“That’s it exactly as I remember it,” said the captive.
“Well then, the one about the fort,” said the man, “if my memory serves me, goes like this:
The sonnets didn’t seem bad, and the captive was very happy with the news that they gave him about his friend, and he continued his story saying:
With the surrender of La Goleta and the fort, the Turks ordered La Goleta to be demolished (for the fort was already in such bad shape, it was as good as razed). In order to do it quickly and with minimal work, they laid charges under it in three places, but they couldn’t blow up the part that seemed weakest—the ancient walls—whereas all that was left standing of the new building—which had been built by El Fratín —crumbled easily. Finally, the fleet returned to Constantinople, and a few months later my master, Uchalí, died. They called him Uchalí Fartax, which means in Turkish «the scabby renegade», because that’s the way he was. It’s a custom among the Turks to take names based on some defect or virtue that they have. This is because there are only four surnames of families that trace their descent from the House of Ottoman, and the rest, as I’ve said, take their first and last names sometimes from bodily blemishes, and sometimes from moral qualities. This scabby one had rowed at the oar as a slave of the Great Master for fourteen years, and when he was more than thirty-four years old, he renounced his faith because he was so angry with a Turk who had given him a punch while they were rowing, and to avenge himself, he converted to Islam. His valor was such that, without using obscene means or other favorite means of the Grand Turk, came to be king of Algiers, and afterwards general-at-sea, which is the third highest position in that realm. He was Calabrian by birth, and morally a worthy man, and treated his slaves with great humanity. He finally had three thousand slaves, and after his death, they were divided, as he stipulated in his will, among the Great Master (who is an heir of all those who die, and shares with the children of the deceased), and among his renegades. I fell to a Venetian renegade who, when he was a cabin boy on a ship, was taken as a slave by Uchalí, and he was so beloved by him that he became one of his regaled youths. This former cabin boy came to be the cruelest renegade I ever saw—his name was Hassán Bajá, and he grew very rich and became the king of Algiers. I went there with him from Constantinople, quite content to be near Spain, not because I planned to write to anyone about my misfortunes, but to see if Fortune would be better to me in Algiers than in Constantinople, where I’d attempted a thousand different ways to escape, and none worked out. I thought that I’d find other means in Algiers of getting what I wanted so much, because I’d never abandoned hope of freedom, and when the outcome of what I devised, planned, and tried, didn’t turn out right, without despairing, I concealed my intentions and sought fresh hope to bolster me, no matter how faint and feeble it might be.
This is the way I spent my time, shut up in a prison or house that the Turks call a BAÑO, where they keep their Christian slaves—those belonging to the king as well as those belonging to some individuals, which they call THOSE OF THE ALMACÉN, which is the same thing as saying «prisoners of the municipality», who are employed in the public works of the city and other odd jobs. These captives have a hard time getting their freedom. Since they’re held in common and have no particular master, there is no one with whom one can negotiate for their ransom, even though they may have ransom money available. Private persons of the town typically take their captives to these baños—mainly those eligible for ransom—since they can keep them there at their ease and in safety until their ransom comes. The captives of the king who were waiting for ransom don’t go out to work with the others, except when the ransom money is delayed. When that happens, to make them write more fervently for the ransom, they’re made to work and gather firewood like the rest, which is no light work.
I was one of the ones waiting for ransom. Since they knew I was a captain, even though I told them I had little means and was far from rich, it did little good, for they placed me among those who were waiting for ransom. They put a chain on me, more as a sign that I was to be ransomed than to keep me locked up, and so I lived there with a number of other men and persons of quality, designated and held for ransom. Although hunger and nakedness troubled us at times—maybe almost always—nothing bothered us quite as much as hearing and seeing at every turn the unheard-of cruelties that my master inflicted on Christians. Every day he would hang one, impale this one, rip the ear off that one, and all this for very little cause, so much so that the Turks thought he did it for amusement, and that he was murderously disposed toward the whole human race. The only one that fared well with him was a Spanish soldier named So-and-So de Saavedra, whom he never beat, nor had him drubbed, nor said a harsh word to, even though the Spaniard did things that will stick in people’s memory for many years—and all of them to get his freedom—and for the least of the many things he did, all of us were fearful that he would be impaled, and he feared it himself more than once. If time permitted, I’d say things now that this soldier did that would interest and astonish you much more than the narration of my own story.
