We and several of the spectators were now forthwith ushered into the presence of the great chief. We found him seated in the garden-porch of his house, a number of lamps hanging from the trees around him. It was a picturesque and romantic scene. Four or five persons—mostly grave old gentlemen with long white beards—sat on cushions on either side of him; while others, in rich dresses, which betokened some rank, stood behind him. He had evidently been having a dinner party, and now wanted an evening entertainment. Mr Vernon salaamed before him, and asked what was the pleasure of so generous, magnificent, and grand a chief.
“Why, this: Understanding your young slave can play in a wondrous manner, I wish to hear him,” said the Sheikh. “But tell me, O merchant! how is it that he can communicate with my captive, as I am told he does. They must have been acquainted before.”
This question at first puzzled the pretended Turk, but he promptly replied, “O most wise and sagacious chief, worthy of being monarch of the faithful, know that these Nazarenes are in their youth instructed in many arts and sciences. Some play on instruments, some dance, others sing, or paint likenesses of men and beasts, strange abomination as that may appear. Now my slave is one who has learned to play on an instrument, and he who has the happiness to be owned by your highness, is one who has learned to dance.”
“I see, I see,” exclaimed the chief; “and it is a sin that two such accomplished slaves should belong to different masters; therefore, merchant, what price do you fix on yours? for, if he answers my expectations, I intend to become his purchaser.”
This announcement puzzled Mr Vernon somewhat; but, of course, he could not refuse at once.
“He is unworthy of being possessed by your highness,” he replied; “for nature has not allowed him the power of speech. But, rather than speak of that matter, let him show you a specimen of his art.”
He then made a sign to me, and I struck up Jack’s favourite hornpipe; the Moors, old and young, black beards and grey, short and long, forming a circle round him. Up he jumped, and, with arms akimbo, commenced his dance. If he had before shuffled, and kicked, and capered, he now redoubled his efforts, snapping his fingers, clapping his hands, turning and twisting in every conceivable way. Scarcely ever before was such a hornpipe danced. It drew forth rounds of applause from even the gravest of the spectators. The chief was delighted. Turning to one of his attendants, he gave an order, which I did not then comprehend. Mr Vernon had kept outside the circle, to be ready for any emergency which, as Jack hinted, might occur. I, meantime, played away a variety of other tunes, till Jack, jumping up from the spot where he had thrown himself, made a sign to me to begin another hornpipe. This time he even outdid either of his former attempts; indeed, before, I believe that he was only shamming being tired; for my fingers and elbows began to ache before his legs or breath gave any signs of his wish to end the dance.
“Change the tune, Mr D’Arcy. Wallop-ahoo-aboo! I’ll just give them an Irish jig to keep them staring.”
A jig I played, and a jig he danced, with agility enough to win the heart of any Nora Creina in old Ireland. Then I tried a Scotch reel, and he almost outdid the jig: nor did he cease till he saw Mr Vernon rejoin the circle.
“Now if we haven’t bamboozled the old gentleman famously, my name’s not Jack Stretcher!” he exclaimed with a loud laugh, slapping his thigh; an action which was naturally supposed by his audience to mark the finale of his barbaric dances.