B EFORE TWO weeks had gone by, our renegade had bought a very seaworthy boat, able to hold more than thirty people. To make his deal secure and give it credence, he wanted to make—and did—a trip to a place called Cherchell, thirty leagues from Algiers on the way to Orán, in which there is a lot of trade in dried figs. He made this trip two or three times in company of the tagarino Moor whom he’d mentioned. On the Barbary Coast they call Moors from Aragón TAGARINOS; and Moors from Granada they call MUDÉJARES; in the kingdom of Fez they call mudéjares ELCHES—these are the people the king typically uses in war.
So, as I was saying, every time he went by in his boat, he anchored in a cove not two crossbow shots from the garden where Zoraida was waiting, and there the renegade and his young Moorish rowers would go ashore either to pray or to rehearse casually what he planned to execute later in earnest. So he went to the garden to ask for fruit, and her father gave him some, not knowing who he was. Although he tried to talk with Zoraida—as he later told me—to inform her that he’d been ordered by me to take her to Christian lands, so that she should be happy and reassured, it was never possible because Moorish women never let themselves be seen by any other Moor or Turk, unless their husbands or fathers command them to, whereas with Christian captives they’re allowed to have dealings and speak, even more than is becoming. For my own part, I’d have been upset if he’d spoken with her. Maybe she would have been startled to hear her affair talked about by renegades.
But God, who ordered otherwise, gave our renegade no occasion for his well-meant purpose. He saw how safely he could come and go to Cherchell, anchoring whenever and wherever he wanted, and that the tagarino, his partner, had no other will but the renegade’s. But now that I was ransomed, the only thing we needed was some Christians to row, and he told me to look for those I wanted to take with me, aside from the ransomed ones, and that I have them arranged for the first Friday—that was when he’d set our departure.
I therefore spoke to twelve Spaniards, all of them powerful rowers, and those who could most easily leave the city. It wasn’t easy to find so many right then, because there were twenty ships on pirating raids and they had taken most of the available rowers. And these wouldn’t have been available if their master hadn’t stayed behind and didn’t go on raids that summer so he could finish a galliot that was being made in the shipyards. All I told these men was that the first Friday in the afternoon they should go out casually, one by one, toward the garden of Hajji Murad and wait for me there until I arrived. I gave these directions to each one separately with orders that if they saw other Christians, not to tell them anything except that I’d told them to wait in that place.
Having taken this precaution, I needed to take one other necessary step, the most important one, which was to let Zoraida know how things stood, so she could be prepared and on the lookout, and not be alarmed if we suddenly came to take her away before the time she thought that the Christian boat could return. So I decided to go to the garden and see if I could speak to her. Under the pretense of gathering some herbs one day before our departure, I went there. The first person I met was her father, who told me in the language used among captives and Moors all over the Barbary Coast and even in Constantinople—neither Moorish nor Spanish, nor of any other nation, but a mixture of all languages, with which we all understand each other. Anyway, as I was saying, he asked me what I was looking for in that garden, and whose slave I was. I told him that I was a slave of Arnaúte Mamí —I said this because I knew for certain that he was a great friend of his—and that I was looking for different herbs to make a salad. He then asked me if I was up for ransom or not, and how much my master was asking for me.
While these questions and answers were going on, the beautiful Zoraida, who for some time had been watching me, came out of the house, and since Moorish women don’t hesitate to let themselves be seen by Christians, nor are bashful being around them, as I have already said, she didn’t hesitate to come over where her father and I were. Moreover, as soon as her father saw her coming over slowly, he called her and told her to approach.
It would be beyond my power to describe the beauty and elegance, the rich, brilliant attire in which my beloved Zoraida presented herself to my eyes. I’ll only say that more pearls hung about her very lovely neck, ears, and head, than she had strands of hair. On her ankles, which were visible, as is their custom, she wore CARCAJES—for that’s what those bracelets or anklets are called in Moorish—of purest gold, with so many set diamonds, that her father told me afterwards they were valued at ten thousand doubloons, and those that she was wearing on her wrists were worth just as much. The pearls were in profusion and very fine, for a Moorish woman’s greatest elegance and splendor is to adorn herself with pearls, large and small. That’s why there are more pearls among Moors than any other people, and Zoraida’s father had the reputation for having the finest ones in Algiers, and more than two hundred thousand Spanish escudos. She who is now mine was the mistress of all that.
