Фредерик Марриет
The Pacha of Many Tales
“A yesedi! a worshipper of the devil,” exclaimed Mustapha.
“May he and his father’s grave be eternally defiled!” responded the pacha.
I remained a fortnight under the hakim’s hands before I was well enough to walk about; and when I had reflected, I doubted whether it would not be wiser to embrace a more peaceful profession. The hakim spoke our language well; and one day said to me, “Thou art more fit to cure than to give wounds. Thou shalt assist me, for he who is now with me will not remain.” I consented, and putting on a more peaceful garb, continued many months with the Frank physician, travelling every where, but seldom remaining long in one place; he followed disease instead of flying from it, and I had my doubts whether, from constant attendance upon the dying, I might not die myself, and I resolved to quit him the first favourable opportunity. I had already learnt many wonderful things from him; that blood was necessary to life, and that without breath a man would die, and that white powders cured fevers, and black drops stopped the dysentery. At last we arrived in this town; and the other day, as I was pounding the drug of reflection in the mortar of patience, the physician desired me to bring his lancets, and to follow him. I paced through the streets behind the learned hakim, until we arrived at a mean house, in an obscure quarter of this grand city, over which your highness reigns in justice. An old woman, full of lamentation, led us to the sick couch, where lay a creature, beautiful in shape as a houri. The Frank physician was desired by the old woman to feel her pulse through the curtain, but he laughed at her beard (for she had no small one), and drew aside the curtains and took hold of a hand so small and so delicate, that it were only fit to feed the Prophet himself near the throne of the angel Gabriel, with the immortal pilau prepared for true believers. Her face was covered, and the Frank desired the veil to be removed. The old woman refused, and he turned on his heel to leave her to the assaults of death. The old woman’s love for her child conquered her religious scruples, and she consented that her daughter should unveil to an unbeliever. I was in ecstasy at her charms, and could have asked her for a wife; but the Frank only asked to see her tongue. Having looked at it, he turned away with as much indifference as if it had been a dying dog. He desired me to bind up her arm, and took away a bason full of her golden blood, and then put a white powder into the hands of the old woman, saying that he would see her again. I held out my hand for the gold, but there was none forthcoming.
“We are poor,” cried the old woman, to the hakim, “but God is great.”
“I do not want your money, good woman,” replied he; “I will cure your daughter.” Then he went to the bedside and spoke comfort to the sick girl, telling her to be of good courage, and all would be well.
The girl answered in a voice sweeter than a nightingale’s, that she had but thanks to offer in return, and prayers to the Most High. “Yes,” said the old woman, raising her voice, “a scoundrel of a howling dervish robbed me at Scutari of all I had for my subsistence, and of my daughter’s portion, seven hundred sequins, in a goat’s-skin bag!” and then she began to curse. May the dogs of the city howl at her ugliness! How she did curse! She cursed my father and mother—she cursed their graves—flung dirt upon my brother and sisters, and filth upon the whole generation. She gave me up to Jehanum, and to every species of defilement. It was a dreadful thing to hear that old woman curse. I pulled my turban over my eyes, that she might not recognise me, and lifted up my garment to cover my face, that I might not be defiled with the shower of curses which were thrown at me like mud, and sat there watching till the storm was over. Unfortunately, in lifting up my garment, I exposed to the view of the old hag the cursed goat’s-skin bag, which hung at my girdle, and contained, not only her money, but the remainder of my own. “Mashallah—how wonderful is God!” screamed the old beldame, flying at me like a tigress, and clutching the bag from my girdle. Having secured that, she darted at me with her ten nails, and scored down my face, which I had so unfortunately covered in the first instance, and so unfortunately uncovered in the second. What shall I say more? The neighbours came in—I was hurried before the cadi, in company with the old woman and the Frank physician. The money and bag were taken from me—I was dismissed by the hakim, and after receiving one hundred blows from the ferashes, I was dismissed by the cadi. It was my fate—and I have told my story. Is your slave dismissed?
