"All I know is," replied the captive, "that after having been in Constantinople two years, he escaped in the disguise of an Arnaut, in company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his liberty or not I cannot tell, though I fancy he did, because a year afterwards I saw the Greek at Constantinople, though I was unable to ask him what the result of the journey was."
"Well then, you are right," returned the gentleman, "for that Don Pedro is my brother, and he is now in our village in good health, rich, married, and with three children."
"Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has shown him," said the captive; "for to my mind there is no happiness on earth to compare with recovering lost liberty."
"And what is more," said the gentleman, "I know the sonnets my brother made."
"Then let your worship repeat them," said the captive, "for you will recite them better than I can."
"With all my heart," said the gentleman; "that on the Goletta runs thus."
CHAPTER
XL. IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED.
SONNET
"Blest souls, that, from
this mortal husk set free,
In guerdon of brave deeds beatified,
Above this lowly orb of ours abide
Made heirs of heaven and immortality,
With noble rage and ardour glowing ye
Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied,
And with your own blood and the foeman's dyed
The sandy soil and the encircling sea.
It was the ebbing life-blood first that failed
The weary arms; the stout hearts never quailed.
Though vanquished, yet ye earned the victor's crown:
Though mourned, yet still triumphant was your fall
For there ye won, between the sword and wall,
In Heaven glory and on earth renown."
"That is it exactly, according to my recollection," said the captive.
"Well then, that on the fort," said the gentleman, "if my memory serves me, goes thus:
SONNET
"Up from this wasted
soil, this shattered shell,
Whose walls and towers here in ruin lie,
Three thousand soldier souls took wing on high,
In the bright mansions of the blest to dwell.
The onslaught of the foeman to repel
By might of arm all vainly did they try,
And when at length 'twas left them but to die,
Wearied and few the last defenders fell.
And this same arid soil hath ever been
A haunt of countless mournful memories,
As well in our day as in days of yore.
But never yet to Heaven it sent, I ween,
From its hard bosom purer souls than these,
Or braver bodies on its surface bore."
The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the tidings they gave him of his comrade, and continuing his tale, he went on to say:
The Goletta and the fort being thus in their
hands, the Turks gave orders to dismantle the Goletta- for the fort was reduced
to such a state that there was nothing left to level- and to do the work more
quickly and easily they mined it in three places; but nowhere were they able to
blow up the part which seemed to be the least strong, that is to say, the old
walls, while all that remained standing of the new fortifications that the
Fratin had made came to the ground with the greatest ease. Finally the fleet
returned victorious and triumphant to Constantinople, and a few months later
died my master, El Uchali, otherwise Uchali Fartax, which means in Turkish
"the scabby renegade;" for that he was; it is the practice with the
Turks to name people from some defect or virtue they may possess; the reason
being that there are among them only four surnames belonging to families
tracing their descent from the Ottoman house, and the others, as I have said,
take their names and surnames either from bodily blemishes or moral qualities.
This "scabby one" rowed at the oar as a slave of the Grand Signor's
for fourteen years, and when over thirty-four years of age, in resentment at
having been struck by a Turk while at the oar, turned renegade and renounced
his faith in order to be able to revenge himself; and such was his valour that,
without owing his advancement to the base ways and means by which most
favourites of the Grand Signor rise to power, he came to be king of Algiers,
and afterwards general-on-sea, which is the third place of trust in the realm.
He was a Calabrian by birth, and a worthy man morally, and he treated his
slaves with great humanity. He had three thousand of them, and after his death
they were divided, as he directed by his will, between the Grand Signor (who is
heir of all who die and shares with the children of the deceased) and his
renegades. I fell to the lot of a Venetian renegade who, when a cabin boy on
board a ship, had been taken by Uchali and was so much beloved by him that he
became one of his most favoured youths. He came to be the most cruel renegade I
ever saw: his name was Hassan Aga, and he grew very rich and became king of
In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the Turks a bano in which they confine the Christian captives, as well those that are the king's as those belonging to private individuals, and also what they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to say the slaves of the municipality, who serve the city in the public works and other employments; but captives of this kind recover their liberty with great difficulty, for, as they are public property and have no particular master, there is no one with whom to treat for their ransom, even though they may have the means. To these banos, as I have said, some private individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing their captives, especially when they are to be ransomed; because there they can keep them in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. The king's captives also, that are on ransom, do not go out to work with the rest of the crew, unless when their ransom is delayed; for then, to make them write for it more pressingly, they compel them to work and go for wood, which is no light labour.
I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that I was a captain, although I declared my scanty means and want of fortune, nothing could dissuade them from including me among the gentlemen and those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, more as a mark of this than to keep me safe, and so I passed my life in that bano with several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked out as held to ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we suffered from hunger and scanty clothing, nothing distressed us so much as hearing and seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheard-of cruelties my master inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged a man, impaled one, cut off the ears of another; and all with so little provocation, or so entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he did it merely for the sake of doing it, and because he was by nature murderously disposed towards the whole human race. The only one that fared at all well with him was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra by name, to whom he never gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be given, or addressed a hard word, although he had done things that will dwell in the memory of the people there for many a year, and all to recover his liberty; and for the least of the many things he did we all dreaded that he would be impaled, and he himself was in fear of it more than once; and only that time does not allow, I could tell you now something of what that soldier did, that would interest and astonish you much more than the narration of my own tale.
