The Middy and the Moors: An Algerine Story

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  The Middy and the Moors, an Algerine Tale of Piracy and Slavery, by R.M.Ballantyne.

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  Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894. He waseducated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk withthe Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in NorthenCanada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848. The letters hehad written home were very amusing in their description of backwoodslife, and his family publishing connections suggested that he shouldconstruct a book based on these letters. Three of his most enduringbooks were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders","Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experienceswith the H.B.C. In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and"Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited byBallantyne. Having been chided for small mistakes he made in thesebooks, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. Withthese books he became known as a great master of literature intended forteenagers. He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade,the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraphcables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, thelife-boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet,ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing thelives of the men and women in these settings by living with them forweeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived.

  He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes heencountered with great care and attention to detail. His young readerslooked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year,all very good reading. The rate of production diminished in the lastten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed.

  He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books forvery young children under the pseudonym "Comus".

  For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and whatwe would nowadays call "pi". In part that was the way people wrote inthose days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the RedRiver Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a littledissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of howthey ought to behave, as he felt he had been.

  Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. These booksformed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having lesspocket-money. These books are particularly well-written and researched,because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible fortheir money. They were published as six series, three books in eachseries. One of these series is "On the Coast", which includes "Saved bythe Lifeboat".

  Re-created as an e-Text by Nick Hodson, July 2003.

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  THE MIDDY AND THE MOORS, AN ALGERINE TALE OF PIRACY AND SLAVERY, BY R.M.BALLANTYNE.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  AN ALGERINE STORY.

  THE HERO IS BLOWN AWAY, CAPTURED, CRUSHED, COMFORTED, AND ASTONISHED.

  One beautiful summer night, about the beginning of the present century,a young naval officer entered the public drawing-room of a hotel atNice, and glanced round as if in search of some one.

  Many people were assembled there--some in robust, others in delicate,health, many in that condition which rendered it doubtful to which classthey belonged, but all engaged in the quiet buzz of conversation which,in such a place, is apt to set in after dinner.

  The young Englishman, for such he evidently was, soon observed anelderly lady beckoning to him at the other end of the _salon_, and wasquickly seated between her and a fragile girl whose hand he gently tookhold of.

  "Mother," he said, to the elderly lady, "I'm going to have a row on theMediterranean. The night is splendid, the air balmy, the starsgorgeous."

  "Now, George," interrupted the girl, with a little smile, "don't beflowery. We know all about that."

  "Too bad," returned the youth; "I never rise to poetry in your presence,Minnie, without being snubbed. But you cannot cure me. Romance is toodeeply ingrained in my soul. Poetry flows from me like--like anything!I am a midshipman in the British Navy, a position which affords scopefor the wildest enthusiasm, and--and--I'll astonish you yet, see if Idon't."

  "I am sure you will, dear boy," said his mother; and she believed thathe would!

  "Of course you will," added his sister; and she at least hoped that hewould.

  To say truth, there was nothing about the youth--as regards appearanceor character--which rendered either the assurance or the hopeunwarrantable. He was not tall, but he was strong and active. He wasnot exactly handsome, but he was possessed of a genial, heartydisposition, a playful spirit, and an earnest soul; also a modestlyreckless nature which was quite captivating.

  "You won't be anxious about me, mother, if I don't return till prettylate," he said, rising. "I want a good long, refreshing pull, but I'llbe back in time to say good-night to you, Minnie, before you go tosleep."

  "Your leave expires on Thursday, mind," said his sister; "we cannotspare you long."

  "I shall be back in good time, trust me. _Au revoir_," he said, with apleasant nod, as he left the room.

  And they did trust him; for our midshipman, George Foster, wastrustworthy; but those "circumstances" over which people have "nocontrol" are troublesome derangers of the affairs of man. That was thelast the mother and sister saw of George for the space of nearly twoyears!

  Taking his way to the pebbly shore, young Foster hired a small boat, orpunt, from a man who knew him well, declined the owner's services,pushed off, seized the oars, and rowed swiftly out to sea. It was, ashe had said, a splendid night. The stars bespangled the sky likediamond-dust. The water was as clear as a mirror, and the lights ofNice seemed to shoot far down into its depths. The hum of the city cameoff with ever-deepening softness as the distance from the shoreincreased. The occasional sound of oars was heard not far off, thoughboats and rowers were invisible, for there was no moon, and the nightwas dark notwithstanding the starlight.

  There was no fear, however, of the young sailor losing himself while thecity lights formed such a glorious beacon astern.

  After pulling steadily for an hour or more he rested on his oars, gazedup at the bright heavens, and then at the land lights, which by thattime resembled a twinkling line on the horizon.

