introduces the reader to the pirate city, and to a few of its peculiarities and practices.
permit us now, good reader, to introduce you to the top of a house in algiers. the roofs of the houses in the pirate city are flat—a most admirable eastern peculiarity which cannot be too strongly recommended to western builders. they are, therefore, available as pleasant “terraces,” on which you may rise above your cares, to lounge, and smoke—if afflicted with the latter mania—and sip coffee with your wife, (wives, if you be a turk), or romp with your children—if not too dignified—or cultivate flowers, or read in a state of elevated serenity, or admire the magnificent view of the blue bay, backed by the bluer jurjura mountains, with the snow-topped range of the lesser atlas beyond. how much wiser thus to utilise one’s house-top than to yield it up, rent-free, to cats and sparrows!
achmet pasha, the dey of algiers at this time, or rather the pirate-king, had a thorough appreciation of the roof of his palace, and spent many hours daily on it, in consultation with his ministers, or in converse with his wives.
as deys went, achmet was a comparatively respectable man. he thought no more of cutting off a human head than of docking a rat’s tail; but then he did not take a particular pleasure in this employment, and was not naturally cruel, which is more than could be said of many of his predecessors. he was also said to be a kind husband and a fond father, but as no one, save the wives and children in question, knew anything of the inner and private life of the palace, this must for ever remain a matter of uncertainty. there was no doubt, however, that he was a tall, handsome, dignified man, in the prime of life, with a stern eye and a pleasant expression of mouth; that, in character, he was bold and resolute; and that, in his jewelled turban, gold-incrusted vestments, and flowing eastern robes, he looked resplendent.
courage and resolution were, indeed, qualities without which a dey of algiers could scarcely come into existence, because his high position, not being hereditary, was naturally the ambitious goal of all the bold spirits in the turkish army of janissaries which held the city with its mixed arab population in subjection. the most common mode of a change of government was the strangulation of the reigning dey by the man who had power and party influence sufficient to enable him to ascend the vacant throne. sometimes the throne thus obtained was held for only a few days, or even hours, when it chanced that there were several factions of pretty equal power, and two or three men of similar vigour in the army. it is a fact that on more than one occasion three deys have ascended and sat upon this undesirable throne within twenty-four hours, each having been strangled or having had his head cut off by “the opposition” soon after occupying his predecessor’s warm seat!
achmet, however, had reigned for a considerable period in peace, and was on the whole a popular ruler.
at the time when we introduce him he was pacing the terrace, or roof of the palace, with slow dignified steps, but with a troubled expression of countenance. his chief adviser, sidi omar, the minister of marine, and one of the most unscrupulous and cunning men in the nest, walked beside him. they were attended and followed by a young but nearly full-grown lion. it was a common thing for the deys and his chief officers to keep lion-pups as pets, but as a rule these were chained up on becoming too large to be safe playthings. achmet, however, being of a bold, reckless nature, seemed to enjoy the occasional symptoms of alarm betrayed by his attendants at sight of his overgrown pup, and kept it by him until, as we have said, it was nearly full-grown. he appeared to have no idea of personal danger. possibly he did not believe the huge playful brute to be capable of mischief. perhaps he felt confident in the keen edge of his damascene scimitar, and in the power of his arm to lop off even leonine heads. whatever may have been the truth on this point, his ease and indifference were evidently not shared by sidi omar.
that sly individual was a strong-bodied, middle-aged turk of commanding presence but sinister countenance, which latter was damaged by the loss of an eye and a sabre-cut across the nose.
“i have been asked,” said omar, continuing a conversation which had already lasted some time, “to beg that your highness will grant an audience to the spanish consul; he claims as countrywomen the two ladies who have been just brought in by sidi hassan, but i advise that you should refuse him.”
“why so?” asked achmet.
“because, although there is, i believe, some ground for his claim, the investigation of the question will only occasion useless trouble, as he is unable to prove his case.”
“nay, then, your last reason seems to me in favour of granting an audience,” returned the dey, “for if his plea be insufficient i shall thus appear to be desirous of furthering justice without suffering loss. it is always wise to act with urbanity when it costs one nothing.”
achmet smiled, and a gleam of mischievous fun twinkled in his eyes as he observed his minister cast a furtive glance, suggestive of anything but urbanity, at the lion, which had playfully brushed its tail against his leg in passing.
