the last.
in a dimly-lighted cell of a massive stone building not far from the palace of the dey, sat colonel langley, francisco rimini and his two sons, bacri the jew, and the officers and men belonging to the prometheus—all heavily ironed. the padre giovanni was also there, but not, like the others, a prisoner.
he was attending to his self-imposed duty of comforting the sick and dying. among the other prisoners was an italian slave, a nobleman, who had broken down on the ramparts and rebelled, and was sent to prison as being the most convenient hospital where he might be kept until the pirates should find leisure to flog him into submission or to death. but death had a mind to do the work according to his own pleasure. the slave felt himself to be sinking, and, through the influence of bacri with the jailer, he had been permitted to send for giovanni. other slaves were there too, doomed to punishment, or, in other words, to various degrees of torture. they lay or cowered around the cell awaiting the issue of the fight.
it was a terrible sight to see the varied expressions of anxiety, fear, or dogged resolution depicted in the faces of these men. some of them knew well that death, accompanied by excruciating torture, was certain to be their portion when the bombardment should be over. others hoped that a severe bastinado might be the worst of it. none expected anything more—even though the british should win the day—than that there would be some modification in treaties which would not extend to the slaves of foreign nations.
they all—with the exception of the padre—maintained an almost unbroken silence during the bombardment; but their restless motions and glances showed how busy their thoughts were, and a grim smile would ever and anon curl the lips of some when a chance shot struck the building and shook it to its foundation. and oh! how anxiously one or two desperate spirits hoped that a shell would enter it, and scatter sudden death among them all!
it was solemn, and strange, too, in the midst of the interminable thunder, to hear the gentle voice of the man of god quoting from the peace-speaking word, as he knelt beside the dying man and dwelling more especially on passages in which the loving jesus seeks to cheer his people with prospects of rest and peace, such as— “peace be unto you;” “let not your hearts be troubled, ye believe in god, believe also in me;” “come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest.” even the hardened among the wretched and demoralised sufferers there could not choose but hear and note the powerful contrast between the gentle voice of almighty god that thus murmured within the prison, and the crashing voice of puny man that roared outside!
in the darkness of that night bacri crept to the side of mariano, and whispered hastily—
“i may not get another opportunity to speak to thee. just before i came hither angela and her sister were taken from my care by force. they are now in the palace, under the care of zara. omar intends to keep them.”
mariano turned to reply, but the jew had retired noiselessly as he came.
early in the morning after the fight the prison-door opened, and a band of turkish soldiers entered. the garish light of day, as it streamed over the dungeon floor, revealed the fact that the shattered frame of the italian slave had found rest at last.
the soldiers looked fagged and dishevelled. many of them wore bandages about their heads and limbs. they did not speak, but drew up in a line, while their leader advanced with a negro, who proceeded to file the fetters from off the british consul and his countrymen. in a few minutes he led them out between the soldiers, and conducted them towards the palace.
although the turkish officer could not, or would not, converse with colonel langley, the latter had little difficulty in making a pretty good guess as to how matters stood, for on his way to the palace, short though it was, he saw devastation enough to convince him that the british had gained the day. arrived at the palace, the party were locked up in an anteroom.
meanwhile, in the audience-hall, which was considerably damaged by the artillery of the fleet, omar dey held a divan. the building in which this court had been held in former times was now a ruin, and many of the councillors who had been wont to assemble in it had gone to their last account.
omar was very pale, and moved with difficulty, having been wounded slightly in various places. indeed, all the statesmen who surrounded him bore marks, more or less severe, of having played a part in the late action. in the midst of an eager discussion, an attendant entered, and announced the arrival of a british officer with a flag of truce.
“admit him,” said the dey, who, although boiling over with rage and despair, had sense enough to make up his mind to bow to the power which he could not overcome.
immediately lieutenant burgess was ushered into the court, accompanied by rais ali in the capacity of translator, and two of his boat’s crew, one of whom was, by special permission, ted flaggan.
without wasting time in useless ceremony, the lieutenant ordered rais to read aloud the paper which he had been commissioned by lord exmouth to deliver to the dey.
poor rais ali appeared to have expended all his bravery on the ramparts, for he trembled and grew paler as he took the paper in his hand.
