The Algerine Captive by Royall Tyler

Author:Royall Tyler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307431929
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER V

A christian is the highest stile of man.

And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off,

As a foul blot from his dishonour’d brow?

If angels tremble, ’tis at such a sight:

The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge,

More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell?1

YOUNG.

ARGUMENT.

The Author is encountered by a Renegado:2 Struggles between Faith, the World, the Flesh, and the Devil.

As I was drooping under my daily task, I saw a young man habited in the Turkish dress, whose clear skin and florid cheek convinced me he was not a native of the country; whose mild air and manners betrayed nothing of the ferocity of the renegado. The stile of his turban pronounced him a Mahometan; but the look of pity, he cast towards the christian slaves, was entirely inconsistent with the pious hauteur of the mussulman; for christian dog is expressed as strongly by the features as the tongue of him, they call a true believer. He arrested my attention. For a moment I suspended my labour. At the same moment, an unmerciful lash, from the whip of the slave driver, recalled my attention to my work, and excited his, who was the cause of my neglect. At his approach, the slave driver quitted me. The stranger accosted me, and in good English commisserated my distresses, which, he said, he should deplore the more, if they were remediless. When a man is degraded to the most abject slavery, lost to his friends, neglected by his country, and can anticipate no rest but in the grave, is not his situation remediless, I replied? Renounce the Christian, and embrace the Mahometan faith; you are no longer a slave, and the delights of life await you, retorted he. You see me. I am an Englishman. For three years after my captivity, like you, I groaned under the lash of the slave driver; I ate the scanty morsel of bitterness, moistened with my tears. Borne down by the complicated ills of hunger and severe labour, I was carried to the infirmary for slaves, to breathe my last, where I was visited by a Mollah or Mahometan priest. He pitied the misfortunes of a wretch, who, he said, had suffered a cruel existence, in this life, and had no rational hopes of exchanging it for a better, in the world to come. He opened the great truths of the mussulman faith. By his assistance I recovered my health, and was received among the faithful. Embraced and protected by the rich and powerful, I have now a house in the city, a country residence on the Saffran, two beautiful wives, a train of domestics; and a respectable place in the Dey’s customs defrays the expense. Come, added he, let me send my friend, the Mollah, to you. He will remove your scruples, and, in a few days, you will be as free and happy as I am. I looked at him with astonishment. I had ever viewed the character of an apostate as odious and detestable.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.