“your highness’s judgment is always just,” returned sidi omar; “and were we desirous of maintaining peace with spain at present, it would be right to propitiate their consul; but, as you are aware, the treaties which we have recently formed with various nations are not to our advantage. the peace recently forced upon us by america has stopped suddenly the annual flow of a very considerable amount of tribute, (see note 1), and the constant efforts made by that nation of ill-favoured dogs, the british, to bring about peace between us and portugal will, i fear, soon dry up another source of revenue, if things go on as they have been doing of late, it is plain to me that we shall soon be at peace with all the world, and be under the necessity of turning our hands to farming or some such work for a livelihood!”
“fear not, sidi omar,” replied the dey, with a short laugh, “this fair and ancient city has lived too long by war to be capable of condescending now to arts of peace. we shall have no difficulty in picking a quarrel with any nation that seems most desirable when our coffers begin to grow empty—in regard to which, let us be thankful, they show no signs at present. but have a care, omar, how you speak disrespectfully of the british. they are apt, like their representative at your heels, to spring when you least expect it, and they have powerful claws and teeth. besides, they are my very good friends, and some of their statesmen have a great regard for me. being at war, as you know, with some of the most powerful european nations just now, they know that i do them good service in the mediterranean by rendering trade difficult and hazardous to all except those with whom i am at peace. spain being on friendly terms with us at present, i will receive the spanish consul. go, let him know my pleasure, and see that thou hast my scrivano instilled with all requisite information to refute him.”
sidi omar bowed low, and retired without venturing a reply. at the same time a man of curious aspect stepped from the doorway which conducted from the terrace to the lower parts of the house. his eastern costume was almost equal to that of the dey in magnificence, but there was a tinselly look about the embroidery, and a glassy sheen in the jewels, which, added to the humorous and undignified cast of his countenance, bespoke him one of low degree. he was the dey’s story-teller, and filled much the same office at the palace that was held by court jesters in the olden time. the presence of some such individual in achmet’s court, even in the first quarter of the present century, was rendered necessary by the fact that the dey himself had risen from the ranks, and was an illiterate man.
advancing towards his master with a freedom that no other domestic of the palace would have dared to assume, he, with affected solemnity, demanded an audience.
“i cannot refuse it, hadji baba, seeing that thou dost swagger into my presence unbidden,” said achmet, with a smile, as he sat down in the usual oriental fashion—cross-legged on a low couch—and patted the head of the noble animal which he had chosen as his companion, and which appeared to regard him with the affection of a dog—
“what may be your news?”
“i have no news,” replied baba, with humility. “news cannot be conveyed to one who knows all things, by one who is a dog and knows nothing.”
“thou knowest at all events how to look well after that which concerns thyself,” replied the dey. “what hast thou to say to me?”
“that the man with the proboscis, who struts when he walks, and snivels when he speaks, desires a favour of your highness.”
“speak not in riddles,” returned the dey sharply. “i have no time to waste with thee to-day. say thy say and be gone.”
hadji baba, who was indeed thoroughly alive to his own interest, was much too prudent to thwart the humour of his master. briefly, though without changing his tone or manner, he informed him that the spanish consul awaited his pleasure below.
“let him wait,” said the dey, resuming the pipe which for some minutes he had laid aside, and caressing the lion’s head with the other hand.
“may i venture to say that he seems anxious?” added the story-teller.
“how much did he give thee for thus venturing to interrupt me, at the risk of thy head?” demanded the dey sternly.
“truly,” replied the jester, with a rueful air, “not much more than would buy gold thread to sew my head on again, were your highness pleased to honour me by cutting it off.”
“be gone, caitiff,” said the dey, with a slight smile.
baba vanished without further reply.
meanwhile sidi omar left the palace and directed his steps to his own quarters, which stood on the little fortified island in front of algiers. this islet, having been connected with the mainland by a pier or neck of masonry about a hundred yards long, formed the insignificant harbour which gave shelter to the navy of small craft owned by the pirates. at the present day the french have constructed there a magnificent harbour, of which that now referred to is a mere corner in the vicinity of the old light-house. although small, the port was well fortified, and as the minister of marine descended towards it, his eye glanced with approval over the double and treble tiers of guns which frowned from its seaward battlements. in passing over the connecting pier, sidi omar paused to observe a gang of slaves at work repairing some of the buildings which covered the pier stretching from the mainland to the island.