“cheer up, owld boy,” whispered flaggan, as ali turned to advance towards the dey; “ye’ve got more pluck than i guv ’ee credit for. never say die.”
whether it was the result of these encouraging words, or desperation, we know not, but rais immediately advanced and read the paper with considerable fluency. it ran as follows:—
“to his highness the dey of algiers.
“sir,—for your atrocities at bona on defenceless christians, and your unbecoming disregard of the demands i made yesterday, in the name of the prince regent of england, the fleet under my orders has given you a signal chastisement, by the total destruction of your navy storehouses and arsenal, with half your batteries. as england does not make war for the destruction of cities, i am unwilling to visit your personal cruelties upon the inoffensive inhabitants of the country, and i therefore offer you the same terms of peace which i conveyed to you yesterday in my sovereign’s name. without the acceptance of these terms you can have no peace with england.
“if you receive this offer as you ought, you will fire three guns; and i shall consider your not making this signal as a refusal, and shall renew my operations at my own convenience.
“i offer you the above terms provided neither the british consul, nor the officers and men so wickedly seized by you from the boats of a british ship of war, have met with any cruel treatment, or any of the christian slaves in your power; and i repeat my demand that the consul and officers and men may be sent off to me, conformable to ancient treaties.—i have, etcetera, exmouth.”
the terms of peace referred to ran thus:—
i. the abolition for ever of christian slavery.
ii. the delivery to my flag of all slaves in the dominions of the dey, to whatever nation they may belong, at noon to-morrow.
iii. to deliver also to my flag all money received by the dey for the redemption of slaves since the commencement of this year, at noon to-morrow.
iv. reparation shall be made to the british consul for all losses he may have sustained in consequence of his confinement.
v. the dey shall make a public apology in presence of his ministers and officers, and beg pardon of the consul in terms dictated by the captain of the queen charlotte.
the proud pirate chief did not move a muscle of his pale face, or bend his head while these terms were read to him; nevertheless, he agreed to them all. the consul and others were called into the hall and delivered up; the three guns were fired, and thereafter lord exmouth directed that, on the sunday following, “a public thanksgiving should be offered up to almighty god for the signal interposition of his providence during the conflict which took place on the 27th between his majesty’s fleet and the ferocious enemies of mankind.” in accordance with these terms of peace, all the christian slaves were collected next day and delivered up.
sixteen hundred and forty-two were freed on this occasion, and sent on board the fleet. counting those freed but a short time before, through lord exmouth’s influence along the barbary coasts, the total number delivered amounted to above 3000.
the assembling on the decks of the ships of war of these victims of barbaric cruelty, ignorance, and superstition, was a sight that raised powerful and conflicting feelings in the breasts of those who witnessed it. the varied feelings of the slaves were, to some extent, expressed by their actions and in their faces. old and young were there, of almost every nation; gentle and simple, robust and feeble; men, women, and children. some, on coming on board, cheered with joy, but these were few, and consisted chiefly of men who had not been long enslaved, and had not suffered much. others wept with delight, fell on their knees and kissed the decks, or returned thanks to god for deliverance. some were carried on board, being too ill, or too broken down, to walk. many appeared to regard the whole affair as a dream, too good to be true, from which they must soon awake—as they had often awaked before—after their uneasy slumbers in the dreadful bagnio. but the saddest sights of all were the men and women, here and there among the crowd, whose prolonged condition of slavery—in many cases ten, twenty, even thirty years—had rendered them callous as well to joy as to sorrow. taken in youth, they were now old. what was freedom to them? it did indeed deliver them from the lash and from constant toil, but it could not return to them the years that were gone; it could not recall the beloved dead, who had, perchance, found their graves, sooner than might otherwise have been, in consequence of the misery of hope long deferred, or the toil, beyond capacity, induced by the desire to raise the needful ransom of the loved ones rent from them by these algerine corsairs. “the heart knoweth its own bitterness.” none but themselves could know or tell the awful feelings, or the still more dreadful want of feeling, that caused these wretched ones to look with glazed eyes of total indifference on the wonderful scenes that were enacted around them that day.
among the released captives, of course, were our friends of the rimini family.
one of these was seen going about the decks, glancing earnestly and quickly into faces, as if in search of some one.
it was mariano seeking for angela! he was closely followed by ted flaggan and lucien.
“depind on it, they’ve kep’ her back,” said ted.