Whether she was beautiful or not with all that adornment, you can judge what she must have looked like in her prosperous days by what remains of her beauty after so many travails. It’s well known that the beauty of some women have days and seasons, and is diminished or augmented haphazardly, and it’s natural that the emotions of the heart can increase or decrease it, although most frequently they destroy it. I’ll just say that she looked so wonderfully attired and so exceedingly beautiful, at least to me, she seemed the perfection of all that I’d ever seen, and when I considered all I owed her, I felt I had before me a goddess from heaven who had come to earth for my happiness and relief.
As soon as she arrived, her father told her in their language how I was a captive of their friend Arnaúte Mamí, and I had come to look for things to make a salad with. She took up the conversation and in that mixture of languages I mentioned, asked me if I was a gentleman, and why I wasn’t ransomed. I responded that I was already ransomed, and that she could see by the price my master set on me how much he valued me, for I’d given a thousand five hundred zoltanís for my ransom.
She responded to this: “If you had been my father’s captive, I’d have asked double that amount, because you Christians always lie in everything you say, and you pretend you’re poor to cheat the Moors.”
“That may be, señora,” I answered, “but I must say, I’ve dealt truthfully with my master, and I deal and will continue to deal that way with everyone.”
“And when are you leaving?” said Zoraida.
“Tomorrow, I think,” I said, “because there is a French ship that sets sail then, and I plan to be on it.”
“Wouldn’t it be better,” said Zoraida, “to wait for a ship heading for Spain and go with them, and not with the French, who aren’t your friends?”
“No,” I responded, “although if it’s true a ship is coming from Spain, I’ll wait for it, but it’s more certain I’ll leave tomorrow, because the desire I have to be back in my country with people that I love is so great that it won’t permit me to wait for another, later opportunity, no matter how good it is.”
“You’re doubtless married in your country,” said Zoraida, “and that’s why you want to be back with your wife.”
“I’m not married,” I responded, “but I’ve promised to get married when I get back.”
“And is the lady you’ll marry beautiful?” said Zoraida.
“She is so beautiful,” I responded, “that to tell the truth, the best way to describe her is that she looks quite a bit like you.”
Her father laughed heartily at this and said, “Gualá, Christian, she must be really beautiful if she looks like my daughter, who is the most beautiful woman in this kingdom. Just look at her and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”
Zoraida’s father acted as interpreter for most of these words since he knew more Spanish, and although she knew the pidgin language that, as I’ve said, they use there, she showed her meaning more by signs than by words.
While we were talking, a Moorish man came running, and shouted that four Turks had climbed over the fence of the garden and were stealing fruit, though it wasn’t ripe yet. The old man was startled and so was Zoraida, because Moors have an ingrained dread of the Turks, especially the soldiers, who are so insolent with and contemptuous of the Moors, who are their subjects, and whom they treat worse than if they were their slaves. So, Zoraida’s father told her: “Daughter, go inside the house and lock yourself in while I go to talk with those dogs, and you, Christian, gather your herbs and go away, and may Allah carry you safely home.” I bowed toward him and he went off to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with Zoraida, who made as if she were going home as her father had commanded.
But as soon as the trees of the garden hid her, she turned toward me, her eyes filled with tears, and said: “Ámeshi, Christian, ámeshi?” which means «Are you leaving, Christian, are you leaving?»”
I answered her: “Señora, yes, but not without you. The first jumá wait for me, and don’t be startled when you see us, for we’ll go to the land of the Christians without fail.”