  "Must 'bout ship now," he muttered. "Won't do to keep Minnie waiting."

  As he rowed leisurely landward a sudden gust of wind from the shoreshivered the liquid mirror into fragments. It was the advance-guard ofa squall which in a few minutes rushed down from the mountains of theRiviera and swept out upon the darkening sea.

  Young Foster, as we have said, was strong. He was noted among hisfellows as a splendid oarsman. The squall, therefore, did notdisconcert him, though it checked his speed greatly. After one or twolulls the wind increased to a gale, and in half an hour the youth found,with some anxiety, that he was making no headway against it.

  The shore at that point was so much of a straight line as to render thehope of being able to slant-in a faint one. As it was better, however,to attempt that than to row straight in the teeth of the gale, hediverged towards a point a little to the eastward of the port of Nice,and succeeded in making better way through the water, though he made noperceptible approach to land.

  "Pooh! It's only a squall--be over in a minute," said the middy, by wayof encouraging himself, as he glanced over his shoulder at theflickering lights, which were now barely visible.


  He was wrong. The gale increased. Next time he glanced over hisshoulder the lights were gone. Dark clouds were gathering up from thenorthward, and a short jabble of sea was rising which occasionally senta spurt of spray inboard. Feeling now that his only chance of regainingthe shore lay in a strong, steady, persevering pull straight towards it,he once more turned the bow of the little boat into the wind's eye, andgave way with a will.

  But what could human muscle and human will, however powerful, do againsta rampant nor'wester? Very soon our hero was forced to rest upon hisoars from sheer exhaustion, while his boat drifted slowly out to sea.Then the thought of his mother and Minnie flashed upon him, and, with asudden gush, as it were, of renewed strength he resumed his efforts, andstrained his powers to the uttermost--but all in vain.

  Something akin to despair now seized on him, for the alternative was todrift out into the open sea, where no friendly island lay between himand the shores of Africa. The necessity for active exertion, however,gave him no time either to rest or think. As the distance from landincreased the seas rose higher, and broke so frequently over the boatthat it began to fill. To stop rowing--at least, to the extent ofkeeping the bow to the wind--would have risked turning broadside-on, andbeing overturned or swamped; there was nothing, therefore, to be done inthe circumstances except to keep the boat's head to the wind and drift.

  In the midst of the rushing gale and surging seas he sat there, everygleam of hope almost extinguished, when there came to his mind a briefpassage from the Bible--"Hope thou in God." Many a time had his mothertried, in days gone by, to impress that text on his mind, but apparentlywithout success. Now it arose before him like a beacon-star. At thesame time he thought of the possibility that he might be seen and pickedup by a passing vessel.

  He could not but feel, however, that the chances of this latter eventoccurring were small indeed, for a passing ship or boat would not onlybe going at great speed, but would be very unlikely to see hiscockle-shell in the darkness, or to hear his cry in the roaring gale.Still he grasped that hope as the drowning man is said to clutch at astraw.

  And the hope was quickly fulfilled, for scarcely had another half-hourelapsed when he observed a sail--the high-peaked sail peculiar to someMediterranean craft--rise, ghost-like, out of the driving foam andspray. The vessel was making almost straight for him; he knew that itwould pass before there could be time to heave a rope. At the risk ofbeing run down he rowed the punt in front of it, as if courtingdestruction, but at the same time guided his little craft so skilfullythat it passed close to leeward, where the vessel's bulwarks weredipping into the water. Our middy's aim was so exact that the vesselonly grazed the boat as it flew past. In that moment young Fostersprang with the agility of a cat, capsized the boat with the impulse,caught the bulwarks and rigging of the vessel, and in another momentstood panting on her deck.

  "Hallo! Neptune, what do _you_ want here?" cried a gruff voice atFoster's elbows. At the same time a powerful hand grasped his throat,and a lantern was thrust in his face.

  "Let go, and I will tell you," gasped the youth, restraining hisindignation at such unnecessary violence.

  The grasp tightened, however, instead of relaxing.

  "Speak out, baby-face," roared the voice, referring, in the latterexpression, no doubt, to our hero's juvenility.

  Instead of speaking out, George Foster hit out, and the voice with thelantern went down into the lee scuppers!

  Then, the glare of the lantern being removed from his eyes, George saw,by the light of the binnacle lamp, that his adversary, a savage-lookingTurk--at least in dress--was gathering himself up for a rush, and thatthe steersman, a huge negro, was grinning from ear to ear.

  "Go below!" said a deep stern voice in the Arabic tongue.

  The effect of this order was to cause the Turk with the broken lanternto change his mind, and retire with humility, while it solemnised thenegro steersman's face almost miraculously.