“i fear they have,” said lucien.
mariano said nothing, but went straight to the officer in charge of the deck, and demanded a body of men to go ashore and recover the sicilian captives.
the case was brought before the chief, who at once granted mariano’s request, and sent a party on shore.
arrived at the palace they made a formal demand that the sisters and the child should be delivered up.
at first omar pretended ignorance on the point. then he suddenly recollected two female slaves who had been forgotten, and sent for them, but they were not those for whom mariano sought! at last, seeing that there was no help for it, he gave orders that paulina ruffini, and her child and sister, should be given up.
need we say that mariano kept pretty close to angela after that, and that angela did not by any means object? we think not!
besides these captives there were a few others whom the dey endeavoured to retain, but lord exmouth was inexorable. he insisted on every individual being set free, and spared no pains to ascertain that none were left behind. of course it is more than probable that some unfortunates were so carefully concealed as to escape detection, still, as far as it lay in the power of man to act, this part of the admiral’s duty was thoroughly performed.
thereafter, having accomplished its object, the british fleet left the stricken city, and the freed captives were ultimately returned to their homes.
thus at last, in 1816, after the lapse of centuries of murder, rapine, and robbery on the high seas, did the pirate city receive a fatal blow, from which it never completely recovered. it revived a little, indeed, in after years, and made a struggle to renew its old strength and resume its old practices; but, fortunately for mankind, the reigning dey in 1827 struck the french consul on the face with his fan. the french thereupon declared war and blockaded the town, but it was not till 1833 that they set themselves vigorously to effect a conquest. in that year they landed an army in algeria at sidi ferruch, and swept everything before them. the history of this conquest—and of the subsequent wars of france in algeria—is full of the deepest interest and most romantic incidents. the barbarians did indeed show fight, and fought bravely, but they might as well have tried to drive back the sea as to check the disciplined battalions of france. in a brief but brilliant campaign they were utterly defeated, the dey capitulated, the gates were thrown open, and the french marched in and took possession.
from that day to this they have held it, and the pirate city is now a charming town—with a french foreground, a moorish middle-distance, and a bright green background—in which, along with frenchmen, turks, kabyles, negroes and moors, and amid orange-groves, date-palms, cacti and prickly pears, the invalids of europe may enjoy summer heat in winter days, and sit outside in december dreaming peacefully, it may be almost sceptically, of other days, when the bastinado and the bow-string flourished in the land.
less than sixty years ago the algerine corsairs were the pest of the civilised world and the terror of the mediterranean. now, their city is one of our “summer retreats,” a sort of terrestrial paradise, and those who resort to it find it difficult to believe that the immediate forefathers of the fine-looking fellows who saunter about the french boulevards and moorish streets were the ruthless pirates which history too surely proclaims them to have been.
but what of the various characters whom we have thus summoned from the “vasty deep” of memory, to play their little part in this veracious tale?
of some we know not the end. of others it would be almost well that we did not. a few terminated their career happily.
poor bacri fell a victim to the avarice of omar, who desired to possess himself of the jew’s wealth. being an autocrat, he easily found means to accomplish his purpose. he invited bacri to the palace, conversed affably for a time, and then bowed him out with a smile. on the stair, as he descended, the jew was met by three chaouses, who seized him, and took him to the strangling-room. bacri was, as we have said, a powerful man, and struggled long and vigorously for life. but what could he do unarmed against three stalwart men? he ultimately gave in, with the name of the god of abraham, isaac, and jacob on his lips, and perished as many a former chief of the jews in algiers had perished before him.
rais ali having given, as we have seen, incontestable proof of his courage and fidelity during the bombardment, was raised to a position of easy affluence, and for many years continued a respected and harmless inhabitant of the town. his kindly disposition induced him to forego his mohammedan prejudices against christians—perchance his intercourse with christians had something to do with that—and he became a firm friend of the padre giovanni during the course of that good old man’s career, which did not last long after slavery was abolished. the same feelings induced him to befriend blindi bobi, who was also a friend of the padre.
poor ashweesha, and her father, sidi cadua, perished under the rod and the bow-string; and hadji baba, the story-teller, continued to tell stories and to jest to the end of his days. how the deys tolerated him has ever remained a matter of surprise to the thoughtful. ziffa, his naughty daughter, became a wife and a mother, in connexion with three other wives, who were also mothers, and belonged to the turk whom we have more than once mentioned as the captain of the port.
