NARRATIVE OF A RESIDENCE IN ALGIERS – PART 3

(This post is a continuation of Narrative of a Residence in Algiers – Part 2. If you haven’t done so already, it’s best to read that post before continuing on here.)

This week, we continue with the story of Filippo Pananti’s experiences in Algiers.

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As I had been engaged in conversing with the Guardian Basha regarding my future, we passed to and fro amongst the dark corridors of the Bagnio, where the victims of servitude lay huddled in groups, stretched along the bare earth with nothing but a little covering of straw.

Then the English Vice-Consul appeared, he who had kindly recommended us to the Grande Scrivano and Guardian Basha. He came to inform me of the steps which had been taken by his generous principal, the Consul, in my favor with the Dey. The Grande Scrivano, however, determined to destroy the slight rays of hope shed by the Vice-Consul’s visit, informed me that I should now consider my fate as finally decided, for though there was a possibility of the Consul’s eloquence and credit prevailing with his master, yet the negative once being given, my future doom became irrevocable, and the exertions made for my liberation, when unsuccessful, would not fail to render the case more hopeless.

As may be easily conceived, I passed a sleepless night, embittered by the most painful apprehensions.

The first rays of light had not yet dawned, nor had either men or animals had time to recover from the preceding day’s labor when the turnkey, with a hoarse and stentorian accent, exclaimed, “A trabajo cornutos!” (“To work, cuckolds!”) This was followed by the application of a cudgel to the shoulders of those who manifested the smallest disinclination to obey the summons in double-quick time.

Before we left our prison, the Aga made his appearance, bringing with him numerous iron rings to be riveted onto our left ankles, there to remain in perpetuity as a sign of our bondage. The horrible weight of these rings can only be known to those who have worn them.

Having successively applied them to the legs of my companions, the Aga put one into my hand, saying that his excellency the Pasha, as a mark of most particular favor, would allow me the distinguished honor of putting on my own ring. This is not unlike the fatal privilege, granted to the viziers of the Porte, of strangling themselves with the cord sent for that purpose by their master.

With similar feelings did I put on this dreadful emblem of my servitude. A cold sweat covered my forehead, my heart throbbed with anguish, my eyes no longer saw my surroundings. I attempted to speak, but could not articulate. Looking downwards, I caught sight of the degrading badge, and, with a deathlike silence, I yielded to my fate.

The number of new victims of different nations mustered on this occasion, and all captured during the last cruise of the barbarians, amounted to two hundred. Being ordered to proceed to the scene of our labors, a mournful silence marked our progress, which was attended by guards both in front and rear, armed with whips, who frequently repeated, “A trabujo cornutos! Can d’infidel, a trabujo!” (“To work cuckolds! Dog of an infidel, to work!”). Thus escorted, we arrived at the public ovens, where two rusks of black bread were thrown to each of us, as if to mere dogs. I observed that the old captives, who had arrived on the ground before our party, greedily snatched them up and soon dispatched both with a frightful avidity.

After this, we arrived at the great Hall of the Marine. Seated there, in all the pride of their tyrannical power, were the various members of the executive government, including the Agas of the militia, the grand Admiral, first Captain of the squadron, the Cadi, the Mufti, and the Ulemas and judges according to the Koran. We were then ranged along in regular succession, selected, numbered, and looked at with particular attention. We stood as we were, our hearts beating agitatedly, waiting for whatever might come next.

A profound silence reigned through the hall.

Then it was broken by the Minister of Marine, first Secretary of State, who called out my name.

I was ordered to advance. Various interrogatories were put to me, relative to my occupations in England and other relations with that country. I answered them all in the best way I could.

The Minister paused, regarding me.

Then he pronounced the talismanic words I so yearned to hear: “Ti star franco!” (“You are free!”).

We are told that the most agreeable tones heard by human ears are those of well earned praise, the most treasured sounds those expressed by a beloved. No! The sweetest voice which can possibly vibrate through the heart of a man is that which restores him to liberty!

To form an adequate idea of what I felt on this unforeseen and happy change of circumstances, it will be necessary for the reader to conceive of a victim with the bandage on his eyes, the fatal axe uplifted, whose ears are suddenly astounded to hear a pronouncement of grace and mercy!

A case like mine was absolutely unique in the annals of Algiers, there being no example of another slave’s liberation so immediately after his captivity without ransom, since the decrees of those barbarians are usually of inexorable fatality.

A soldier was ordered to knock off my irons. This done, he, in his turn, desired me to go and thank the Minister. This dignitary then shook me by the hand, adding many expressions of civility and, finally, ordered the Dragoman [the Interpreter] to conduct me to the house of his Britannic majesty’s consul.

The first impulse of joy had fairly inundated my heart and, when once at liberty, I could move my limbs with some facility. But the next thought was for my unhappy companions, who, on the strength of my unexpected liberation, were induced to flatter themselves with the wild hope of being treated in a like manner. Next to my own safety, nothing on Earth could at that awful moment have afforded me such heartfelt satisfaction.

Departing slowly with my new guide, I stopped repeatedly, and looking back with wistful eyes, vainly anticipating the pleasure of seeing them follow. But the order was already given to conduct them all to labor, and their respective occupations were even pointed out. I saw them hanging down their heads, with eyes suffused in tears. They advanced a few steps towards me, pressed my hands, sobbed adieu… and disappeared.

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For the next installment of Filippo Pananti’s experiences in Algiers see Narrative of a Residence in Algiers – Part 4.

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For those who may be interested…

The above excerpt from Pananti’s Narrative of a Residence in Algiers comes from Chapter 3, pp. 73 – 76, of the original 1818 edition.