, Denmark, an’ odder places what hav consuls here, when waitin’ for ship carry dem home comes here for fun—”

“Ay, but they don’t come disguised as Moors,” said Flaggan, “and I niver was inside a Turkish bath before. Don’t know more nor a child what to do.”

“Yoo don’ go in bath dressed—go naked,” returned Rais, growing impatient. “Do noting in bath, only let ’em do what dey pleases to yoo.”

“Very good, plaze yersilf, Ally Babby,” said Ted, resignedly plunging his arms into the cistern; “only remimber, I give ye fair warnin’, av the spalpeens attempts to take me prisoner, I’ll let fly into their breadbaskets right an’ left, an’ clear out into the street, naked or clothed, no matter which,—for I’ve said it wance, an’ I means to stick to it, they’ll niver take Ted Flaggan alive.”

“All right,” returned Rais Ali, “yoo wash yours faces an’ holds your tongue.”

After removing as much as possible of the brown earth from his visage and limbs, the seaman drew the hood of his burnous well over his face, and—having assiduously studied the gait of Moors—strode with Oriental dignity into the outer court, or apartment, of the bath, followed his friend into an unoccupied corner and proceeded to undress.

“Musha! it’s like a house-full of Turkish corpses,” whispered Ted as he surveyed the recumbent figures in white around him.

There were some differences between this genuine Turkish bath and our British imitation of it which merit notice.

The court or hall in which the friends unrobed served the purpose of a drying-chamber as well as a dressing-room. Hence those bathers who entered to commence the operation of undressing had to pass between rows of the men who had gone through the bath, and were being gradually cooled down. They were all swathed from head to foot in white sheets, with large towels or pieces of linen tied turban-fashion round their heads, and as they lay perfectly straight and still, their resemblance to Turkish corpses was disagreeably strong. This idea was still further carried out in consequence of the abominable smell which pervaded the place, for Algerines were at that time utterly indifferent to cleanliness in their baths. Indeed, we may add, from personal experience,