Within the mosque an indescribable din prevailed, which reached its climax when with drawn swords Khaireddin’s janissaries and renegades appeared in the doorway and began to clear a path for their lord. Khaireddin himself advanced among his warriors, sending greetings to right and left, and waving his hand. Before him marched a number of standard bearers, and immediately after him the white- bearded Faqih and the eldest sons of the merchants who had already returned, it seemed, from their important pilgrimage. Mustafa ben- Nakir was also of the suite, clad in a splendid kaftan and the Aga’s turban; from time to time he surveyed his well-kept nails.
I was disappointed at my first sight of Khaireddin, of whom I had heard so much. He was a man of little majesty, being indeed short and rather fat. As a mark of dignity he wore a tall felt cap bound with a turban of white muslin. Strangely enough the turban was not even clean, though it was adorned in front by a crescent of sparkling stones. He went empty handed and had not even a dagger in his girdle. His beard was dyed and there was a smile on his round, catlike face as he walked with short steps across the floor.
When he reached the reader’s place he made a sign to show that he was going to pray. He uncovered his head, rolled up his sleeves, and in the sight of everyone performed the prescribed ablutions. The Faqih poured water over his hands and the eldest sons of the merchants dried his hands, head, and feet. He then replaced the turban on his head, recited the prayers and three suras of the Koran, while the assembled people listened attentively. The Faqih then sat in the reader’s place and intoned certain verses. He read very beautifully; without difficulty he found passages appropriate to the coming of the Deliverer, and others enjoining mercy, justice, and liberality.
When the Faqih had read for so long that the people began to grow restless, he at last resigned his place to Khaireddin, who mounted the high seat, crossed his legs under him, and with a slight stammer began to expound the sacred texts in so easy and entertaining a manner that now and then laughter could be heard among his audience. At last he raised his hand gently and said, “My dear children, I have come back to you, impelled by an auspicious dream, and I will never abandon you again. Henceforth I will protect you as a good father should, and you shall endure no more wrongs, for in this city justice shall ever prevail.”
Emotion threatened to stifle his voice, but wiping tears from his beard he went on, “I would not sadden your hearts by recalling unpleasantness, yet in the name of truth I must admit that it was with a sentiment of profound disgust that I left this place, after my brother Baba Aroush had fallen in the unhappy war with the Sultan of Tel- mesan. Honesty compels me to add that I was very greatly cast down by the ingratitude and deceit with which the inhabitants rewarded my efforts to defend them against the unbelievers. A rancorous man in my position might requite evil with evil. But I seek only justice, and have often repaid a wrong with a good action, as I do today in returning to protect you from the enemy. But I note that no one answers me, and not the meanest present has been brought before me in token of your good intentions. Indeed, I fear that I shall again be overcome by repugnance for this town, and find it desirable to depart more swiftly than I came.”
The people in alarm began loudly beseeching him not to abandon them to the Spaniards’ wrath; many fell upon their knees, strong men wept, and old men tore their beards to demonstrate their loyalty. Gifts proportionate to the means and standing of the givers were hurriedly brought forward, each man being careful to mention his name and his offering, that both might be recorded in the books. And now before the raised seat of the reader there rose a mighty mound of bales, chests, gold and silver vessels, jewels, baskets of fruit, and a quantity of money; even the poorest made shift to offer at least one silver coin. But Khaireddin surveyed the growing heap without enthusiasm; indeed his face darkened, and at last he raised his hand and said, “I knew that the town of Algiers was poor, but I could not have believed it to be as poor as this. In all the heap before me I cannot see one present of the sort that would appeal to me. Not that I made such a present a condition for my return; nevertheless I believed that you would so far have considered my wishes as to remember it.”
The congregation were crestfallen indeed at his words, but Abu el-Kasim pinched my arm and together we pushed our way forward to Khaireddin’s throne. Abu el-Kasim addressed him, saying, “Poor though I am, I have awaited your coming with eager impatience, O lord of the sea! See, I bring you a good gift which I am persuaded will find favor in your eyes. Nor do I doubt that you will reward me in a fashion worthy of yourself.”
The people were accustomed to look upon Abu as a clown; they wondered what this present prank of his might be, and put their hands to their mouths to suppress the burst of laughter they had in readiness. But the smile froze on their lips when, at a sign from Abu, I uncovered the golden dish and he seized Selim’s swollen head by the hair, holding it up for Khaireddin and all the rest to see.
Now Selim ben-Hafs had in his time sorely injured Khaireddin, so it was no wonder that he laughed arrogantly at the sight of his enemy’s head, and clapping his hands together cried, “You’ve divined my innermost thoughts, good merchant, and your gift outweighs all the injuries done me in this city, which henceforth shall be my capital. Tell me your name.”
Abu, grimacing in his excitement, gave his name, and Khaireddin contemplated his enemy’s head with rapture. With a sweeping gesture he cried, “Take all this rubbish, Abu el-Kasim my loyal servant, and share as much of it with your slave as you think fit. The givers of these things shall carry them to your house and so appreciate the regard I have for you.”
For once Abu el-Kasim stood speechless amid the awed murmur of the throng. Then Khaireddin awoke from his rapture and, with a sideways glance at the great heap, added quickly, “Naturally a tenth must be paid into my treasury, as in the case of prizes captured at sea. And further-”
As by magic Abu el-Kasim regained his speech and sought to drown further retractions by loud cries and the invocation of coundess blessings upon the head of Khaireddin, wherein I seconded him with all my might. The ruler began to relent, and stroked his dyed beard. But the Faqih hastily interposed, saying, “Allah blesses the open- handed, and you, Abu el-Kasim, shall carry nothing away until the mosque has received its fifth of the gold and silver and its tenth of all other wares. That the valuation may be fair and impartial, I call upon the foremost merchants of the city to effect it.”
Abu’s jaw dropped. Looking up reproachfully at Khaireddin he said, “Alas, why did you act with such ostentation, O lord of the sea? You might as easily have given me these things when we were alone together, without witnesses. I could then have decided for myself, according to my own conscience, what my obligations were.”
Delight in the misfortunes of others is of all delights the keenest, and Abu el-Kasim’s despairing face aroused exultation in the hearts of everyone. He hurled himself madly upon the merchandise and behaved in so eccentric a fashion that not even the great Khaireddin could keep a straight face.
But at length he wearied of it all, and mindful of his dignity he rose and left the mosque attended by his officers, amid the benedictions of the crowd. Outside he distributed liberal alms. Moved by the general rejoicing, the Turkish janissaries began firing salvos with their muskets, while down in the harbor the artillerymen joined in and discharged their cannon until we were deafened, and market place and mosque were enveloped in smoke. Captain de Varga, the Spanish commander, could hardly be blamed for answering the fire, since the guns in the harbor were trained on the fortress and their shot tore holes in the wall of the keep.