So, getting on with my story, the patio in our prison was overlooked by the windows of the house of a rich and important Moor, which were in the Moorish tradition more openings than windows, covered with thick blinds. It happened, then, that one day when I was in the patio with three other companions, passing the time of day by seeing how far we could jump with our chains on—we were alone, since the other Christians had gone to work. I raised my eyes by chance and saw a stick appear through one of those little windows I mentioned, and tied to it there was a piece of cloth. The stick was being waved back and forth, almost as if someone were making signs for us to go over and take it. We watched it, and one of the men with me went over and stood under it to see if they would let it go, or what they would do. But as soon as he got there, they raised the stick and waved it back and forth, as if they were saying NO by a shake of the head. The Christian came back, and they lowered it again and waved it as before. Another of my companions went over and the same thing happened to him as happened to the first one. Finally, the third one went over, and had the same result as the first two.
When I saw this, I thought I’d try my luck as well, and as soon as I went over and stood under it, they let it drop, and it fell inside the baño at my feet. I hurried to untie the cloth, in which I saw a knotted handkerchief that I untied, and inside it were ten cianís, which are coins made of gold alloy that the Moors use, and each one is worth ten of our reales. That I was pleased with my find goes without saying, but my joy was as great as my wonder, curious about where that good fortune could have come to us from, to me especially, since the unwillingness to release the stick except to me clearly showed that it was for me that the favor was intended. I took my welcome money, broke the stick, and went back to the terrace, I looked at the window and saw a lily-white hand that opened and shut it quickly. From this we gathered or figured out that some woman who lived in that house must have done that good deed, and to show our thanks, we made salaams in the Moorish style, bowing our heads and bending at the waist, crossing our arms over our chests. After a little while, she extended a little cross made of reeds through he window and took it back in immediately. This sign confirmed that some Christian woman must be captive in that house, and she was the one who did us that favor. But the whiteness of her hand and the bracelets that she wore dispelled this idea. Then we imagined that it must be some Christian renegade, one of those whom their masters sometimes take as their legitimate wives, and they even do it gladly, for they prefer them to women of their own race.
In all of our speculations, we were very far from the truth of the matter. From then on about the only thing we did was to fix our gaze at the window where the cross had appeared—as if it were the north star. But two weeks went by in which we didn’t see it, or the hand, or any other sign. During this time we made every effort to find out who lived in that house, and if there was any Christian renegade woman living there, but we never found anyone who could tell us anything except that an important Moor lived there named Hajji Murad, formerly governor of El-Batha, which they consider a highly respected office. But when we were least thinking that more cianís would rain down, we suddenly saw another stick appear, with a piece of cloth tied to it and a larger knotted handkerchief inside, and this was when the baño was deserted just like the previous time. We tried the original test, each of the three others going before me, but only to me was the reed delivered, because when I went over, they let it fall. I untied the knot and found forty Spanish escudos in gold, and a paper written in Arabic, and at the end of the text was a large cross. I kissed the cross and took the escudos and went back to the terrace. We did our salaams, and the hand once again appeared. I made signs to the effect that I’d read the paper, and they closed the window. We were perplexed and happy with what had happened, and since none of us understood Arabic, we were enormously curious to find out what the paper said, and it was going to be even harder to find someone who could read it.
Finally, I decided to confide in a renegade from Murcia who had said he was my great friend, and having made pledges that he would keep the secret I’d entrust to him—because some renegades, when they’re planning to return to Christian lands take with them testimonials from important captives that attest, in whatever way they can, that the renegade is a good man who has always done well by Christians, and that he’s eager to escape at the first opportunity. There are some who use these certificates with good intentions; others use them casually and cunningly—if they go on a plundering raid in Christian territory, and get left behind or are captured, they take these testimonials out and say that through those papers it will be seen the reason they returned, was to remain in Christian lands, and that’s why they participated in the maritime raid with the Turks. By these means they escape the immediate consequences and get reconciled with the Church without suffering any punishment —and at the first chance they return to the Barbary Coast.