“No,” replied the pacha; “by our beard, we must see to this, Mustapha; say, Hudusi, what was the decision of the cadi? Our ears are open.”
“The cadi decided as follows:– That I had stolen the money, and therefore I was punished with the bastinado; but, as the old woman stated that the bag contained seven hundred sequins, and there were found in it upwards of eleven hundred, that the money could not belong to her. He therefore retained it until he could find the right owner. The physician was fined fifty sequins for looking at a Turkish woman, and fifty more for shrugging up his shoulders. The girl was ordered into the cadi’s harem, because she had lost her dowry; and the old woman was sent about her business. All present declared that the sentence was wisdom itself; but, for my part, I very much doubted the fact.”
“Mustapha,” said the pacha, “send for the cadi, the Frank physician, the old woman, the girl, and the goat’s-skin bag; we must examine into this affair.”
The officers were despatched; and in less than an hour, during which the pacha and his vizier smoked in silence, the cadi with the others made their appearance.
“May your highness’s shadow never be less!” said the cadi, as he entered.
“Mobarek! may you be fortunate!” replied the pacha. “What is this we hear, cadi? there is a goat’s-skin bag, and a girl, that are not known to our justice. Are there secrets like those hid in the well of Kashan—speak! what dirt have you been eating?”
“What shall I say?” replied the cadi; “I am but as dirt; the money is here, and the girl is here. Is the pacha to be troubled with every woman’s noise, or am I come before him with a piece or two of gold—Min Allah—God forbid! Have I not here the money, and seven more purses? Was not the girl visited by the angel of death; and could she appear before your presence lean as a dog in the bazaar? Is she not here? Have I spoken well?”
“It is well said, cadi. Murakhas—you are dismissed.”
The Frank physician was then fined one hundred sequins more; fifty for feeling the pulse, and fifty more for looking at a Turkish woman’s tongue. The young woman was dismissed to the pacha’s harem, the old woman to curse as much as she pleased, and Hudusi with full permission to doubt any thing but the justice of the pacha.
Volume Three–Chapter Two
“Mashallah! God be praised! we are rid of that fellow and his doubts. I have been thinking, Mustapha, as I smoked the pipe of surmise, and arrived at the ashes of certainty, that a man who had so many doubts, could not be a true believer. I wish I had sent him to the mollahs; we might have been amused with his being impaled, which is a rare object, now-a-days.”
“God is great,” replied Mustapha, “and a stake is a strong argument, and would remove many doubts. But I have an infidel in the court-yard who telleth of strange things. He hath been caught like a wild beast; it is a Frank Galiongi, who hath travelled as far as that son of Shitan, Huckaback; he was found in the streets, overpowered by the forbidden juice, after having beaten many of your highness’s subjects, and the cadi would have administered the bamboo, but he was as a lion, and he scattered the slaves as chaff, until he fell, and could not rise again. I have taken him from the cadi, and brought him here. He speaketh but the Frankish tongue, but the sun who shineth on me knoweth I have been in the Frank country; and Inshallah! please the Lord, I can interpret his meaning.”
“What sort of a man may he be, Mustapha?”
“He is a baj baj—a big belly—a stout man; he is an anhunkher, a swallower of iron. He hath sailed in the war vessels of the Franks. He holdeth in one hand a bottle of the forbidden liquor, in the other, he shakes at those who would examine him, a thick stick. He hath a large handful of the precious weed which we use for our pipes in one of his cheeks, and his hair is hanging behind, down to his waist, in a rolled up mass, as thick as the arm of your slave.”
“It is well—we will admit him; but let there be armed men at hand. Let me have a full pipe! God is great,” continued the pacha, holding out his glass to be filled; “and the bottle is nearly empty. Place the guards, bring in the infidel.”
