The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ than the man in the moon, Señor,” answers Jack. “For, though Kit and I may have discoursed of it at odd times, we have been mighty careful to shut our mouths or talk of a fine day at her approach.”

      “Very good,” says Don Sanchez. “You are her father.”

      “And she shall know it,” says Jack, with resolution, and taking a stride or two in advance he calls to her to give over dancing and come to him.

      “Have you forgot your breeding,” he asks as she turns and waits for him, “that you have no more respect for your elders than to choke ’em with dust along of your shuffling?”

      “What a thoughtless thing am I!” cries she, in a voice of contrition. “Why, you’re floured as white as a shade!”

      Then taking up a corner of her waist-shawl, she gently rubs away the dust from the tip of his nose, so that it stood out glowing red from his face like a cherry through a hole in a pie-crust, at which she claps her hands and rings out a peal of laughter.

      “I counted to make a lady of you, Moll,” says Jack, in sorrow, “but I see plainly you will ever be a fool, and so ’tis to no purpose to speak seriously.”

      “Surely, father, I have ever been what you wish me to be,” answers she, demurely, curious now to know what he would be telling her.

      “Then do you put them plaguy clappers away, and listen to me patiently,” says he.

      Moll puts her hands behind her, and drawing a long lip and casting round eyes at us over her shoulder, walks along very slowly by her father’s side, while he broaches the matter to her. And this he did with some difficulty (for ’tis no easy thing to make a roguish plot look innocent), as we could see by his shifting his bundle from one shoulder to the other now and again, scratching his ear and the like; but what he said, we, walking a pace or two behind, could not catch, he dropping to a very low tone as if ashamed to hear his own voice. To all he has to tell she listens very attentively, but in the end she says something which causes him to stop dead short and turn upon her gaping like a pig.

      “What!” he cries as we came up. “You knew all this two months ago?”

      “Yes, father,” answers she, primly, “quite two months.”

      “And pray who told you?” he asks.

      “No one, father, since you forbade me to ask questions. But though I may be dumb to oblige you, I can’t be deaf. Kit and you are for ever a-talking of it.”

      “Maybe, child,” says Dawson, mightily nettled. “Maybe you know why we left Alicante this morning.”

      “I should be dull indeed if I didn’t,” answers she. “And if you hadn’t said when we saw the ships that we might meet more Englishmen in the town than we might care to know hereafter, why—well, maybe we should have been in Alicante now.”

      “By denying yourself that satisfaction,” says Don Sanchez, “we may conclude that the future we are making for you is not unacceptable.”

      Moll stopped and says with some passion:

      “I would turn back now and go over those mountains the way we came to ride through France in my fine gown like a lady.”

      “Brava! bravamente!” says the Don, in a low voice, as she steps on in front of us, holding her head high with the recollection of her former state.

      “She was ever like that,” whispers Dawson, with pride. “We could never get her to play a mean part willingly; could we, Kit? She was for ever wanting the part of a queen writ for her.”

      The next day about sundown, coming to a little eminence, Don Sanchez points out a dark patch of forest lying betwixt us and the mountains, and says:

      “That is Elche, the place where we are to stay some months.”

      We could make out no houses at all, but he told us the town lay in the middle of the forest, and added some curious particulars as how, lying on flat ground and within easy access of the sea, it could not exist at all but for the sufferance of the Spaniards on one side and of the Barbary pirates on the other, how both for their own convenience respected it as neutral ground on which each could exchange his merchandise without let or hindrance from the other, how the sort of sanctuary thus provided was never violated either by Algerine or Spaniard, but each was free to come and go as he pleased, etc., and this did somewhat reassure us, though we had all been more content to see our destination on the crest of a high hill.

      From this point we came in less than half an hour to Santa Pola, a small village, but very bustling, for here the cart-road from Alicante ends, all transport of commodities betwixt this and Elche being done on mules; so here great commotion of carriers setting down and taking up merchandise, and the way choked with carts and mules and a very babel of tongues, there being Moors here as well as Spaniards, and all shouting their highest to be the better understood of each other. These were the first Moors we had seen, but they did not encourage us with great hopes of more intimate acquaintance, wearing nothing but a kind of long, ragged shirt to their heels, with a hood for their heads in place of a hat, and all mighty foul with grease and dirt.

      Being astir betimes the next morning, we reached Elche before midday, and here we seemed to be in another world, for this region is no more like Spain than Spain is like our own country. Entering the forest, we found ourselves encompassed on all sides by prodigious high palm trees, which hitherto we had seen only singly here and there, cultivated as curiosities. And noble trees they are, standing eighty to a hundred feet high, with never a branch, but only a great spreading crown of leaves, with strings of dates hanging down from their midst. Beneath, in marshy places, grew sugar-canes as high as any haystack; and elsewhere were patches of rice, which grows like corn with us, but thrives well in the shade, curiously watered by artificial streams of water. And for hedges to their property, these Moors have agaves, with great spiky leaves which no man can penetrate, and other strange plants, whereof I will mention only one, they call the fig of Barbary, which is no fig at all, but a thing having large, fleshy leaves, growing one out of the other, with fruit and flower sprouting out of the edges, and all monstrous prickly. To garnish and beautify this formidable defence, nature had cast over all a network of creeping herbs with most extraordinary flowers, delightful both to see and smell, but why so prickly, no man can say.

      “Surely, this must be paradise,” cries Moll, staying to look around her.

      And we were of the same thinking, until we came to the town, which, as I have said, lies in the midst of this forest, and then all our hopes and expectations were dashed to the ground. For we had looked to find a city in keeping with these surroundings—of fairy palaces and stately mansions; in place whereof was nought but a wilderness of mean, low, squalid houses, with meandering, ill-paved alleys, and all past everything for unsavoury smells—heaps of refuse lying before every door, stark naked brats of children screaming everywhere, and a pack of famished dogs snapping at our heels.

      Don Sanchez leads the way, we following, with rueful looks one at the other, till we reach the market-place, and there he takes us into a house of entertainment, where a dozen Moors are squatting on their haunches in groups about sundry bowls of a smoking mess, called cuscusson, which is a kind of paste with a little butter in it and a store of spices. Their manner of eating it is simple enough: each man dips his hand in the pot, takes out a handful, and dances it about till it is fashioned into a ball, and then he eats it with all the gusto in the world. For our repast we were served with a joint of roast mutton, and this being cut up, we had to take up in our hands and eat like any savages—their religion СКАЧАТЬ