Keeping about twenty yards behind, they followed the slaves into the Kasba, where they met with no interruption from the guards, who seemed to be well acquainted with Peter the Great, though they did not condescend to notice him, except by a passing glance.
“How is it that every one lets you pass so easily?” asked Foster, when they had nearly reached the southern wall of the fortress.
“Eberybody knows me so well—das one reason,” answered the negro, with a grin of self-satisfaction.
“I’s quite a public krakter in dis yar city, you mus’ know. Den, anoder t’ing is, dat our massa am a man ob power. He not got no partikler office in de state, ’cause he not require it, for he’s a rich man, but he’s got great power wid de Dey—we’s bof got dat!”
“Indeed; how so?”
“Stand here, under dis doorway, and I tell you—dis way, where you can see de splendid view ob de whole city an’ de harbour an’ sea b’yond. We kin wait a bit here while de slabes are gittin’ ready to work. You see de bit ob wall dat’s damaged dere? Well, dey’re goin’ to repair dat. We’ll go look at ’em by-an’-by.”
As the incident which Peter narrated might prove tedious if given in his own language, we take the liberty of relating it for him.
One fine morning during the previous summer the Dey of Algiers mounted his horse—a fiery little Arab—and, attended by several of his courtiers, cantered away in the direction of the suburb which is now known by the name of Mustapha Supérieur. When drawing near to the residence of Ben-Ahmed the Dey’s horse became unmanageable and ran away. Being the best horse of the party, the courtiers were soon left far behind. It chanced that Ben-Ahmed and his man, Peter the Great, were walking together towards the city that day. On turning a sharp bend in the road where a high bank had shut out their view they saw a horseman approaching at a furious gallop.
“It is the Dey!” exclaimed Ben-Ahmed.
“So it am!” responded Peter.