although slaves, they were not of the black colour or thick-lipped, flat-nosed aspect which we are apt to associate with the name of slave. they were, indeed, burnt to the deepest brown, and many of them also blistered, by the sun, but they were all “white men,” and contemptuously styled, by their mohammedan task-masters, christians. the pier on which they wrought had been constructed long before by thirty thousand such slaves; and the algerine pirates, for above three centuries previous to that, had expended the lives of hundreds of thousands of them in the building of their fortifications and other public works; in the cultivation of their fields and gardens, and in the labours of their domestic drudgery.
some of the slaves thus observed by the minister of marine had been sailors and merchants and mechanics, military and naval officers, clerks, scholars, and other gentlefolks from italy, portugal, america, and all the lands which chanced to be “at war” with his highness the dey. formerly there had been hosts of english, french, spanish, etcetera, but their governments having bowed their heads, opened their purses, and sent consuls to the piratical city, they were now graciously exempted from thraldom. it was hardish work for men accustomed to cooler climates to be obliged, in the sunshine of an african summer, to harness themselves to carts like oxen, and lift huge stones and hods of mortar with little more than a ragged shirt and trousers to cover them from the furnace-heat of day or the dews of night. men who carry umbrellas and wear puggeries now-a-days on the boulevard de la république of algiers have but a faint conception of what some of their forefathers endured down at the “marina” not much more than fifty years ago, and of what they themselves could endure, perhaps, if fairly tried! it must not be supposed, however, that all the slaves stood the trial equally well. some were old, others were young; some were feeble, others strong; all were more or less worn—some terribly so.
yonder old man carrying the block of stone which might tax the energies of a stout youth, and to whom a taskmaster has just administered a cut with the driving-whip, looks like one who has seen better days. even in his ragged shirt, broken-brimmed straw hat, and naked feet, he looks like a gentleman. so he is; and there is a gentle lady and a stout son, and two sweet daughters, in naples, who are toiling almost as hard as he does—if hours be allowed to count for pains—in order to make up his ransom. the strong bull-necked man that follows him with a hod of mortar is an unmistakable seaman of one of the mediterranean ports. he is a desperate character, and in other lands might be dangerous; but he is safe enough here, for the bastinado is a terrible instrument of torture, and the man is now not only desperate in wrath, but is sometimes desperately frightened. his driver takes a fiendish pleasure in giving him an extra cut of the whip, just to make him apparently a willing horse, whether he will or not. the poor youth beside him is a very different character. his training has been more gentle, and his constitution less robust, for he has broken down under the cruel toil, and is evidently in the last stages of consumption. the taskmaster does not now interfere with him as he was wont to do when he first arrived. he knows that the day is not far distant when neither the bastinado nor any other species of torture will have power to force work out of him. he also knows that overdriving will only shorten the days of his usefulness; he therefore wisely lets him stagger by unmolested, with his light load.
but why go on enumerating the sorrows of these slaves? sidi omar looked at them with a careless glance, until he suddenly caught sight of something that caused his eyes to flash and his brows to contract. a sbirro, or officer of justice, stood near him, whether by chance or otherwise we know not. touching the sbirro on the shoulder, he pointed to a group under the shade of an archway, and said in a low tone—
“go, fetch hither that scoundrel blindi.”
the sbirro at once stepped towards the group, which consisted of two persons. one was an old, apparently dying, slave; the other was a strong middle-aged man, in a quaint blue gown, who knelt by his side, and poured something from a flask into his mouth.
the sbirro seized this man rudely by the neck, and said—
“get up, blindi, and come along with me.” laying the head of the old man gently on the ground, and rising with some wrath, blindi demanded, in english so broken that we find difficulty in mending it sufficiently to be presented to the reader—
“wot for you means by dat?”
“speak your mother tongue, you dog, and make haste, for the minister of marine wants you.”
