Long pilgrimages involve various events, and as this variety is composed of different things, so also must the causes be different. Our history shows this well; the thread of it is broken by the incidents that occur, making us doubt whether to relate them, because all that happens is not good to be narrated, and may be passed over without notice, and without lessening the interest of the story. There are some actions although great, yet upon which we ought to be silent; others so small they are not worthy of being described; for the excellence of this history is, that everything therein written has the relish or seasoning of the truth that goes along with it, which a fabulous history has not. It is necessary in it to suit the events with correct taste, and with so much probability, that in spite of the fiction which would clash with the understanding, the whole may be harmonious.

Profiting then by this truth, I will tell you how the lovely little band of pilgrims, pursuing their journey, arrived at a place, neither very large nor very small, the name of which I forget; and in the midst of the open place of the town, through which they must necessarily pass, they saw a crowd of persons, all attentively listening to, and looking at, two young men, in the garb of recently freed captives, who were describing the story of a painting that lay on the ground before them. It appeared that they had taken off two heavy chains that were near them,—proofs and witnesses of their misfortunes;—and one of them, who appeared about four-and-twenty years old, spoke in a clear voice, and very eloquent tongue, ever and anon cracking a sort of whip that he held in his hand, in such a way as to make a sound in the air like what a coachman makes when he chastises or threatens his horses, by cracking his driving whip over their heads.

Among those who were listening to the long story, were the two Alcaldes of the town, both old men, but one rather younger than the other. The freed captive was thus saying:—"Here, gentlemen, you may see the picture of the town of Algiers, that bugbear and terror of all the shores of the Mediterranean Sea; the harbour of all pirates; the shelter and refuge of thieves and robbers, who, from this little port you here see pictured, go forth with their vessels to disturb the world, for they are bold enough even to pass the ne plus ultra of the pillars of Hercules, and attack and pillage the scattered islands that lie up and down in the immense ocean, fancying themselves secure, at least from the Turkish ships. This vessel, which is here painted so small because the size of the painting obliges it to be reduced, is a galley of two and twenty oars;—the master and captain of her is the Turk you see there, standing up in the gangway with an arm in his hand that he has just cut off from the body of the Christian you see there also, and which he is using as a whip or a rope's end for the other Christians who are bound fast to the benches. He is fearing lest those four galleys that you perceive here giving chase, should reach him. This first captive of the foremost row of benches, whose countenance is disfigured by the blood that has dripped over it from the severed arm, is myself, who served as stern-rower in this galley. The other who is next to me, is my companion, less bloody, because less wounded. Listen, gentlemen, and pay attention, and you may possibly hear the threats and abusive words uttered by this Dog, Dragut, for that is the name of the captain of the galley. A pirate as famous as he is cruel, and as cruel as Phalaris, or Busiris, the Sicilian tyrants, I seem to hear now sounding in my ears, the fierce Moorish oaths which he was then uttering with the air of a demon; Moorish oaths and words, all expressing contempt and abuse against the Christians, calling them Jews, worthless, vile, and faithless, and to make the terror and horror greater, he beat the living bodies with the dead arms severed from them."

It seems that one of the two Alcaldes had been an Algerine captive for a long period, and in a low voice he said to his companion, "This captive has seemed to speak the truth so far, and so appears to be really what he says he is; but I will examine him in a few particulars, and we will see how he can answer me, for I would have you know that I was in this very galley, and I do not recollect any man as first oar, except one Alonzo Moclin, a native of Vélez Málaga," and turning to the captive, he said to him, "Pray tell me, friend, whose galleys were those that chased yours? and did you obtain the freedom you desired by their means?" "The galleys," answered he, "were Don Sancho de Leiva's; we did not obtain our liberty, for they did not come up with us. We gained it afterwards, for we fell in with a ship, bound to Algiers from Sargel, laden with wheat. We came in her to Oran, and from thence to Málaga, from whence my companion and I set out for Italy, in the intention of serving his majesty (whom may God preserve!) as soldiers." "Tell me, friends," said the Alcalde, "you two captives, were you taken to Algiers at first, or to any other part of Barbary?"

"We were not made prisoners together," replied the other captive, "for I was taken near Alicant in a vessel laden with wool, going to Genoa,—my companion in the Percheles[N] of Málaga, where he was a fisherman. We became acquainted in a dungeon at Tetuan; we have been friends and shared the same fortune for a long while, and for ten or twelve quartos,[O] which is all you have offered us, we have given full information to my lord Alcalde."

"Not much, my young gentleman," replied the Alcalde, "you have not gone through the whole ordeal of the question yet. Listen to me, and say, how many doors are there in Algiers? how many fountains, and how many wells of sweet water?"

"A foolish question," answered the first captive. "As many doors as houses;—I do not know how many fountains, and so many wells, that I have not seen half; and the troubles I underwent there have gone nigh to take away almost the memory of myself; and if my lord Alcalde wishes to be uncharitable, we will gather up our pence, and strike our tent and say adieu, for there's as good bread to be got elsewhere as here."[P]

Then the Alcalde called to a man among the bystanders looking in, who held the office of the town's crier sometimes, and sometimes that of executioner when needful, and said, "Gil Berrueco, go and fetch me here the first two asses you can catch; for by the life of our lord the king, I will make these two captive gentlemen ride through the streets, who have taken the liberty of usurping the alms of the charitable, which belong of right to the real poor, and telling lies and inventions, whilst they are all the time as whole and sound as an apple, and more able and fit to use their spades than to be flourishing whips senselessly in the air. I was a slave i............