"Well, that wos the finish. I became a Breetish tar, an' fouted in all the battils of the navy. I 'spected to get promotion an' prize-money, but nivir git none, 'cause of circumstances as wos never 'splained to me. Well, one night we come in our friggit to anchor in bay of Algiers. I gits leave go ashore wi' tothers, runs right away to our Dey, who gits awrful waxy, sends for Breetish cap'n, 'splain that I's the son of a Turk by a Algerine moder, an' wery nigh or'er the cap'n's head to be cutted off."
"You don't say so?"
"Yis, it's troo. Wery near declare war with England acause of that," said Ali, with an air of importance. "But the Breetish consul he interfere, goes down on hims knees, an' beg the Dey for to parding hims nation."
"He must ha' bin a cowardly feller that consul!"
"No," said the interpreter sternly, "him's not coward. Him was my master, Kurnil Langley, an' only do the right ting: humbil hisself to our Dey w'en hims contry do wrong.—Now, here we is comin' to Bab-el-Oued, that means the Water-gate in yoor lingo, w'ere the peepils hold palaver."
This in truth appeared to be the case, for many of the chief men of the city were seated under and near the gate, as the two drew near, smoking their pipes and gossiping in the orthodox Eastern style.