I told her this in such a way that she understood everything. I put my arm around her and she began to walk toward her house with feeble steps. As fate would have it—and it might have gone very badly for us if heaven hadn’t ordained it otherwise—while we were walking as I described, with my arm around her neck, her father, who was returning after chasing away the Turks, saw what we were doing, and we realized he’d seen us. But Zoraida, who was quick-witted and shrewd, didn’t let me remove my arm, but rather drew close to me and laid her head on my chest, bending her knees a bit, and giving clear signs that she might faint, and I at the same time made it seem like I was supporting her against my will. Her father came running to where we were, and seeing his daughter that way, asked her what was the matter, but since she didn’t respond, he said: “Doubtless she’s fainted because of the fright caused by the intrusion of those dogs,” and taking her from me, he supported her on his chest, and she, giving a sigh, her eyes still wet from the tears, said again: “Ámeshi, Christian, ámeshi!” «Go away, Christian, go away!» To which he father responded: “The Christian doesn’t have to leave, daughter. He’s done you no harm and the Turks have gone. Don’t be alarmed since there is nothing that can harm you, because, as I’ve told you, the Turks, at my behest, went out the same way they came in.”
“They did alarm her, as you said, señor,” I said to her father, “but since she wants me to go away, I don’t want to displease her. Peace be with you, and with your permission, I’ll go back and collect the herbs in this garden because my master says that there are no better herbs for salad than those in this garden.”
“Come back as often as you like,” responded Hajji Murad, “my daughter didn’t say that because you or any other Christian had bothered her, but either she meant that the Turks should go away, or because she thought it was time for you to collect your herbs.”
At this I bade them farewell, and she, looking as if her soul had been torn from her, went with her father. And I, pretending to get my herbs, scouted the whole garden at my leisure. I noted the entrances and exits and the security of the house, and everything we might use to facilitate what we had to do. After I did this, I went back and related everything that had happened to the renegade and my companions. And I could hardly wait for when I could enjoy, without fear, the prize that Fortune offered me in the fair and beautiful Zoraida.
Time passed, and the day and hour came that we so wanted. We all followed the arrangement and plan that, with due consideration and many long discussions, we’d decided upon, so we would have the success we wanted. The Friday that followed the day I spoke with Zoraida in the garden, our renegade anchored the boat as night fell, almost in front of where the fair Zoraida lived. The Christians were ready to row and hidden in different places in those surroundings. Everybody was in suspense and nervous, waiting for me, wanting to attack the vessel that was within sight, because they didn’t know what the renegade’s plan was, and figured they were to get their freedom by force of arms and killing the Moors on board the boat.
As soon as my companions and I appeared, when those who were in hiding saw us, they came out and joined us. It was now the time when the city gates were closed and there was no one else in the countryside. When we were all together, we wondered whether it would be best to go for Zoraida first or to subdue the Moorish rowers in the boat. And while we were still wondering what to do, the renegade came, asking why we were delaying because it was time to act, and all the Moors were off guard, most of them sleeping. We told him why were hesitating, and he said that what was most important was to subdue the boat, which could be done very easily and without any danger, and then we would go for Zoraida. His plan seemed good to us and without waiting any further, with him as our guide, we approached the boat, and he leaped aboard first, put his hand on a cutlass, and said in the Moorish language: “Nobody move, if you don’t want it to cost you your lives!” By this time almost all of us Christians had boarded the boat. The Moors, who showed little spirit, seeing their captain speak in that way, were taken aback, no one dared take up his sword—few had one—and they let themselves, without saying a word, be tied up by the Christians, who quickly secured them and threatened the Moors that if any one of them should raise his voice, they would all be run through.
Once this was done, half of our men stayed behind to guard the crew, and the rest of us, with the renegade as our guide, went to the garden of Hajji Murad, and Fortune ordained that when we went to open the gate, it opened as easily as if it had not been locked. With great calm and silence we arrived at the house without being heard by anybody. The beautiful Zoraida was waiting for us at a window, and as soon as she realized there were people there, she asked in a whisper if we were NIZARANI, that is to say, if we were Christians. I answered YES and told her to come down. When she recognized me she didn’t delay a moment, and she opened the door and looked so beautiful and was so richly dressed that words fail me when I try to describe her. As soon as I saw her, I took her hand and began kissing it, and the renegade and my two companions did the same. The rest, who didn’t know exactly what was happening, did what we were doing, thinking we were thanking her and acknowledging her as the mistress of our freedom. The renegade asked her in the Moorish language if her father was in the confines of the garden. She said he was, and that he was sleeping upstairs. “We have to wake him up,” replied the renegade, “and take him with us, and everything else of value.”