“oh! mos’ awfrul,” exclaimed blindi, turning pale, and drawing his blue garment hastily round him, as he meekly followed the officer of justice—whose chief office, by the way, was to administer injustice.
the man whom we have styled blindi was a somewhat peculiar character. he was an algerine by birth, but had served several years in the british navy, and had acquired a smattering of the english language—forecastle english, as a matter of course. in consequence of this, and of having lost an eye in the service, he had obtained a pension, and the appointment of interpreter to all his britannic majesty’s ships visiting algiers. he dwelt at the harbour, or marina, where he excited the wonder and admiration of all the turks and moors by his volubility in talking english. he was a man of no small importance, in his own estimation, and was so proud of his powers as a linguist that he invariably interlarded his converse with english phrases, whether he was addressing turk, jew, or christian. lingua franca—a compound of nearly all the languages spoken on the shores of the mediterranean—was the tongue most in use at the marina of algiers at that time, but as this would be unintelligible to our reader, we will give blindi’s conversations in his favourite language. what his real name was we have failed to discover. the loss of his eye had obtained for him in the navy the name of blind bob. in his native city this was italianised into blindi bobi. but bobi was by no means blind of the other eye. it was like seven binocular glasses rolled into one telescope. once he had unfortunately brought it to bear on the minister of marine with such a concentrated stare that he, being also blind of an eye, regarded it as a personal allusion thereto, and never forgave blindi bobi.
“this is the second time,” said omar, when the culprit was brought before him, “that i have caught you interfering with the slaves.”
“please, sar, hims was werry bad—dyin’, me s’pose.”
“speak your own tongue, dog, else you shall smart for it,” said the minister of marine, with increasing wrath.
the poor interpreter to his britannic majesty’s navy repeated his words in the lingua franca, but omar, again interrupting him, ordered the sbirro to take him off and give him the bastinado.
“and have a care, blindi,” added omar, observing that the interpreter was about to speak; “if you say that you are under the protection of the british consul i’ll have you flayed alive.—off with him!”
the sbirro, with a comrade, led bobi through several of the narrow streets of the town to a chamber which was set apart for the infliction of punishment. it was a dark, vaulted apartment under a public building. the massive pillars of stone which supported its roof looked pale and ghostlike against the thick darkness which was beyond them, giving the idea of interminable space. one of the sbirros lighted a lantern, and led the way through a massive door, all studded with huge nails, into a small square chamber, the walls of which looked as if they had been bespattered with a dark-brown liquid, especially in the neighbourhood of several iron rings, from which chains depended. in addition to these and a number of other characteristic implements, there was a pile of blood-stained rods in a corner.
saying a few words to a powerful negro whom they found in attendance, the sbirros handed blindi bobi over to him. he instantly disrobed him of his blue gown, and threw him on his back with the aid of an equally powerful assistant, and began to uncover his stomach.
the interpreter was no coward. he had prepared himself to endure manfully the bastinado on the soles of his feet—as it was usually administered—but when he perceived that they were about to inflict the blows on a more tender part of his body, he trembled and remonstrated.
“sidi omar no’ say you hit ’im dare. hims ’peal to british consil—”
thus far he spoke, from the force of habit, in his adopted tongue, but fear speedily drove him to that of his mother.
all tongues, however, were alike to the negroes, who, rendered callous from long service against their will in a brutalising office, went about their preparations with calm and slow indifference.
just as they were about to begin, one of the sbirros, who had a personal regard for bobi, spoke a few words to one of the negroes, who immediately turned blindi bobi on his face and firmly raised his feet so that the naked soles were turned upwards. the other negro applied one of the rods thereto with all his might. for a few seconds the poor sufferer uttered no sound, but at last he gave vent to an irresistible yell. at a sign from the chief sbirro the punishment was stopped, and bobi was released and allowed to rise.
conducting him to the door, the sbirro thrust him into the street, flung his blue gown after him, and advised him to beware of again rousing the wrath of sidi omar.
blindi bobi was far too well acquainted with the cruelties perpetrated continually in the pirate city to be ignorant of the fact that he had got off with a light punishment, yet we fear that did not cause him to entertain much gratitude to sidi omar as he limped back to his quarters at the marina.
arrived there, he observed that the sick old man still lay where he had left him. running towards him with a sudden impulse, he drew forth his flask, knelt down, raised the old man’s head and gave him a long hearty draught, after which he took another to himself.
“derre!” he said, rising and shaking his fist defiantly in the direction in which sidi omar dwelt, “i’s revenged on you—brute! bah! boo-o!”
after this relief to his feelings blindi bobi went home to attend to his poor feet.
note 1. in 1795 the americans concluded peace with the algerians by the payment of half a million piastres, and an annual tribute of 24,000 piastres.