The guards in a few minutes brought into the presence of the pacha, a stout-built English sailor, in the usual dress, and with a tail which hung down behind, below his waist. The sailor did not appear to like his treatment; and every now and then, as they pushed and dragged him in, turned to one side or the other, looking daggers at those who conducted him. He was sober, although his eyes bore testimony to recent intoxication, and his face, which was manly and handsome, was much disfigured by an enormous quid of tobacco in his right cheek, which gave him an appearance of natural deformity. As soon as he was near enough to the pacha, the attendants let him go. Jack shook his jacket, hitched up his trousers, and said, looking furiously at them, “Well, you beggars, have you done with me at last?”
Mustapha addressed the sailor in English, telling him that he was in the presence of his highness the pacha.
“What, that old chap, muffled up in shawls and furs—is he the pacha? Well, I don’t think much o’ he;” and the sailor turned his eyes round the room, gaping with astonishment, and perfectly unmindful how very near he was to one who could cut off his head or his tail, by a single movement of his hand.
“What sayeth the Frank, Mustapha?” inquired the pacha.
“He is struck dumb with astonishment at the splendour of your majesty, and all that he beholds.”
“It is well said, by Allah!”
“I suppose I may just as well come to an anchor,” said the sailor, suiting the action to the word, and dropping down on the mats. “There,” continued he, folding his legs in imitation of the Turks, “as it’s the fashion to have a cross in your hawse, in this here country, I can be a bit of a lubber as well as yourselves. I wouldn’t mind if I blew a cloud, as well as you, old fusty-musty.”
“What does the Giaour say? What son of a dog is this, to sit in our presence?” exclaimed the pacha.
“He sayeth,” replied Mustapha, “that in his country, no one dare stand in the presence of the Frankish king; and, overcome by his humility, his legs refuse their office, and he sinks to the dust before you. It is even as he sayeth, for I have travelled in their country, and such is the custom of that uncivilised nation. Mashallah! but he lives in awe and trembling.”
“By the beard of the Prophet, he does not appear to show it outwardly,” replied the pacha; “but that may be the custom also.”
“Be chesm, on my eyes be it,” replied Mustapha, “it is even so. Frank,” said Mustapha, “the pacha has sent for you that he may hear an account of all the wonderful things which you have seen. You must tell lies, and you will have gold.”
“Tell lies! that is, spin a yarn; well, I can do that, but my mouth’s baked with thirst, and without a drop of something, the devil a yarn from me; and so you may tell the old Billy-goat, perched up there.”
“What sayeth the son of Shitan?” demanded the pacha, impatiently.
“The unbeliever declareth that his tongue is glued to his mouth from the terror of your highness’s presence. He fainteth after water to restore him, and enable him to speak.”
“Let him be fed,” rejoined the pacha.
But Mustapha had heard enough to know that the sailor would not be content with the pure element. He therefore continued, “Your slave must tell you, that in the country of the Franks, they drink nothing but the fire water, in which the true believers but occasionally venture to indulge.”
“Allah acbar! nothing but fire water? What then do they do with common water?”
“They have none but from heaven—the rivers are all of the same strength.”
“Mashallah! how wonderful is God! I would we had a river here. Let some be procured, then, for I wish to hear his story.”
A bottle of brandy was sent for, and handed to the sailor, who put it to his mouth; and the quantity he took of it before he removed the bottle to recover his breath, fully convinced the pacha that Mustapha’s assertions were true.
“Come, that’s not so bad,” said the sailor, putting the bottle down between his legs; “and now I’ll be as good as my word, and I’ll spin old Billy a yarn as long as the maintop-bowling.”
“What sayeth the Giaour?” interrupted the pacha.
“That he is about to lay at your highness’s feet the wonderful events of his life, and trusts that his face will be whitened before he quits your sublime presence. Frank, you may proceed.”