“No,” she said, “no one is to touch him, and in this house there’s nothing more than I’m taking with me, which is so much that there is enough so that you all can be rich and happy—wait and see.”
And saying this, she went back inside, saying that she’d return very soon, and that we should be quiet and not make any noise. I asked the renegade what had gone on with her, and he told me. I told him we shouldn’t do anything more than what Zoraida wanted. She then came back carrying a little chest filled with escudos in gold—it was so heavy she could hardly carry it.
As bad luck would have it, her father woke up in the interim and heard the noise from the garden, and leaning out of the window, he immediately recognized that all those who were there were Christians. He raised prodigiously loud cries and began to shout in Arabic: “Christians, Christians! Thieves, thieves!” These cries put us in an enormous and fearful confusion. But the renegade, seeing the danger we were in, since it was so important to him to do all this without being heard, with great speed he went up with some of our group to Hajji Murad. I didn’t dare leave Zoraida alone for she’d fallen almost fainting into my arms.
To be brief, those who went upstairs used such skill that in a moment they came down with Hajji Murad, his hands tied and with a gag in his mouth so he couldn’t speak, threatening him that if he spoke a single word they would kill him. When his daughter saw him, she covered her eyes so as not to see him anymore, while her father was frightened, not knowing how willingly she’d put herself in our hands. But since we needed to use our feet swiftly, we went with due caution and great speed to the boat, where those who had stayed behind were waiting for us, fearing that our venture had not worked out.
The night was but two hours old when we were all in the boat and Zoraida’s father was untied and the gag removed from his mouth. But the renegade told him again that if he spoke a single word they would take his life. When he saw his daughter there, he began to sigh very tenderly, and more so when he saw that I held her close and that she lay there quietly, without resisting, complaining, or trying to get away. But through all this he remained quiet so that they wouldn’t put the threats of the renegade into effect.
When Zoraida got herself into the boat and saw that we wanted to start rowing, and seeing her father and the other Moors who were tied up, she told the renegade to tell me to do her the favor of releasing the Moors and giving her father freedom, because she would rather throw herself into the sea than see her father, who had loved her so much, being carried off a prisoner on her account. The renegade translated for me, and I answered that I was happy to do so. But he responded that it wasn’t a good idea, because if we left them there, they would call out the local populace and stir up the city, and they’d send out swift frigates to go looking for us by land and by sea so we couldn’t escape. What we could do is give them their freedom when we got to the first Christian port. This was the opinion of all of us, and we explained it to Zoraida, with other reasons that prevented us from doing what she wanted, and she was satisfied. And then, in joyful silence and with happy diligence, each one of our strong rowers took his oar, and we set out, commending ourselves to God with all our hearts, toward Mallorca, the nearest Christian region.
But because the wind was blowing from the north and the sea was a bit rough, it wasn’t possible to follow the route to Mallorca, we had to follow the coast toward Orán, we were quite uneasy, because we didn’t want to be discovered at Cherchell, which is sixty miles from Algiers. We were also afraid of meeting one of the galliots that come with goods from Tetuán, although each one on his own and everybody all together supposed that if we ran into a commercial galliot, as long as it wasn’t a pirate ship, not only wouldn’t we be lost, but also we could capture a vessel in which we could more safely complete our voyage. While we were sailing, Zoraida had her head between my hands so as not to see her father, and I felt that she was calling on Lela Marién to help us.
