(This post is a continuation of Don Quixote – The Captive’s Tale – Parts 1 through 9. If you haven’t done so already, it’s probably best to read those posts before continuing on here.)
Last week, the captive, his companions, and Zoraida escaped from Algiers and sailed away, setting a course for Majorca. This week, we follow them on their journey.
After leaving Algiers, we set a straight course for Majorca. Owing, however, to the Tramontana rising a little, and the sea growing somewhat rough, it was impossible for us to keep this course, and we were compelled to coast in the direction of Oran, not without great uneasiness on our part, lest we should be observed from the town of Shershel, which lies on that coast, not more than sixty miles distant from Algiers.
Moreover, we were afraid of meeting on that course one of the galliots that usually come with goods from Tetouan. However, each of us for himself and all of us together felt confident that, if we were to meet a merchant galliot—as long as it were not a well-armed cruiser—not only would we not be lost, but that we could take a vessel like that and in it we could more safely accomplish our voyage.
As we pursued our course, Zoraida kept her head between my hands so as not to see her father, and I felt that she was praying to Lela Marien to help us.
We might have made about thirty miles when daybreak found us some three musket-shots off the land, which seemed to us deserted, and without anyone to see us. For all that, however, by hard rowing we put out a little to sea, for it was now somewhat calmer, and having gained about two leagues, the word was given to row by batches, while we ate something, for the vessel was well provided.
The rowers, however, said it was not a time to take any rest and that food could be served out to those who were not rowing, but that they would not leave their oars on any account. As this was being done, a stiff breeze began to blow, which obliged us to leave off rowing and make sail at once and steer for Oran, as it was impossible to make any other course.
All this was done very promptly, and under sail we ran more than eight miles an hour without any fear except that of coming across some vessel out on a roving expedition. We gave the Moorish rowers some food, and the renegade comforted them by telling them that they were not held as captives, as we would set them free on the first opportunity.
The same was said to Zoraida’s father, who replied, “Anything else, Christian, I might hope for or think likely from your generosity and good behavior, but do not think me so simple as to imagine you will give me my liberty, for you would have never exposed yourselves to the danger of depriving me of it only to restore it to me so generously, especially as you know who I am and the sum you may expect to receive on restoring it. If you will only name that sum, I hereby offer you all you require for myself and for my unhappy daughter here, or else for her alone, for she is the greatest and most precious part of my soul.”
As he said this, he began to weep so bitterly that he filled us all with compassion and forced Zoraida to look at him. When she saw him weeping, she was so moved that she rose from my feet and ran to throw her arms round him, pressing her face to his. They then both gave way to such an outburst of tears that several of us were constrained to keep them company.
When her father saw her in full dress and with all her jewels about her, he said to her in his own language, “What means this, my daughter? Last night, before this terrible misfortune in which we are plunged befell us, I saw thee in thy every-day and indoor garments. Now, without having had time to attire thyself, and without my bringing thee any joyful tidings to furnish an occasion for adorning and bedecking thyself, I see thee arrayed in the finest attire it would be in my power to give thee when fortune was most kind to us. Answer me this, for it causes me greater anxiety and surprise than even this misfortune itself.”
The renegade interpreted to us what the Moor said to his daughter. She, however, returned him no answer. But when he observed in one corner of the vessel the little trunk in which she used to keep her jewels, which he well knew he had left in Algiers and had not brought to the garden, he was still more amazed. He asked her how that trunk had come into our hands, and what there was in it.
To this, the renegade, without waiting for Zoraida to reply, made answer. “Do not trouble thyself by asking thy daughter Zoraida so many questions, señor, for the one answer I will give thee will serve for all. I would have thee know that she is a Christian, and that it is she who has been the file for our chains and our deliverer from captivity. She is here of her own free will, as glad, I imagine, to find herself in this position as he who escapes from darkness into the light, from death to life, and from suffering to glory.”
“Daughter, is this true, what he says?” cried the Moor.
“It is,” replied Zoraida.
“That thou art in truth a Christian,” said the old man, “and that thou hast given thy father into the power of his enemies?”
To which Zoraida made answer, “A Christian I am, but it is not I who have placed thee in this position, for it never was my wish to leave thee or do thee harm, but only to do good to myself.”
“And what good hast thou done thyself, daughter?” said he.
“Ask thou that,” said she, “of Lela Marien, for she can tell thee better than I.”
The Moor had hardly heard these words when with marvelous quickness he flung himself headforemost into the sea, where no doubt he would have been drowned had not the long and full dress he wore held him up for a little on the surface of the water.
Zoraida cried aloud to us to save him, and we all hastened to help, and seizing him by his robe we drew him in half drowned and insensible, at which Zoraida was in such distress that she wept over him as piteously and bitterly as though he were already dead. We turned him upon his face and he voided a great quantity of water, and at the end of two hours came to himself.
Meanwhile, the wind having changed, and we were compelled to head for the land and ply our oars to avoid being driven on shore. It was our good fortune to reach a creek that lies on one side of a small promontory or cape, called by the Moors the “Cava rumia,” which in our language means “the wicked Christian woman;” for it is a tradition among them that La Cava, through whom Spain was lost, lies buried at that spot—“cava” in their language meaning “wicked woman,” and “rumia” “Christian.” Moreover, they count it unlucky to anchor there when necessity compels them, and they never do so otherwise.
In truth, for us, it was not the resting-place of the wicked woman but a haven of safety for our relief, so much had the sea now got up. We posted a look-out on shore and never let the oars out of our hands. Then we ate of the stores the renegade had laid in, imploring God and Our Lady with all our hearts to help and protect us, that we might give a happy ending to a beginning so prosperous.
At the entreaty of Zoraida, orders were given to set on shore her father and the other Moors who were still bound, for she could not endure, nor could her tender heart bear to see her father in bonds and her fellow-countrymen prisoners before her eyes. We promised her to do this at the moment of departure, for, as it was uninhabited, we ran no risk in releasing them at that place.
Our prayers were not so far in vain as to be unheard by Heaven, for after a while the wind changed in our favor, and made the sea calm, inviting us once more to resume our voyage with a good heart. Seeing this, we unbound the Moors, and one by one, put them on shore. They were filled with amazement at this.
When we came to put Zoraida’s father ashore, who had now completely recovered his senses, he said: “Why is it, think ye, Christians, that this wicked woman is rejoiced at your giving me my liberty? Think ye it is because of the affection she bears me? Nay verily, it is only because of the hindrance my presence offers to the execution of her base designs. And think not that it is her belief that yours is better than ours that has led her to change her religion. It is only because she knows that immodesty is more freely practiced in your country than in ours.”
Then, turning to Zoraida, while I and another of the Christians held him fast by both arms, lest he should do some mad act, he said to her, “Infamous girl, misguided maiden, whither in thy blindness and madness art thou going in the hands of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour when I begot thee! Cursed the luxury and indulgence in which I reared thee!”
Seeing that he was not likely soon to cease, I made haste to put him on shore, and thence he continued his maledictions and lamentations aloud, calling on Mohammed and Allah to destroy us, to confound us, to make an end of us. When, in consequence of having made sail, we could no longer hear what he said, we could see what he did, how he plucked out his beard and tore his hair and lay writhing on the ground.
But once he raised his voice to such a pitch that we were able to hear him. “Come back, dear daughter, come back to shore! I forgive thee all. Let those men have the money, for it is theirs now, and come back to comfort thy sorrowing father, who will yield up his life on this barren strand if thou dost leave him.”
For a further installment of The Captive’s Tale, see the next post in this blog.
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