So, one of the renegades I mentioned was a friend of mine who had testimonials from all of us, in which we vouched for him insofar as we could. If the Moors found these papers on him, they would burn him alive. I found out that he knew Arabic very well—not only could he speak it but he could also write it. But before I’d reveal the whole secret to him, I asked him to read the paper I said I’d found by chance somewhere in my cell. He unfolded it and spent a good while examining and deciphering it, muttering between his teeth. I asked him if he understood it. He said that he did, and very well, and if I wanted him to read it for me word for word, I should give him some ink and a pen so he could do it properly. We gave him what he asked for, and he—a bit at a time—translated it. As he was finishing, he said: “Everything that I wrote here in Spanish, without missing a letter, is what this paper in Arabic says, but where it says LELA MARIÉN, it should read OUR LADY THE VIRGIN MARY”
We read the paper, which went like this:
When I was a girl, my father had a slave who taught me in my language about the Christian ZALÁ and she said many things about Lela Marién. The Christian woman died, and I know that she didn’t go into the fire, but went with Allah, because I saw her twice afterwards and she told me that I should go to Christian lands to see Lela Marién, who loved me very much. I don’t know how to go there. I’ve seen many Christians through this window and none has seemed a gentleman, except you. I’m very pretty and young, and have a lot of money I can take with me. See if you can find a way for us to go there, and if you want, you can be my husband. If not, it won’t distress me because Lela Marién will provide me with someone to marry. I wrote this. Be careful to whom you give this to read—trust no Moor because they’re all deceivers. Therefore I’m greatly troubled, for I’d like you not to reveal this to anyone, because if my father found out, he would throw me into a well and cover me with stones. I’ll tie a piece of string to a stick so you can tie your answer to it. And if you have no one who can write Arabic, tell me by signs, for Lela Marién will make me understand. May she and Allah, and this cross which I kiss many times, protect you.
Señores, judge if I had reason for surprise and joy at the words of this paper. Both were so great that the renegade realized that I hadn’t found the paper by chance, but that it had been written to one of us. So he begged us, if it was true what he suspected, to confide in him and tell him everything, and he would risk his life for our freedom. And when he said this, he took out a metal cross, and with many tears swore by the God that the cross represented, in whom he—although a sinner and a bad man—truly and faithfully believed, to keep everything we might want to tell him a secret, because it seemed to him, and he almost guessed it, that through the woman who had written that letter, he and all of us, could get our freedom, and he could get what he most wanted, which was to restore himself to the Holy Mother Church from which—through his own ignorance and sin—he’d been severed like a rotten limb.
With so many tears and signs of repentance the renegade said this, that we all agreed to tell him the truth of the matter, so we told him everything without concealing anything. We pointed out the window from where the stick had appeared, and he situated the house from there, and took special care to find out who lived in it. We also agreed that it would be good to answer the Moorish woman’s letter, since we now had someone who could do it. The renegade wrote down the words that I dictated to him without delay, which are the exact ones that I’ll repeat, because of all the important things that happened to me in this whole affair, none has left my memory, nor will they ever as long as I live. This, then, is what we responded to the Moorish woman:
May the true Allah protect you, señora mía, and that blessed Marién who is the true Mother of God, and is the one who put into your heart that you should go to the land of the Christians, because she loves you so much. Pray to her to be pleased to instruct you how to do what she commands, for she’s so good she’ll certainly do it. On my part, and on that of all the Christians with me, I promise we’ll do all we can, even unto death. Don’t fail to write and tell me what you plan to do, and I’ll always answer you, for the great Allah has given us a captive Christian who can speak and write your language as well, as you can see by this letter. So you can tell us everything you want without fear. As for what you say that if you went to the land of Christians that you’ll be my wife, I promise you that I’ll be your husband, as a good Christian, and you know that Christians keep their promises better than Moors. May Allah and Marién keep you safe, señora mía.
Once the letter was written and sealed, I waited two days until the baño was empty as before, and then I went to the usual place on the terrace to see if the stick appeared, and there was little delay before it did. As soon as I saw it, even though I couldn’t see who was holding it, I showed the letter as a sign that the string should be lowered, and I tied the letter to it. Soon after, our star with the white flag of peace—the little bundle—appeared again. They let it fall and I picked it up and found all kinds of money in gold and silver in the cloth—more than fifty escudos in all—which increased our joy fifty times and strengthened our hopes of getting free.
That same night our renegade came back and told us he’d learned that the Moor who lived in that house was indeed Hajji Murad, that he was really very wealthy, and that he had one daughter, heiress to his whole estate, and that it was commonly held that she was the most beautiful woman on the Barbary Coast, and that many viceroys who had come there had asked to marry her. He also found out that she had had a Christian slave woman who had died. All this corresponded to what was in the letter. We then asked the renegade what plan we should use to take the Moorish woman and return to Christian lands, and finally we agreed to wait for the second letter of Zoraida—for that’s what the woman who now calls herself María used to be called—because we saw clearly that she and no one else could find a way out of these difficulties. After we agreed to this, the renegade said that we shouldn’t worry, for he would lose his life or set us free.