We must have gone about thirty miles when the sun came up and we were about three musket shots from the shore, which was deserted and there was no one there who could see us. But for all that, by dint of strong rowing, we went out a bit more to sea, which was now a bit calmer. Having gone out about two leagues farther, an order was given to row in shifts so that we might eat something, for the boat was well provided, but the rowers said that it wasn’t the right time to rest and that food should be given to those who were not rowing because they didn’t want to leave the oars on any account. But right then a wind began to blow toward the side of the boat, and forced us to raise our sails and head for Orán, because no other direction was possible. Everything was done very promptly, and so the wind sped us at eight knots an hour without any fear, except that of meeting a pirate ship.
We gave the Moorish sailors something to eat, and the renegade consoled them saying they were not going as captives, and that as soon as we could, we would set them and Zoraida’s father free. He then said: “I might expect and believe anything else of your liberality and good behavior, Christians, but don’t think I’m such a simpleton as to imagine that you’ll set me free. You never would have put yourselves in so much danger to take my freedom away only to give it back so generously, especially knowing who I am, and the ransom you can get by restoring my freedom to me. Name the sum you require, and I’ll give it to you for me and my unfortunate daughter, or just for her alone, since she’s the greatest and most precious part of my soul.”
Saying this, he began to cry so bitterly, that he moved us all to compassion, and forced Zoraida to look at him, and when she saw him weep, she was so touched that she stood up and went to embrace her father. Pressing her face to his, the two of them began such a tender flow of tears that many of us accompanied them in their tears. But when her father saw her so gaily attired and with so many jewels on her, he asked her in their language: “What’s going on, daughter? Last night before this terrible thing happened to us, I saw you in your ordinary clothes, and now, without having time to get all dressed up, and without getting any joyful news to celebrate by adorning yourself with such care, I see you all dressed up in the best clothing that I could give you when our luck was kinder to us. Answer me, for you have me in greater suspense and more astonished than this misfortune itself does.”
The renegade translated everything the Moor said to his daughter, but she said nothing in reply. When he saw the little chest in which he kept his jewels at one side of the boat, which he knew he’d left in Algiers and not brought to the garden, he was even more perplexed, and he asked her how it had come into our hands, and what was inside. The renegade, without waiting for Zoraida to answer, responded: “Don’t bother to ask your daughter Zoraida so many things, because I’ll easily satisfy all your questions. You should know that she’s a Christian, and she’s been the file for our chains and the deliverance of our captivity. She’s come along of her own free will, and is so happy—as I imagine—to see herself in this position, as a person who has come out of the darkness into light, out of death into life, and out of suffering into glory.”
“Is what he says true, daughter?” said the Moor.
“Yes, it is,” responded Zoraida.
“So,” said the Moor, “you’re a Christian, and you’ve placed your father into the hands of his enemies?”
To which Zoraida responded: “I’m a Christian, but I didn’t put you in this position, since it was never my wish to leave you or do you harm, but just to do something good for myself.”
“And what good have you done for yourself?”
“For that,” she responded, “you’ll have to ask Lela Marién—she’ll be able to answer you better than I can.”
The Moor had hardly heard those words when, with incredible speed, he threw himself head first into the sea, where he would have drowned if the long and encumbering robes he was wearing didn’t buoy him in the water for a while. Zoraida shouted for us to rescue him, We all ran over and we pulled him out by his cape, half-drowned and unconscious. Zoraida was so distressed, she lamented over him so tenderly and with so much grief as if he’d been dead. We turned him face down and he spat up a lot of water, and came to two hours later.
The wind changed direction and it was advisable for us to go toward land and we had to use the oars skillfully so as not to go aground. But it was our good fortune to pull into a cove that lies on one side of a promontory or cape called CAVA RUMÍA, which means THE WICKED CHRISTIAN WOMAN in our language. Tradition among the Moors has it that in that place La Cava, through whom Spain was lost, is buried, because cava in their language means WICKED WOMAN, and rumía means CHRISTIAN, and they consider it a bad omen just to anchor there even when necessity forces them to do it—that’s the only time they’ll do it—but in our case it wasn’t a refuge of a wicked woman but a safe harbor for our relief, so rough had the sea become.
