How we rescued a slave at Tanjier

by Charles Lacey

Foreword

The first part of this tale was written by the Reverend Edwin Emmanuel Bradford and published in the Boy's Own Paper in 1897. Bradford was, in addition to being a priest of the Church of England, the author of several books of poetry, mostly celebrating the beauty of boys.

I found the original in the course of some desultory research into Bradford's life and work, and the question arose in my mind, "what did the boy hero of the story and Ahmed do once they got back to England?" Part Two of the story is my attempt at an answer.

As far as lies in my limited power, I have tried to keep to Bradford's style, especially as regards spelling and punctuation.

HOW WE RESCUED A SLAVE AT TANJIER

By the Rev. E. E. Bradford, B.A. (Oxon.).

I HARDLY like to tell you about it, because I am afraid you will think it all nonsense. But it isn't; and when you hear the whole story perhaps you will see that it is not so unlikely as you may think. So I will just write down exactly how we did it, without trying to make it into a tale, or putting in any palaver. Our neighbour, Captain Grey, is a great friend of Father's, and awfully kind to me; and he has a little steam launch. It is quite a little thing, manned by two sailors and an engineer, but he makes regular long trips in it all by himself. So one day when he was showing it to me I said to him, "I wonder you always go alone, Captain Grey, it must be so dull without anyone to talk to."

He laughed and answered: "Well, I've asked one or two fellows if they'd care to come with me, but they don't seem to fancy it. You see, one has to rough it in a little cockleshell like this."

So I said—just in fun, you know: "You should ask me; I'd come like a shot."

"Would you?" he replied, and he seemed rather pleased. He said nothing more at the time, but next day he called on mother, and gave me a regular formal invitation to go with him for a trip in the Mediterranean in the summer holidays.

Mother didn't much like the idea; she said she was afraid to trust me to Captain Grey, because he was so 'eccentric.' She didn't say that when he was here, of course, but afterwards, when she talked it over with Father. But I was perfectly wild to go, and as Father said he didn't see what harm was likely to come to me, between us we persuaded her, and it was all arranged.

I won't tell you anything about the voyage, because I want to come to the Tanjier part; besides, there is nothing much to tell. It wasn't till we arrived at Tanjier that I saw anything worth noting. But that really was odd: it was utterly uncivilised, you know—not a bit like anything in Europe. As soon as we landed we were surrounded by a great horde of Arabs, yelling and gesticulating, and trying to seize our bags.

But Captain Grey shouted out "Calpe Hotel," and an old fellow in a turban, with a great long beard, who looked more like a robber than an hotel servant, pushed and kicked his way through the crowd, caught hold of our bags, and tossed them to two little mites of boys, and then loaded himself with our sticks and umbrellas. Captain Grey says that's always the way they do things in the East; they leave all the heavy work to the women and children!

Then we went in through a great city gate, that they call the Bab-el-Marsa or Gate of the Sea. In the gateway were some more old fellows with turbans and long beards. But these looked quite grand, and were dressed in gorgeous flowing silk robes. They were the Sultan of Morocco's Custom-house officers I found, and they sit there all day to examine every thing brought into the city. But they scarcely glanced at our bags; so we just passed through the gate, and down one or two of the narrowest, dirtiest little back lanes you can imagine, and presently we arrived at our hotel. After having some lunch there, we strolled out to explore the town.

Oh, I wish you could see it! It is the most extraordinary town you can imagine—a regular jolly, savage kind of place, like some of those you read of in the 'B.O.P.,' where you can fancy a fellow meeting with all kinds of perils and adventures.

l had brought my camera with me, and I was glad I had, for I kept on taking views every minute. First we strolled up the main street to the Bab-el-Sok or Market Gate. It is very narrow and rather steep; the shops in it are just little open-air stalls, and the proprietors sit cross-legged on a level with the counter, in the middle of the things they have to sell.

