CHAPTER XIX THE ESCAPE
Murad in Tripoli! There he stood, stroking his beard and gazing at me with glittering eyes as I was hauled past him to the auction-block.
A fierce Arabian trader, who was forming a caravan to go into the Soudan, bid for me. Murad offered more. I was torn between my terror of being sold "up-country" and of being bought by the Egyptian, who would probably apply torture to wring from me the story of what had become of the contents of the treasure tomb. The Arabian, scowling at Murad, made a still higher bid, whereupon Murad increased his offer. The trader gave me a few final digs and slaps, as if to see if I had the sinews and endurance to warrant his paying a higher price; then he shook his head, cursed me for a Christian dog, and passed to the next slave. Murad came forward. I was pushed into his arms and then thrust by him into the rough hands of his two Moorish attendants.
The Egyptian told me curtly that he had purchased from the Algerines a ship they had captured called the Hawk, which he meant to use as a merchant vessel under the protection of the Bashaw, and that he had bought me for service on board of her.
"I am buying out of these slave markets a crew of European sailors," he said curtly. "Remember that we are now master and slave. Where I once befriended you, now I will compel you to wear chains and be subject to the lash. The American consul to this port is now in Malta; we will sail before he returns; place no hope in him. I want you to search your memory and be prepared to tell me every move you made since I left you aboard The Rose of Egypt. I shall soon question you upon certain happenings in the desert about which you doubtless have knowledge!"
My eyes fell before his piercing gaze. "I see I have struck home," he said, "I can question you better aboard ship. Go! Report now to my mate, MacWilliams."
Under the charge of the two Moors, I was sent aboard the Hawk. She was a staunch, graceful, roomy vessel, built on the Clyde out of the best materials—a ship that reflected credit on the Scotchmen who made her. I said to myself, as I viewed her admiringly, that she was far too good a ship to be in such vile hands. For all of Murad's threats, my spirits rose as I felt her deck under my feet. Here I was among white men, and decent fellows they appeared to be. Here I had a dozen chances to escape, while if the Arabian trader had gained possession of me, only a miracle could have rescued me. As for Murad, if he tortured me, I meant to leap overboard and attempt to swim to safety.
The mate, William MacWilliams, was a big, raw-boned, lantern-jawed man. He received me with kindness and pity. I heard that, under threat of death, he had denied the religion of Christ and had embraced the faith of Mohammed. Murad seemed to place great trust in him. The Egyptian had become, it seemed, too important a man to be a mere ship captain—perhaps his experience on The Rose of Egypt had brought about this state of mind—and he left all matters in charge of the mate. He himself had much business to transact at court, and things occurred to postpone his questioning of me until we were almost ready to sail.