“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.