On the other side of the Bab-el-Sok is the slave market, which isn't really a market it all, but only a wide open space covered with sand and gravel, like a boys' playground. As it was not market day, there was nothing there but swarms of donkeys and camels, so we didn't stop there long, but, skirting the walls on the right, we came back into the city by another gate, and then just pottered about all the afternoon. We watched the bakers baking their flat round cakes of bread; we entered an Arab school, where some two dozen dark-eyed, intelligent little urchins were squatted on mats round an old bearded and turbaned professor, all apparently talking at once. Then we came round by the prison, and looked at the wretched ragged creatures inside, some chained to the walls, some sleeping on heaps of dirty straw, but most of them pressing round the heavily barred window, on the look-out for the small coins and broken victuals which people throw in to them—just like you do to the beasts in the Zoo!

At last, sated with sight-seeing, we came back to the Bab-el-Sok. "Well, I think we've about seen everything now," I said, "except the slaves. It is a pity it isn't a market day – I should like to see a real live slave."

"That is not difficult, Señor," answered a voice at my side. "I am a slave for one, and so are most of the boys in the bazaars here."

And, looking round, I saw an Arab boy of about my own age, looking at me reproachfully with his funny great dark velvety eyes.

"Are you a slave?" I stammered in amazement. "Why don't you run away? "

"It is not so easy, Señor," he answered. "My master never lets me out of his sight. He is the proprietor of the cafe in the Bab-el Oued; and I am very useful to him, for I have been taught to speak English and Spanish, and so I can interpret for the foreigners who often come here from Gibraltar and Spain."

I never felt so astonished in my life. Of course I knew there were slaves in Tanjier, and all over Morocco, but I had always thought of them as savages. But this boy was quite a nice-looking fellow, and positively spoke English!

Just then an evil-looking, wrinkled old Moor came out of a bazaar close by, and, addressing a few strange guttural sounds to the boy in a grumbling tone of voice, rapidly walked away with him.

Captain Grey watched them till they were out of sight, and then, turning to me, said, as quietly as if he were making a remark about the weather, "We must rescue that boy. It is a shame that a bright-looking little chap like that should be the slave of a rascally old Moor. If I can buy him, good; if not—"

Here he broke off short, and remained a minute or two without saying a word. I was delighted. I guessed that he was about to do something that mother would call "eccentric." That is always so jolly about him—you never know what he is going to do next!

"How many magnesium cartridges have you?" he resumed after a minute or two. "Twelve boxes," I answered, wondering what he could be driving at. Magnesium cartridges, you know, are used for taking photographs by night. They make a blinding white glare of light just for a second, which of course is long enough to take the view.

"Twelve boxes? Good. And there are ten cartridges in each. Empty them all into a little bag, and give them to me to-night. I am going to the cafe in the Bab-el-Oued after dinner, and perhaps I may do a little photography there."

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked in amazement. Captain Grey glanced suspiciously round him, as if he were afraid of being overheard by some more English speaking Arabs; and then, stooping down, he whispered a few sentences in my ear. Then in a louder voice he went on: "But it is no use your coming; it would only increase the risk for nothing."

"Oh, you must let me!" I implored. "I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."

"Very well," he said. I could see he was in one of his reckless moods. "After all, it doesn't much matter. You can run like a hare I know; and you're a plucky youngster, and can keep a cool head on your shoulders."

Some three hours later, after having dined, paid our bill at the hotel, we put our bags on board the launch, and made divers other small arrangements, we strolled down the dark, narrow Bab-el-Oued, climbed up an equally dark rickety wooden staircase, and entered the Moorish cafe owned by our slave friend's master. It was a large square room. The floor was covered with matting, and some more matting was arranged round the bottom of the walls so as to form a kind of dado. Above this hung guitars, guimbrees, and all kinds of weird-looking instruments of music – or torture, as Captain Grey called them. Against the wall nearest the door stood a long form, or bench, put there apparently for the convenience of European visitors. Two or three small octagon tables completed the furniture.