  The speaker was the captain of the vessel; a man of grave demeanour,herculean mould, and clothed in picturesque Eastern costume. Turningwith quiet politeness to Foster, he asked him in broken French how hehad come on board.

  The youth explained in French quite as much broken as that of hisinterrogator.

  "D'you speak English?" he added.

  To this the captain replied in English, still more shattered than hisFrench, that he could, "a ver' leetil," but that as he, (the youth), wasa prisoner, there would be no occasion for speech at all, the properattitude of a prisoner being that of absolute silence and obedience toorders.

  "A prisoner!" ejaculated Foster, on recovering from the first shock ofsurprise. "Do you know that I am an officer in the Navy of his Majestythe King of Great Britain?"

  A gleam of satisfaction lighted up the swarthy features of the Turk fora moment as he replied--

  "Ver goot. Ransum all de more greater." As he spoke, a call from thelook-out at the bow of the vessel induced him to hurry forward.

  At the same instant a slight hissing sound caused Foster to turn to thesteersman, whose black face was alive with intelligence, while anindescribable hitch up of his chin seemed to beckon the youth toapproach with caution.

  Foster perceived at once that the man wished his communication, whateverit was, to be unobserved by any one; he therefore moved towards him asif merely to glance at the compass.

  "Massa," said the negro, without looking at Foster or changing a muscleof his now stolid visage, "you's in a dreffle fix. Dis yer am a pirit.But _I's_ not a pirit, bress you! I's wuss nor dat: I's a awrfulhyperkrite! an' I wants to give you good adwice. Wotiver you doos,_don't resist_. You'll on'y git whacked if you do."

  "Thank you, Sambo. But what if I do resist in spite of being whacked?"

  "Den you bery soon change your mind, das all. Moreober, my name's notSambo. It am Peter de Great."

  As he said so Peter the Great drew himself up to his full height, and hedrew himself up to six feet four when he did that!

  The captain coming aft at that moment put an abrupt end to theconversation. Two powerful Moorish seamen accompanied him. These,without uttering a word, seized Foster by the arms. In the strength ofhis indignation our middy was on the point of commencing a tremendousstruggle, when Peter the Great's "_don't resist_," and the emphasis withwhich it had been spoken, came to mind, and he suddenly gave in. Hishands were tied behind his back, and he was led down into a small,dimly-lighted cabin, where, being permitted to sit down on a locker, hewas left to his own reflections.

  These were by no means agreeable, as may well be supposed, for he nowknew that he had fallen into the hands of those pests, the Algerinepirates, who at that time infested the Mediterranean.

  With the thoughtlessness of youth Foster had never troubled his mindmuch about the piratical city of Algiers. Of course he knew that it wasa stronghold on the northern coast of Africa, inhabited by Moorishrascals, who, taking advantage of their position, issued from their portand pounced upon the merchantmen that entered the Mediterranean,confiscating their cargoes and enslaving their crews and passengers, orholding them to ransom. He also knew, or had heard, that some of thegreat maritime powers paid subsidies to the Dey of Algiers to allow thevessels of their respective nations to come and go unmolested, but hecould scarcely credit the latter fact. It seemed to him, as indeed itwas, preposterous. "For," said he to the brother middy who had givenhim the information, "would not the nations whom the Dey had theimpudence to tax join their fleets together, pay him an afternoon visitone fine day, and blow him and his Moors and Turks and city into a heapof rubbish?"

  What the middy replied we have now no means of knowing, but certain itis that his information was correct, for some of the principal nationsdid, at that time, submit to the degradation of this tax, and they did_not_ unite their fleets for the extinction of the pirates.

  Poor George Foster now began to find out that the terrible truths whichhe had refused to believe were indeed great realities, and had now be
gunto affect himself. He experienced an awful sinking of the heart when itoccurred to him that no one would ever know anything about his fate, forthe little boat would be sure to be found bottom up, sooner or later,and it would of course be assumed that he had been drowned.

  Shall it be said that the young midshipman was weak, or wanting incourage, because he bowed his head and wept when the full force of hiscondition came home to him? Nay, verily, for there was far more ofgrief for the prolonged agony that was in store for his mother andsister than for the fate that awaited himself. He prayed as well aswept. "God help me--and them!" he exclaimed aloud. The prayer wasbrief but sincere,--perhaps the more sincere because so brief. At allevents it was that acknowledgment of utter helplessness which securesthe help of the Almighty Arm.

  Growing weary at last, he stretched himself on the locker, and, with thefacility of robust health, fell into a sound sleep. Youth, strength,and health are not easily incommoded by wet garments! Besides, theweather was unusually warm at the time.