For four days the baño was filled with people, and that’s why the stick delayed four days in its appearance, but at the end of that time, when the baño was empty, the cloth again appeared and it was so pregnant that it promised a happy birth. The stick and cloth came down to me, and I found another letter in it and a hundred escudos in gold, and no other money. The renegade was there, and we gave him the letter to read, and he said that it read this way:
I don’t know, mi señor, how we should plan to go to Spain, and Lela Marién hasn’t told me anything, although I’ve asked her. All that can be done is for me to give you—through this window—a lot of money in gold. Ransom yourself and your friends with it, then go to Christian territory and, buy a boat there and come back for the others. You’ll find me in my father’s garden near the Babazón gate, near the marina, where I’ll be spending the summer with my father and my servants. You can take me to the boat from there without fear. And remember, you have to become my husband, because if not, I’ll ask Marién to punish you. If you cannot trust anyone to go for the boat, ransom yourself and go. I know you’ll come back more surely than other men since you are a gentleman and a Christian. Try to get to know the garden, and when you stroll under my window I’ll know the baño is empty and I’ll give you a lot of money. May Allah keep you, señor mío.
This is what the second letter contained, and on seeing the contents, each one said he would like to be the one ransomed, and promised with conscientious good faith to go and come back, and I offered to go as well. The renegade opposed all of this saying that in no way would he consent for one of us to gain freedom until we all could leave together, because experience had shown how poorly those who had been set free kept their promises made in captivity. Many times some important captives used those measures to ransom someone to go to Valencia or Mallorca, with money to equip a boat and come back for those who had ransomed him, and they never came back, because recovered freedom and the fear of going back and losing it, erased from their memory all the obligations in the world. And to confirm this truth he was relating to us, he told us briefly about a case that happened to certain Christians very recently—the strangest case that ever happened in those parts—where astonishing things happen all the time.
In short, he ended by saying what could and should be done with the money that was supposed to be used to ransom one of us Christians was to give the money to him to buy a boat in Algiers, under the pretext of becoming a merchant and trader in Tetuán and along that coast, and since he would be the owner of the boat, he could easily find a way of getting us from the baño and putting us on board, the more so if the Moorish woman, as she said, gave enough money to ransom us all. Since we would be free, it would be very easy to get on board the boat in broad daylight but the biggest hurdle would be that Moors never allow any renegade to buy a boat, unless it’s a large corsair ship, because they’re afraid that anyone who buys a boat—particularly if he’s a Spaniard—only wants it to go to Christian lands. But he could circumvent this impediment by making a Moor from Tangier his partner in the purchase of the boat, and with this pretext he would become the master of the vessel and considered the rest as good as done.
And although it seemed better to me and my friends to get a boat in Mallorca as the Moorish woman had suggested, we didn’t dare oppose him, fearing that if we didn’t do what he said, he might denounce us, placing us in danger of losing our lives if the agreement with Zoraida were revealed, and for whose life we would give our own. So we resolved to put our fate in the hands of God and the renegade, and we immediately responded to Zoraida telling her that we would do everything she’d recommended because she’d advised us as well as if Lela Marién had dictated it to her, and it was up to her whether we put off that affair or did it immediately. I renewed my promise to be her husband, and so, the next day the baño happened to be empty, she gave us at different times, with the stick and cloth, two-thousand escudos in gold, and a letter in which she said that the first JUMÁ, which is Friday, she was going to the garden with her father, and that before she went she would give us more money, and if that wasn’t enough, we should let her know, and she would give us as much as we asked for—her father had so much that he wouldn’t miss it, especially since she had the keys to everything.
We then gave five-hundred escudos to the renegade to buy the boat. With eight-hundred I ransomed myself, giving the money to a Valencian merchant who was in Algiers at the time. He ransomed me from the king by pledging on his word that when the next ship arrived from Valencia he would pay my ransom. If he’d turned over the money right then, it would make the king suspicious that my ransom money had been in Algiers all the time, and the merchant had kept it a secret for his own advantage—my master was so distrustful that I dared not have the money paid right then. On Thursday before the Friday when the beautiful Zoraida had to leave for the garden she gave us another thousand escudos and told us she was leaving, begging me that once I was ransomed I should go to her father’s garden right away and that I should find a way to see her there. I responded in a few words that I would, and that she should be sure to commend herself to Lela Marién with all the prayers that her slave had taught her.
Once this was done, steps were taken so that my three companions could be ransomed, to allow them to leave the baño, and lest, if they saw me me ransomed and themselves not, even though there was money for it, they might get worried, and the devil might make them do something to the prejudice of Zoraida, although the fact of their being who they were could relieve this apprehension—but I was unwilling to place the whole affair at risk, so I had them ransomed in the same way I had been, giving all the money to the merchant so that he could with safety and confidence offer the ransom. But we never confided our arrangement and secret to him because of the possible danger.