We put our lookouts on shore, and never let the oars out of our hands. We ate what the renegade had provided, and we prayed to God and Our Lady with all of our hearts to help and protect us so that we could have a happy ending to our so fortunate beginning. At the request of Zoraida, an order was given as to how we should put her father, and the other Moors who were tied up, on shore, because her spirit was not strong enough, nor could her tender heart withstand seeing her father and her compatriots tied up before her. We promised her to do this just before our departure since there was no danger, because we were leaving them in that uninhabited place. Our prayers were not to be unanswered by heaven because soon the wind changed in our favor, the sea became calm, inviting us to go back joyfully to the voyage we’d begun.
When we saw this, we untied the Moors, and one by one we put them ashore, which amazed them all. But when we went to put Zoraida’s father on land, now that he had his wits about him, he said: “Why do you Christians think that this wicked female is glad that you’ve set me free? Do you think it’s because of the pity she feels for me? No, assuredly not. It’s only because of the hindrance my presence gives her while she puts her vile designs into effect. And don’t think she changed religions because she thinks yours is better than ours, but rather because she knows that immodesty is more freely practiced in Christian lands than in our country,” and turning to Zoraida, while another Christian and I restrained him, fearing he might do some insane act, said to her: “Oh despicable and misguided girl! Where are you going, blind and distracted, in the control of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursèd be the moment when I engendered you, and cursèd be the luxury and pleasures in which I raised you!” It looked like he wasn’t going to finish any time soon, so I hurried to put him ashore, and from there he continued shouting his maledictions and lamentations, begging Muhammad to pray to Allah to destroy and confound us, and bring about our end. And after we set sail and could no longer hear his words, we could see what he did, which was to pluck out his beard, tear out his hair, writhe about on the ground, but once he shouted so loud we could understand what he said: “Come back, beloved daughter, come back home, I forgive you of everything. Give these men the money, for it’s theirs now, and come back to console your sad father who will lose his life on this desolate sand if you leave him!”
Zoraida heard all this with sorrow and tears, and didn’t know what to answer back to him except: “May it please Allah, my father, for Lela Marién, who was the reason I became a Christian, to console you in your sadness! Allah knows very well that I couldn’t have done anything other than what I did, and these Christians are not to blame for my act, for even if I had wanted to stay at home, it would have been impossible, since my soul was so eager to do this thing that seems as good to me as it does bad to you.” She said this when her father couldn’t hear her anymore nor could we see him. So while I consoled Zoraida we turned our attention to the voyage that the wind itself facilitated, so that we were certain that at daybreak we would be on the Spanish shore.
But since good things pure and simple seldom if ever come without being accompanied or pursued by something bad that spoils or disturbs them, our fortune—or maybe it was the curses that the Moor had hurled at his daughter (no matter whose father says them, curses are always to be dreaded)—ordained that when we were on the high seas three hours into the night, traveling at full sail with the oars lashed down because the favorable wind made them unnecessary, we saw close to us in the brightly shining moonlight a square-rigged galley in full sail, which had adjusted its rudder to put the prow a bit into the wind and crossed in front of us. It was so close that we had to take down the sails so as not to crash into it, and it veered off to give us room to go by. They gathered on the deck of the galley and asked who we were and where we were going, but since they asked us in the French language, our renegade said: “No one answer because these are doubtless French corsairs who plunder everyone.” Because of this warning, no one said a word, and we continued on a bit ahead leaving their galley downwind. Suddenly they fired two pieces of artillery, both of them apparently loaded with chain-shot, because they cut our mast in half and it fell into the sea with its sails. At the same time they fired a cannonball into our boat amidships, opening a gaping hole but doing no other damage. Since we were sinking everyone began shouting loudly for help and begging those on the ship to take us in because we were sinking. They took down their sails and lowered a skiff, and as many as a dozen Frenchmen, well-armed with their muskets with lighted wicks, got on board. They came to our boat and saw how few we were and that the boat was sinking, they took us aboard, saying that this happened to us because we were discourteous in not answering their question.