  How long he slept he could not tell, but the sun was high when he awoke,and his clothes were quite dry. Other signs there were that he hadslept long, such as the steadiness of the breeze and the more regularmotion of the vessel, which showed that the gale was over and the seagoing down. There was also a powerful sensation in what he styled his"bread-basket"--though it might, with equal truth, have been called hismeat-and-vegetable basket--which told him more eloquently than anythingelse of the lapse of time.

  Rising from his hard couch, and endeavouring to relieve the aching ofthe bound arms by change of position, he observed that the cabin hatchwas open, and that nothing prevented his going on deck, if so disposed.Accordingly, he ascended, though with some difficulty, owing to his nothaving been trained to climb a ladder in a rough sea without the use ofhis hands.

  A Moor, he observed, had taken his friend Peter the Great's place at thetiller, and the captain stood near the stern observing a passing vessel.A stiffish but steady breeze carried them swiftly over the waves,which, we might say, laughingly reflected the bright sunshine and thedeep-blue sky. Several vessels of different rigs and nationalities weresailing in various directions, both near and far away.

  Going straight to the captain with an air of good-humoured _sang froid_which was peculiar to him, Foster said--

  "Captain, don't you think I've had these bits of rope-yarn on my wristslong enough? I'm not used, you see, to walking the deck without the useof my hands; and a heavy lurch, as like as not, would send me slap intothe lee scuppers--sailor though I be. Besides, I won't jump overboardwithout leave, you may rely upon that. Neither will I attempt,single-handed, to fight your whole crew, so you needn't be afraid."

  The stern Moor evidently understood part of this speech, and he was sotickled with the last remark that his habitual gravity gave place to thefaintest flicker of a smile, while a twinkle gleamed for a moment in hiseye. Only for a moment, however. Pointing over the side, he bade hisprisoner "look."

  Foster looked, and beheld in the far distance a three-masted vessel thatseemed to bear a strong resemblance to a British man-of-war.

  "You promise," said the captain, "not shout or ro-ar."

  "I promise," answered our middy, "neither to `Shout' nor `ro-ar'--for mydoing either, even though like a bull of Bashan, would be of no earthlyuse at this distance."

  "Inglesemans," said the captain, "niver brok the word!" After payingthis scarcely-deserved compliment he gave an order to a sailor who wascoiling up ropes near him, and the man at once proceeded to untieFoster's bonds.

  "My good fellow," said the midshipman, observing that his liberator wasthe man whom he had knocked down the night before, "I'm sorry I had tofloor you, but it was impossible to help it, you know. An Englishman islike a bull-dog. He won't suffer himself to be seized by the throat andchoked if he can help it!"

  The Turk, who was evidently a renegade Briton, made no reply whatever tothis address; but, after casting the lashings loose, returned to hisformer occupation.

  Foster proceeded to thank the captain for his courtesy and make himacquainted with the state of his appetite, but he was evidently not in aconversational frame of mind. Before a few words had been spoken thecaptain stopped him, and, pointing down the skylight, said, sharply--

  "Brukfust! Go!"

  Both look and tone admonished our hero to obey. He descended to thecabin, therefore, without finishing his sentence, and there discoveredthat "brukfust" consisted of two sea-biscuits and a mug of water. Tothese dainties he applied himself with infinite relish, for he hadalways been Spartan-like as to the quality of his food, and hunger makesalmost any kind of dish agreeable.

  While thus engaged he heard a hurried trampling of feet on deck, mingledwith sharp orders from the captain. At first he thought the soundsmight have reference to taking in a reef to prepare for a squall, but asthe noise rather increased, his curiosity was roused, and he was aboutto return on deck when Peter the Great suddenly leaped into the cabinand took hurriedly from the opposite locker a brace of highly ornamentedpistols and a scimitar.

  "What's wrong, Peter?" asked Foster, starting up.

  "We's a-goin' to fight!" groaned the negro.

  "Oh! I's a awrful hyperkrite! You stop where you am, massa, elseyou'll get whacked."

  Despite the risk of being "whacked," the youth would have followed thenegro on deck, had not the hatch been slammed in his face and secured.Next moment he heard a volley of musketry on deck. It was instantlyreplied to by a distant volley, and immediately thereafter groans andcurses showed that the firing had not been without effect.

  That the pirate had engaged a vessel of some sort was evident, and ourhero, being naturally anxious to see if not to share in the fight, triedhard to get out of his prison, but without success. He was obliged,therefore, to sit there inactive and listen to the wild confusionoverhead. At last there came a crash, followed by fiercer shouts andcries. He knew that the vessels had met and that the pirates wereboarding. In a few minutes comparative silence ensued, broken only byoccasional footsteps and the groaning of the wounded.