The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ travelling all night, we came to our starting-place the next morning, to learn no tidings of our poor Moll.

      We drew some grain of comfort from this; for, it being now the third day since the dear girl had disappeared, her body would certainly have been washed ashore, had she cast herself, as we feared, in the sea. It occurred to us that if Moll were still living, she had either returned to England, or gone to Don Sanchez at Toledo, whose wise counsels she had ever held in high respect. The former supposition seemed to me the better grounded; for it was easy to understand how, yearning for him night and day, she should at length abandon every scruple, and throw herself at his feet, reckless of what might follow. ’Twas not inconsistent with her impulsive character, and that more reasonable view of life she had gained by experience, and the long reflections on her voyage hither. And that which supported my belief still more was that a fleet of four sail (as I learnt) had set forth for England the morning after our arrival. So now finding, on enquiry, that a carrier was to set out for Toledo that afternoon, I wrote a letter to Don Sanchez, telling him the circumstances of our loss, and begging him to let us know, as speedily as possible, if he had heard aught of Moll. And in this letter I enclosed a second, addressed to Mr. Godwin, having the same purport, which I prayed Don Sanchez to send on with all expedition, if Moll were not with him.

      And now, having despatched these letters, we had nothing to do but to await a reply, which, at the earliest, we could not expect to get before the end of the week—Toledo being a good eighty English leagues distant.

      We waited in Alicante four days more, making seven in all from the day we lost Moll; and then, the suspense and torment of inactivity becoming insupportable, we set out again for Elche, the conviction growing strong upon us, with reflection, that we had little to hope from Don Sanchez. And we resolved we would not go this time to Sidi ben Ahmed, but rather seek to take him unawares, and make enquiry by more subtle means, we having our doubts of his veracity. For these Moors are not honest liars like plain Englishmen, who do generally give you some hint of their business by shifting of their eyes this way and that, hawking, stammering, etc., but they will ever look you calmly and straight in the face, never at a loss for the right word, or over-anxious to convince you, so that ’twill plague a conjurer to tell if they speak truth or falsehood. And here I would remark, that in all my observations of men and manners, there is no nation in the world to equal the English, for a straightforward, pious, horse-racing sort of people.

      Well, then, we went about our search in Elche with all the slyness possible, prying here and there like a couple of thieves a-robbing a hen-roost, and putting cross-questions to every simple fellow we met—the best we could with our small knowledge of their tongue—but all to no purpose, and so another day was wasted. We lay under the palms that night, and in the morning began our perquisition afresh; now hunting up and down the narrow lanes and alleys of the town, as we had scoured those of Alicante, in vain, until, persuaded of the uselessness of our quest, we agreed to return to Alicante, in the hope of finding there a letter from Don Sanchez. But (not to leave a single stone unturned), we settled we would call once again on Sidi ben Ahmed, and ask if he had any tidings to give us, but, openly, feeling we were no match for him at subterfuge. So, to his house we went, where we were received very graciously by the old merchant, who, chiding us gently for being in the neighbourhood a whole day without giving him a call, prayed us to enter his unworthy parlour, adding that we should find there a friend who would be very pleased to see us.

      At this, my heart bounded to such an extent that I could utter never a word (nor could Dawson either), for I expected nothing less than to find this friend was our dear Moll; and so, silent and shaking with feverish anticipation, we followed him down the tiled passage and round the inner garden of his house by the arcade, till we reached a doorway, and there, lifting aside the heavy hangings, he bade us enter. We pushed by him in rude haste, and then stopped of a sudden, in blank amazement; for, in place of Moll, whom we fully thought to find, we discovered only Don Sanchez, sitting on some pillows gravely smoking a Moorish chibouk.

      “My daughter—my Moll!” cries Dawson, in despair. “Where is she?”

      “By this time,” replies Don Sanchez, rising, “your daughter should be in Barbary.”

      CHAPTER XXXVI.

      We learn what hath become of Moll; and how she nobly atoned for our sins.

      “Barbary—Barbary!” gasps Dawson, thunderstruck by this discovery. “My Moll in Barbary?”

      “She sailed three days ago,” says the Don, laying down his pipe, and rising.

      Dawson regards him for a moment or two in a kind of stupor, and then his ideas taking definite shape, he cries in a fury of passion and clenching his fists:

      “Spanish dog! you shall answer this. And you” (turning in fury upon Sidi), “you—I know your cursed traffic—you’ve sold her to the Turk!”

      Though Sidi may have failed to comprehend his words, he could not misunderstand his menacing attitude, yet he faced him with an unmoved countenance, not a muscle of his body betraying the slightest fear, his stoic calm doing more than any argument of words to overthrow Dawson’s mad suspicion. But his passion unabated, Dawson turns again upon Don Sanchez, crying:

      “Han’t you won enough by your villany, but you must rob me of my daughter? Are you not satisfied with bringing us to shame and ruin, but this poor girl of mine must be cast to the Turk? Speak, rascal!” adds he, advancing a step, and seeking to provoke a conflict. “Speak, if you have any reason to show why I shouldn’t strangle you.”

      “You’ll not strangle me,” answers the Don, calmly, “and here’s my reason if you would see it.” And with that he tilts his elbow, and with a turn of the wrist displays a long knife that lay concealed under his forearm. “I know no other defence against the attack of a madman.”

      “If I be mad,” says Dawson, “and mad indeed I may be, and no wonder—why, then, put your knife to merciful use and end my misery here.”

      “Nay, take it in your own hand,” answers the Don, offering the knife. “And use it as you will—on yourself if you are a fool, or on me if, being not a fool, you can hold me guilty of such villany as you charged me with in your passion.”

      Dawson looks upon the offered knife an instant with distraction in his eyes, and the Don (not to carry this risky business too far), taking his hesitation for refusal, claps up the blade in his waist-cloth, where it lay mighty convenient to his hand.

      “You are wise,” says he, “for if that noble woman is to be served, ’tis not by spilling the blood of her best friends.”

      “You, her friend!” says Dawson.

      “Aye, her best friend!” replies the other, with dignity, “for he is best who can best serve her.”

      “Then must I be her worst,” says Jack, humbly, “having no power to undo the mischief I have wrought.”

      “Tell me, Señor,” says I, “who hath kidnapped poor Moll?”

      “Nobody. She went of her free will, knowing full well the risk she ran—the possible end of her noble adventure—against the dissuasions and the prayers of all her friends here. She stood in the doorway there, and saw you cross the garden when you first came to seek her—saw you, her father, distracted with grief and fear, and she suffered you to go away. As you may know, nothing is more sacred to a Moor than the laws of hospitality, and by those laws Sidi was bound to respect the wishes of one who had claimed his protection. He could not betray her secret, but he and his family did their utmost to persuade her from her purpose. While you were yet in the town, they implored her to let them call you СКАЧАТЬ