“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.”