“To lie till I’m black in the face—well, since you wish it; but, old chap, my name a’r’nt Frank. It happens to be Bill; howsomever, it warn’t a bad guess for a Turk; and now I’m here, I’d just like to ax you a question. We had a bit of a hargument the other day, when I was in a frigate up the Dardanelles, as to what your religion might be. Jack Soames said that you warn’t Christians, but that if you were, you could only be Catholics; but I don’t know how he could know any thing about it, seeing that he had not been more than seven weeks on board of a man of war. What may you be—if I may make so bold as to ax the question?”
“What does he say?” inquired the pacha, impatiently.
“He says,” interrupted Mustapha, “that he was not so fortunate as to be born in the country of the true believers, but in an island full of fog and mist, where the sun never shines, and the cold is so intense, that the water from heaven is hard and cold as a flint.”
“That accounts for their not drinking it. Mashallah, God is great! Let him proceed.”
“The pacha desires me to say, that there is but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet; and begs that you will go on with your story.”
“Never heard of the chap—never mind—here’s saw wood.”
Tale of the English Sailor
I was born at Shields, and bred to the sea, served my time out of that port, and got a berth on board a small vessel fitted out from Liverpool for the slave trade. We made the coast, unstowed our beads, spirits, and gunpowder, and very soon had a cargo on board; but the day after we sailed for the Havannah, the dysentery broke out among the niggers—no wonder, seeing how they were stowed, poor devils, head and tail, like pilchards in a cask. We opened the hatches, and brought part of them on deck, but it was of no use, they died like rotten sheep, and we tossed overboard about thirty a day. Many others, who were alive, jumped overboard, and we were followed by a shoal of sharks, splashing and darting, and diving, and tearing the bodies, yet warm, and revelling in the hot and bloody water. At last they were all gone, and we turned back to the coast to get a fresh supply. We were within a day’s sail of the land, when we saw two boats on our weather bow; they made signals to us, and we found them to be full of men; we hove-to, and took them on board, and then it was that we discovered that they had belonged to a French schooner, in the same trade, which had started a plank, and had gone down like a shot, with all the niggers in the hold.
“Now, give the old gentleman the small change of that, while I just wet my whistle.”
Mustapha having interpreted, and the sailor having taken a swig at the bottle, he proceeded.
We didn’t much like having these French beggars on board; and it wasn’t without reason, for they were as many as we were. The very first night they were overheard by a negro who belonged to us, and had learnt French, making a plan for overpowering us, and taking possession of the vessel; so when we heard that, their doom was sealed. We mustered ourselves on the deck, put the hatches over some o’ the French, seized those on deck, and—in half an hour they all walked a plank.
“I do not understand what you mean,” said Mustapha.
“That’s ’cause you’re a lubber of a landsman. The long and short of walking a plank is just this. We passed a wide plank over the gunnel, greasing it well at the outer end, led the Frenchmen up to it blindfolded, and wished them ‘bon voyage,’ in their own lingo, just out of politeness. They walked on till they toppled into the sea, and the sharks did’nt refuse them, though they prefer a nigger to any thing else.”
“What does he say, Mustapha?” interrupted the pacha. Mustapha interpreted.
“Good; I should like to have seen that,” replied the pacha.
Well, as soon as we were rid of the Frenchmen, we made our port, and soon had another cargo on board, and, after a good run, got safe to the Havannah, where we sold our slaves; but I did’nt much like the sarvice, so I cut the schooner, and sailed home in summer, and got back safe to England. There I fell in with Betsey, and as she proved a regular out and outer, I spliced her; and a famous wedding we had of it, as long as the rhino lasted; but that wasn’t long, the more’s the pity; so I went to sea for more. When I came back after my trip, I found that Bet hadn’t behaved quite so well as she might have done, so I cut my stick, and went away from her altogether.
“Why didn’t you put her in a sack?” inquired the pacha, when Mustapha explained.
“Put her head in a bag—no, she wasn’t so ugly as all that,” replied the sailor. “Howsomever, to coil away.”