colonel langley returned to england with his wife and children, inexpressibly glad to exchange the atmosphere of the crescent for that of the cross. ted flaggan was installed as butler to the family, and remained in that position for many years. it is supposed by some of his descendants that he would have continued in it to the present day, if any of the family had remained alive.
as to the various members of the rimini family, it may suffice that we should dismiss them by drawing a slight sketch:
in a sicilian cottage near the sea, a little old lady—some would say a dear little old lady—sits in a high-backed chair. she gazes pensively, now on the blue mediterranean, now on a family group which consists of the dark-eyed juliet and the earnest lucien, who are vainly striving to restrain the violence of their youngest son; the eldest being engaged in a surreptitious attempt to pull down a map of algiers, which hangs on the opposite wall. mariano, with his wonted vivacity, stands before the old lady tossing a small female specimen of humanity as near to the ceiling as is compatible with prolonged existence. angela looks on admiringly. she does not appear to care much for mariano now! why she takes so much interest in the female baby we leave to the reader to discover. old francisco is there too, bluffer and bolder than ever, and so is paulina, with a beautiful dark-haired girl, who is the very image of the tall handsome man engaged in conversation with francisco.
it is no accidental coincidence this meeting. it is a family gathering, planned and carried out from year to year, in commemoration of the day when the family was delivered from slavery and sorrow.
they have just finished dinner, and there has been much earnest, thankful converse about the days gone by. they have fought their battles o’er again. they have re-told the oft-told tales, feeling as if they were almost new, and have reiterated their gratitude to the god of love for his great and manifold mercies.
we have not space to relate all that they said, but we may give the concluding sentences.
“you’re a wild boy, mariano, as you always were,” said the little old lady with the rippling mouth, as the young man plunged his little daughter into her lap head-foremost.
“and as i mean to be to the end of the chapter,” replied mariano. “how often, grandmother, have you not tried to impress on me the importance of following good examples? have i not acted on your advice? doubtless no man is perfect, and i am far—very far—from claiming to have been thoroughly successful in my efforts; but i have tried hard. did i not, while in algiers, follow the example of my dear father in exhibiting at all times a spirit of obstinacy that all but drove the pirates delirious with rage? did i not afterwards imitate lucien, (your pet-pattern), in getting to me the very best wife that the wide world could produce, and do i not now intend to follow your own example in remaining young in spirit until i am old in years? taunt me not, then, with being wild—you cannot cure me.”
“i fear not,” replied the little old lady with a sigh which did not accord in the slightest degree with the ripples that played round her lips.
“wildness runs in the family, mother,” said francisco, with a broad smile and a glance at lucien’s eldest hope, who had at that moment succeeded in breaking the string of the map, and pulling algiers down on his head, “the riminis have it in the blood and bone.—get up and don’t whimper, there’s a brave fellow,” added the burly merchant as the astonished youth arose; “i only wish that one of the great powers would pull down the real city of pirates as effectually as you have settled the map. lord exmouth no doubt gave it a magnificent pounding, but utter obliteration is the only thing that will do.”
“that’s true, father,” cried lucien; “it must be conquered by a civilised nation, and the turks be driven out, or held in subjection, if europe is to have peace. depend on’t they will be at their old tricks ere long.”
“i should like to be commander-in-chief when the war of conquest begins,” said mariano.
“a poor job you’d make of it, my son,” said francisco.
“why so, father?”
“why? because hot blood and a giddy head with a revengeful spirit are not the best elements wherewith to construct a commander-in-chief.”
“ah! father, with every wish to be respectful i cannot refrain from reminding you of a certain pot which was reported once to have called a kettle black. ha!” continued mariano, turning towards the little old lady, “you should have seen him, granny, in the bagnio of algiers, when the guards were inclined to be rather hard on some of the sick—”
“no, no!” interrupted the old lady, shaking her head; “don’t talk of that.”
“well, i won’t, except to say that i’m thankful we are well out of it.”
“it seems all like a strange dream,” returned the old lady thoughtfully.
“so it does, mother,” murmured francisco, “so it does,—an almost incredible dream.”
and so it seems to us, reader, now that we have closed the record of it; nevertheless it was no dream, but a sad and stern reality to those who played their part in it—to those who sorrowed and suffered, sixty years ago, in the pirate city.
