“Holy Prophet!” cried the pacha in a rage; “I will hear no more of your says I’s: if you cannot tell your story without them, you shall fare worse than Ali.”
“May it please your highness, how will it be possible for you to know what I said, unless I point out to you what I did say? I cannot tell my story without it.”
“I’ll see that,” replied the pacha, in a savage tone; and making a sign, the executioner made his appearance. “Now, then, go on with your story; and, executioner, after he has repeated says I three times, off with his head! Go on.”
“I shall never be able to go on, your highness; consider one moment how harmless my says I’s are to the detestable you knows of Ali. That’s what I always told him ‘Ali,’ says I, ‘if you only knew,’ says I, ‘how annoying you are! Why there,’ says I—”
At this moment the blow of the scimitar fell, and the head of Hussan rolled upon the floor; the lips, from the force of habit, still quivering in their convulsions with the motioning which would have produced says I, if the channel of sound had not been so effectually interrupted.
“That story’s ended!” observed the pacha in a rage. “Of all the nuisances I ever encountered, these two men have beat them all. Allah forbid that I should again meet with a says I, or you know!”
“Your highness is all wisdom,” observed Mustapha; “may such ever be the fate of those who cannot tell their stories without saying what they said.” The pacha, irritated at his disappointment, and little soothed by the remark of Mustapha, without making any answer to it was about to retire to his harem, when Mustapha, with a low salaam, informed him that the renegade was in attendance to relate his Second Voyage, if he might be permitted to kiss the dust in his presence. “Khoda shefa midêhed—God gives relief,” replied the pacha, as he resumed his seat: “let him approach.”
The renegade entered; and having paid the customary obeisance, took his seat, and commenced the narrative of his Second Voyage:—
May it please your most sublime highness, the day after I embarked we sailed with a fair wind; and having cleared the Straits, flattered ourselves with the prospect of a successful voyage; but we were miserably disappointed, for three days afterwards we fell in with a small brig under English colours. As she was evidently a merchant vessel we paid no attention to her running down to us, supposing that she was out of her reckoning, and wished to know her exact position on the chart. But as soon as she was close to us, instead of passing under our stern, as we expected, she rounded to, and laid us by the board. Taken by surprise and having no arms, we were beaten down below; and in a few minutes the vessel remained in the possession of our assailants. They held a short consultation, and then opening the hatches, a boatswain pulled out his whistle, and in a tremendous voice roared out, “All hands ahoy!” which was followed by his crying out, “Tumble up there, tumble up!” As we understood this to be a signal for our appearance on deck, we obeyed the summons. When we all came up, we found out that if we had had any idea that they were enemies, we might have beaten them off, as they were only fifteen in number while we mustered sixteen. But it was too late: we were unarmed, and they had each of them a cutlass, with two pistols stuck in their girdles. As soon as we were all on deck, they bound our arms behind us with ropes and ranged us in a line. Having inquired of each of us our respective ranks and professions, they held a short consultation, and the boatswain addressing me, said: “Thank Heaven, you scoundrel, that you were brought up as a barber, for it has saved your life!”