Our renegade took the chest with Zoraida’s treasure and dropped it into the sea without anyone noticing what he was doing. Finally, we all went on board with the French, who, after being informed about everything, wanted to know about us, despoiled us of everything we had, even Zoraida’s anklets from her feet. But the distress that they caused her didn’t affect me as much as the fear that I had that they would go from taking her richest and most precious jewels to taking the jewel that was most valuable to her, and the one she esteemed the most. But what they want doesn’t go further than money. Their greed is never sated, and it was such that they would have taken the clothes of the captives if they had been worth anything.
Some of them thought we should be thrown overboard wrapped in a sail, since they intended to do some trade in Spain claiming they were Bretons, and if they took us there alive, they would be punished as soon as the robbery was discovered. But the captain, who was the one who had despoiled Zoraida, said that he was content with the booty that he had, and that he didn’t want to go into any Spanish port, rather go through the Straits of Gibraltar by night, or however he could, and dock in La Rochelle, from where he’d sailed. So they decided to give us the skiff from their ship and enough supplies for the short trip that remained, as they did the following day, when we were in sight of the Spanish coast, which, when we saw it, we forgot all our troubles and privations, as if we’d never had them—such is the happiness one has on getting back one’s freedom.
It must have been about noon when they put us in the boat, giving us two barrels of water and some biscuits, and the captain, moved by I don’t know what compassion, just as Zoraida was about to embark, gave her almost forty gold escudos, and wouldn’t allow his soldiers to take the clothing she’s now wearing. We went into the boat, gave thanks for their kindness, and showed ourselves more thankful than angry. They went out to sea in the direction of the straits. Looking only toward the North Star of the land that was before us, we hurried to row, and by the time the sun was going down, we were so close that we could land, in our opinion, before it was too dark. But since there was no moon and the night sky was dark, and not knowing where we were, some of us thought it was not safe to go ashore right then. But many of us thought that we should do so, even if it was on the rocks and far from a town, because we would at least be free from the fear we naturally felt of the prowling corsairs from Tetuán, who leave Barbary at nightfall and arrive at the coast of Spain at daybreak, where they take booty, and return in time to sleep at home. But of all the differing suggestions, the one we took was to go to shore cautiously, and land where we could, if the sea was calm enough.
That’s what was done, and it probably was a little before midnight when we arrived at the foot of a very misshapen and high hill, not so close that it didn’t give us a little room to disembark comfortably. We ran ashore on the sand and got out. We kissed the ground, and with tears of great happiness we gave thanks to God, Our Lord, for the incomparable goodness He’d given us. We took the provisions from the boat, and pulled it ashore, and climbed a good distance up the hill, for even there we couldn’t feel easy in our hearts, nor could we believe that we were on Christian soil. The sun came up later than we would have liked, in my opinion. We finished climbing the hill to see if there was some village or shepherds’ huts to be seen, but as far as our eyes could see, we couldn’t make out a village, a person, a path, or a highway.
So we thought we’d go further inland, since it had to be that soon we would find someone who could tell us where we were. What most distressed me was to see Zoraida traveling on foot over that rough terrain. I carried her for a while on my shoulders, but she was more wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest, and so she refused to let me keep on carrying her, and she went on with patience and good cheer, with me leading her by the hand. After we’d traveled a little less than a quarter of a league, the sound of a little cowbell came to our ears, a sure sign that there were cattle nearby. We all looked around cautiously to see if anyone appeared, and we soon saw at the foot of a cork tree a young shepherd who was whittling a stick with his knife, at his ease and without a care. We called to him, and he raised his head and sprang nimbly to his feet. The first people he saw, as we learned later, were the renegade and Zoraida, and when he saw them in Moorish dress he thought that all the Moors in Barbary were upon him, and with phenomenal agility, he shot into the forest and began to give the loudest cries ever heard: “Moors, Moors! To arms, to arms!”