I joined a privateer brig, and after three cruises I had plenty of money, and determined to have another spell on shore, that I might get rid of it. Then I picked up Sue, and spliced again; but, Lord bless your heart, she turned out a regular built tartar—nothing but fight fight, scratch scratch, all day long, till I wished her at old Scratch. I was tired of her, and Sue had taken a fancy to another chap; so says she one day, “As we both be of the same mind, why don’t you sell me, and then we may part in a respectable manner.” I agrees; and I puts a halter round her neck, and leads her to the market-place, the chap following to buy her. “Who bids for this woman,” says I.
“I do,” says he.
“What will you give?”
“Half-a-crown,” says he.
“Will you throw a glass of grog into the bargain?”
“Yes,” says he.
“Then she’s yours; and I wish you much joy of your bargain.” So I hands the rope to him, and he leads her off.
“How much do you say he sold his wife for?” said the pacha to Mustapha, when this part of the story was repeated to him.
“A piastre, and a drink of the fire water,” replied the vizier.
“Ask him if she was handsome?” said the pacha.
“Handsome,” replied the sailor to Mustapha’s inquiry; “yes, she was as pretty a craft to look at as you may set your eyes upon; fine round counter—clean run—swelling bows—good figure-head, and hair enough for a mermaid.”
“What does he say?” inquired the pacha.
“The Frank declareth that her eyes were bright as those of the gazelle—that her eyebrows were as one—her waist as that of the cypress—her face as the full moon; and that she was fat as the houris that await the true believers.”
“Mashallah! all for a piastre. Ask him, Mustapha, if there are more wives to be sold in that country?”
“More,” replied the sailor in answer to Mustapha; “you may have a ship full in an hour. There’s many a fellow in England who would give a handful of coin to get rid of his wife.”
“We will make further inquiry, Mustapha; it must be looked to. Say I not well?”
“It is well said,” replied Mustapha. “My heart is burnt as roast meat at the recollection of the women of the country; who are, indeed, as he hath described, houris to the sight. Proceed, Yaha bibi, my friend, and tell his—”
“Yaw Bibby! I told you my name was Bill, not Bibby; and I never yaws from my course, although I heaves-to sometimes, as I do now, to take in provisions.” The sailor took another swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued. “Now for a good lie.”
I sailed in a brig for the Brazils, and a gale came on, that I never seed the like of. We were obliged to have three men stationed to hold the captain’s hair on his head, and a little boy was blown over the moon, and slid down by two or three of her beams, till he caught the mainstay, and never hurt himself.
“Good,” said Mustapha, who interpreted.
“By the beard of the Prophet, wonderful!” exclaimed the pacha.
Well, the gale lasted for a week; and at last one night, when I was at the helm, we dashed on the rocks of a desolate island. I was pitched right over the mountains, and fell into the sea on the other side of the island. I swam on shore, and got into a cave, where I fell fast asleep. The next morning I found that there was nothing to eat except rats, and they were plentiful; but they were so quick, that I could not catch them. I walked about, and at last discovered a great many rats together; they were at a spring of water; the only one, as I afterwards found, on the island. Rats can’t do without water; and I thought I should have them there. I filled up the spring, all but a hole which I sat on the top of. When the rats came again, I filled my mouth with water, and held it wide open; they ran up to drink, and I caught their heads in my teeth, and thus I took as many as I wished.
“Aferin, excellent!” cried the pacha, as soon as this was explained.
Well, at last a vessel took me off, and I wasn’t sorry for it, for raw rats are not very good eating. I went home again, and I hadn’t been on shore more than two hours, when who should I see but my first wife, Bet, with a robin-redbreast in tow. “That’s he!” says she. I gave fight, but was nabbed and put into limbo, to be tried for what they call biggery, or having a wife too much.
“How does he mean? desire him to explain,” said the pacha, after Mustapha had conveyed the intelligence. Mustapha obeyed.