The proprietor of the café, the old Moor whom we had seen in the afternoon, was reclining on the floor, playing cards with three or four Arabs. He did not rise as we entered, but contented himself with motioning us to seat ourselves on the bench, and then quietly went on with his game. The boy whom we were to deliver—Ahmed as I may call him, for I found afterwards that was his name—was standing by a little stove in the corner of the room, upon which were arranged a. number of tiny cups without handles, something like egg-cups. Filling two of these with thick fragrant-smelling coffee, he brought them over to us, and deposited them without a word on one of the little octagon tables in front of us.

Captain Grey spoke to him for a few minutes in a low voice in English. Then taking out some tobacco and paper from his pocket, he rolled himself a cigarette, lit it, and began to talk to the old Moor in Spanish, which it seems nearly everyone here understands more or less. I knew that he was proposing to purchase Ahmed, and from the manner and tone of voice in which the old Moor answered I could guess that his proposal was by no means well received. Captain Grey's cigarette was now finished, and he drew out his tobacco-pouch once more to make a second.

"Now comes the critical moment," said I to myself; and getting up as if to examine one of the guimbrees more closely, I moved toward the door; Ahmed, whose dark eyes sparkled with excitement as they met mine with a knowing look, moved in the some direction. Captain Grey's second cigarette was now ready; he struck a light, and, accidentally of course, dropped the match into the tobacco-pouch!

Have you ever used magnesium cartridges for taking portraits? I have always found the great inconvenience of doing so is that the subject can rarely keep his eyes open when the dazzling light strikes on them. But what would he do if, instead of one, you lit a hundred and twenty! I was flying down the stairs like a madman, closely followed by Ahmed and Captain Grey, when the explosion took place. But the old Moor and the Arabs in the cafe must have been simply blinded with the glare, and choked with the smoke afterwards!

Before they had recovered we three were dashing down the Bab-el-Oued; and then, dodging in and out of a dozen sharp turnings and dark narrow lanes, we made off full pelt for the sea. But no one pursued us; the two or three minutes' start we had gained by our trick was amply enough to make it impossible to follow us in such a labyrinth as Tanjier. Very soon we were on board the launch and steaming off to the land of the free. And, though it is true that this adventure cut short our trip, yet I was never happier in my life than on the night when we rescued a slave at Tanjier.

Added by Mr C. H. B. Lacey, M.A. (Cantab)

We only just left the harbour in time. Several brown fellows in turbans had nearly caught up with us, and as we steamed away they shouted and shook their fists, but Captain Grey had had a man fire up the boiler ready for a quick departure.

We made our way as quickly as we could to the open sea. There were various tasks that needed to be done, shovelling coal into the boiler, operating the engine valves and so on, so it was an hour or more before I could spare time to talk to our new passenger. We had put him in the aft cabin, and I pushed open the door.

As soon as he saw me, he fell to his knees and, clasping my hand in both of his, kissed it and murmured something in his own tongue. I drew him to his feet and had a good look at him.

He was barefoot and his clothes were ragged and tattered beyond description. "Take off those clothes," I said to him, "and I will lend you some of mine."

"Thank you, Señor ," he replied in his funny, precise English. "Might I be able to wash first? I should not like to make the Señor's garments dirty."

"Don't call me Señor," I said. "My name is John." I took him to the little cuddy and drew a bucket of sea water. It lathers quite well with the proper soap! He stripped off his clothes (which I threw overboard) and washed carefully all over. I left him to it after a few moments, but not before I had noticed what a good looking boy he was. I have already remarked his velvety brown eyes, but his other features were equally delightful. I noticed his hands in particular, which were nicely shaped, but firm and capable-looking.

