Chapter Eleven.
Is Diplomatic and Otherwise.
Just after the escape of the slaves, as already narrated, the British consul demanded a private audience of the Dey. His request was granted, and one morning early he set off on horseback to the city. Arriving there too soon, he put up his horse, and, threading his way through the streets of the old town, soon found himself in front of the small and unpretending, though massive, portal of Bacri the Jew.
He found the master of the house seated in the central court, or skiffa, drinking coffee with his wife and children.
“Bacri,” said the Colonel, “may I venture to interrupt your present agreeable occupation? I wish to have a talk with you in private.”
“With pleasure,” replied the Jew, rising and ushering his visitor into a small apartment, the peculiar arrangement and contents of which betokened it the wealthy merchant’s study or office,—indeed, it might have been styled either with equal propriety, for Bacri, besides being an able man of business, was learned in Arabic literature—of which the town possessed, and still possesses, a valuable library,—and was a diligent student of the Hebrew Scriptures.
“You are aware,” said the Colonel, “that I am, at your request, about to use my influence with the Dey in behalf of certain friends of yours. Now, there is an old saying—and I have great respect for many old sayings,—that ‘one good turn deserves another.’ May I, then, ask you to do me a favour?”
“Certainly,” said the Jew. “Name it.”