With this shouting, we were thrown into chaos and we didn’t know what to do. But considering that the shepherd’s shouts would cause a commotion in the countryside and that the coastal militia would come right away to see what was the matter, we had the renegade take off his Turkish clothing and put on a captive’s jacket that one of our group gave him, even though he himself was reduced only to a shirt. And commending ourselves to God, we went down the same path the shepherd had taken, expecting that at any moment the coastal militia would be down upon us. And our thoughts didn’t deceive us, for within two hours after we left the underbrush to a plain, we saw almost fifty men on horseback who were swiftly cantering toward us, and we stood still and waited for them. But when they arrived, they saw—instead of the Moors they were looking for—so many poor Christians that they were taken aback. One of them asked us if we were the reason that the shepherd had called out the militia. “Yes,” I said, wanting to tell him what had happened to me, where we were coming from, and who we were. But one of the Christians in our group recognized the man who had asked that question, and he said, without giving me a chance to say another word: “Thanks be to God, señores, who has led us to such a wonderful place, because—unless I’m mistaken—where we’re standing is the area around Vélez Málaga, and if the years of my captivity haven’t effaced you from my memory, you, señor, who asked us that question, are Pedro de Bustamente, my uncle.”
Hardly had the captive Christian said these words when the horseman jumped off his horse and ran to embrace the young man, saying: “Nephew of my heart and my life! I recognize you, and I’ve mourned you as dead, as have my sister—your mother—and all your relatives, who are still alive. And God has been pleased to keep them alive so they can have the pleasure of seeing you. We knew that you were in Algiers, and by the way your garments and the rest of your party look, I can well understand that you’ve had your freedom miraculously restored.”
“It’s true,” said the young man, “and there will be time to tell you all about it.” As soon as the horsemen understood that we were captive Christians, they got off their horses, and each one of them invited us to share their mounts into the city of Vélez Málaga, which was a league and a half away. Some of them went to take the boat into town, having been told where we’d left it. Others lifted us onto the cruppers, and Zoraida rode on the horse belonging to the uncle of the Christian.
The whole town came out to welcome us since they had learned of our arrival from someone who had gone ahead. They were not surprised to see freed captives or captive Moors since all those people are accustomed to seeing both one and the other, but they were struck by the beauty of Zoraida that was heightened both by the exertion of the journey and by the joy of finding herself on Christian soil, with no worries of losing her way. This brought such a glow to her face that, unless I was much deceived by my love, I’d dare to say that there wasn’t a more beautiful creature in the whole world, at least none that I’d ever seen.
We went directly to the church to give thanks to God for the favor we had received, and as soon as Zoraida went in, she said that there were faces who looked like Lela Marién’s. We told her that they were statues of her, and the renegade, as well as he could, tried to make her see what they meant, so that she could worship them. As if each one of them were truly the same Lela Marién who had spoken to her, she, with her quick mind and clear instinct, immediately understood everything that was said to her about the statues. From there they took us and placed us in different houses in the town, but the Christian who accompanied us placed the renegade, Zoraida, and me, in the house of his parents, who were fairly wealthy, and they treated us with as much kindness as they did their own son.
We stayed in Vélez six days, at the end of which the renegade, having learned what he was supposed to do, went to the City of Granada to restore himself to the scared bosom of the Church. The other freed Christians went their own way. Zoraida and I were left alone and with only the escudos that the courtesy of the Frenchman gave Zoraida, with which I bought this animal on which she’s riding. I’ve been her father and squire until now, and not her husband, and we’re going with the intention of seeing if my father is alive, or to find out if any of my brothers has had better fortune than I have, although, since heaven has made me Zoraida’s companion, I feel that no other piece of luck could come my way, no matter how good, that I’d value more. The patience with which she endures the discomforts that poverty brings with it, and the desire that she truly has to become a Christian is so great that it fills me with admiration and moves me to want to serve her all my life—although the happiness I feel in seeing myself hers and in seeing her mine is troubled and marred by not knowing if I’ll find someplace to shelter her, and whether time and death will have made such changes in the fortune and lives of my father and brothers, that, if they’re not to be found, I may not find anyone who knows me.
“I’ve nothing more to tell you of my story, señores. If it’s pleasing or exotic, let your better judgment decide. All I know is that I wish I could have told it to you more briefly, and the fear of boring you caused me to omit more than four incidents.”