“I’ve me doubts that yer not so ancient as ye look, owld feller,” he said, eyeing the man keenly as he drew near, and moving the head of the thick stick, which, as usual, rested in his pocket, as if to hold it in readiness for instant action.
“Be the Breetish consul at home?” said the old man in broken English and in breathless haste.
“Not at present,” answered the seaman quickly, for he now saw that the man was really old, and that anxiety had given him strength to exert himself beyond his ordinary powers, “but I’m goin’ to meet him—bein’, if I may so spake, his edgedukong. Av you’ve anything in the world to say to his Excellency I’m your man to carry the message.”
“You are Breetish sailor, I zee,” returned the old man, sitting down and heaving a deep sigh, as if unable to recover breath. “You will onderstan’ when I say your Lord Exmouth do come quickly for bombard de city!”
“Onderstand you—is it?” exclaimed Ted, with sudden excitement. “Faix do I, but I don’t belave ye.”
“Man!” said the other, with an earnest look, “doos you tink I come here like dis for tell do Breetish consul a lie!”
“Shure yer right, an’ I’m a goose,” exclaimed the tar, becoming still more excited; “but are ’ee sure yer not mistaken, owld man?”
“Quite sure. Listen. Go, tell consul dat one boat come shore at Pointe Pescade, find me dere, capture me—carry me off. It was fishin’ boat in Breetish pay. Dey find out who I be. Give leave to go shore again, and warn Breetish consul to look out, for Turk ver’ savage when him hear of dis. Lord Exmouth, wid large fleet come straight to Algiers, for delivrin’ all slaves, an’ blow up de city.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Flaggan, in a subdued voice, while he unpocketed the cudgel and twirled it over his head. “Good luck to ’ee, owld man. I’m off to tell the consul. Go in here an’ they’ll give ’ee some grub. Say I sent ’ee.—But, hallo!” he added, when on the point of starting, “what’s yer name?”
“The Padre Giovanni,” replied the old man.