“In our country one wife is considered a man’s allowance; and he is not to take more, that every Jack may have his Jill, I had spliced two; so they tried me, and sent me to Botany Bay for life.”
This explanation puzzled the pacha. “How—what sort of a country must it be, when a man cannot have two wives? Inshallah! please the Lord, we may have hundreds in our harem! Does he not laugh at our beards with lies? Is this not all bosh, nothing?”
“It is even so, as the Frank speaketh,” replied Mustapha. “The king of the country can take but one wife. Be chesm, on my eyes be it, if it is not the truth.”
“Well,” rejoined the pacha, “what are they but infidels? They deserve to have no more. Houris are for the faithful. May their fathers’ graves be defiled. Let the Giaour proceed.”
Well, I was started for the other side of the water, and got there safe enough, as I hope one day to get to Heaven, wind and weather permitting: but I had no idea of working without pay, so one fine morning, I slipt away into the woods, where I remained with three or four more for six months. We lived upon kangaroos, and another odd little animal, and got on pretty well.
“What may the dish of kangaroos be composed of?” inquired Mustapha, in obedience to the pacha.
“’Posed of! why a dish of kangaroos be made of kangaroos, to be sure.”
But I’ll be dished if I talked about any thing but the animal, which we had some trouble to kill; for it stands on its big tail, and fights with all four feet. Moreover, it be otherwise a strange beast; for its young ones pop out of its stomach, and then pop in again, having a place there on purpose, just like the great hole in the bow of a timber ship; and as for the other little animal, it swims in the ponds, lays eggs, and has a duck’s bill, yet still it be covered all over with hair like a beast.
The vizier interrupted. “By the Prophet, but he laughs at our beards!” exclaimed the pacha, angrily. “These are foolish lies.”
“You must not tell the pacha such foolish lies. He will be angry,” said Mustapha. “Tell lies, but they must be good lies.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” replied the sailor, “if the old beggar don’t doubt the only part which is true out of the whole yarn. Well, I will try another good un to please him.”
After I had been there about six months I was tired; and as there was only twenty thousand miles between that country and my own, I determined to swim back.
“Mashallah! swim back—how many thousand miles?” exclaimed Mustapha.
“Only twenty thousand—a mere nothing.”
So one fine morning I throws a young kangaroo on my shoulder, and off I starts. I swam for three months, night and day, and then feeling a little tired, I laid-to on my back, and then I set off again; but by this time I was so covered with barnacles, that I made but little way. So I stopped at Ascension, scraped and cleaned myself, and then, after feeding for a week on turtle, just to keep the scurvy out of my bones, I set off again; and as I passed the Gut, I thought I might just as well put in here; and here I arrived, sure enough, yesterday about three bells in the morning watch, after a voyage of five months and three days.
When Mustapha translated all this to the pacha, the latter was lost in astonishment. “Allah wakbar! God is every where! Did you ever hear of such a swimmer? Twenty thousand miles—five months and three days. It is a wonderful story! Let his mouth be filled with gold.”
Mustapha intimated to the sailor the unexpected compliment about to be conferred on him, just as he had finished the bottle, and rolled it away on one side. “Well, that be a rum way of paying a man. I have heard it said that a fellow pursed up his mouth but I never afore heard of a mouth being a purse. Howsomever, all’s one for that; only, d’ye see, if you are about to stow it away in bulk, it may be just as well to get rid of the dunnage.”
The sailor put his thumb and forefinger into the cheek, and pulled out his enormous quid of tobacco. “There now, I’m ready, and don’t be afraid of choking me.” One of the attendants then thrust several pieces of gold into the sailor’s mouth, who spitting them all out into his hat, jumped on his legs, made a jerk of his head with a kick of the leg behind to the pacha; and declaring that he was the funniest old beggar he had ever fallen in with, nodded to Mustapha, and hastened out of the divan.
“Mashallah! but he swims well,” said the pacha, breaking up the audience.