When Ahmed had finished washing and dressing I took him to the bridge to see Captain Grey. Again Ahmed fell to his knees, kissing the Captain's hands and murmuring his thanks. I think Captain Grey must have known some Spanish because he went as red as a lobster! Englishmen do not respond well to effusive gratitude.

By now we were all quite hungry, so we lit the lanterns and sat down to a meal of bully-beef and ship's biscuit. The question of sleeping arrangements then needed to be settled. The Captain had the fore cabin, Ahmed and I the aft. It had two bunks: Ahmed took the lower and I the upper. What with the additional exercise of being at sea, as well as our sprint from the Bab-el-Oued to the harbour, I was tired out and soon dropped off to sleep. But I was woken in the night by sounds from below me. Ahmed had been overcome by his feelings and, although he tried to keep silent, a sob escaped him every now and then.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"It is your kindness, John, and the Captain's. I can never repay it."

"You have no need to. We are Englishmen, and abhor slavery. Besides, you are a boy like me, and I could not leave you in the clutches of that villainous Moor. When we get back to England I hope we will be able to go to school together. I know my Father and Mother will welcome you."

I climbed down from my bunk and sat on the edge of Ahmed's. In the flickering light of the oil lantern I could see his face. There were tear-tracks from his eyes, but I thought what a beautiful boy he was. Quietly, I slipped into the bunk next to him. It was a mighty tight fit, but we were both slender boys (Ahmed was much thinner than I, from long under-feeding) and we were happy to be close together.

We were a week aboard the Mary Belle before we reached Plymouth Harbour. I left my box aboard as it was a good two miles' walk to home. Fortunately I had had a spare pair of canvas shoes on board, or I don't know what Ahmed would have done. He was used to being barefoot, but I think an English gravelled road would have been too much for him.

Father and Mother were very surprised to see me arriving in company with a brown boy, but he was so respectful and polite that they took to him in no time. And when he told them about how the Captain and I rescued him, Father shook his head, but I could see that he was pleased. "You did the right thing," he said.

I replied: "I just wish we could have rescued all of the poor slaves."

Since we had no spare bedroom, it was arranged that Ahmed, being nearest in age to me, would share my bedroom. And until Father was able to get a new bed for him, he had to share my bed, too. We were very happy with this arrangement. It was much more comfortable than sharing the bunk on board the Mary Belle ; the mattress was softer and a good deal wider too.

And I found I liked sharing my bed. Ahmed's skin was satin soft, and I found he had a faint, pleasant scent. Oh, he was clean. I had to show him how to work the bathroom geyser and take a bath; in Tanjier the only time he had ever been in water was in the sea. But his body had a fresh, slightly spicy odour which I found very pleasing.

Ahmed settled into our home very easily. He treated my parents with the greatest respect; indeed, I felt his disapproving eye upon me once or twice when I 'cheeked' my father. It was settled that he would join me at St Lawrence's School when the Autumn Term began, but he was preparing by reading all my textbooks. He spoke English fluently and was able to write it reasonably well, but of course knew no Latin, French or German. I gave him such help as I could, but to my surprise Captain Grey spoke both modern languages.

I had always been glad that my birthday was close to the end of August. Mrs Hopper, our wonderful cook-housekeeper, baked a splendid cake with fourteen candles on it (which I managed to blow out in one breath). I won't tell you what I wished for, though! Captain Grey came to tea, and two of my friends from school, Simon Armley and Paul Legge. We had a mad game of 'three-a-side cricket' in the garden. I was the captain of one side and the Captain of the other. My team won, mainly because of Ahmed's straight bowling. He had never played cricket before, but he could place the ball with uncanny accuracy.

But that night, when we went to bed, I was aware that Ahmed was quieter than usual. I couldn't make out why, until I said: "Ahmed, when is your birthday?"

"I don't know," he replied.

The next morning at breakfast I said: "Mother, Ahmed has never had a birthday."

She looked at me, then at Ahmed, and Father stretched out his hand to him across the table. We discussed it, and decided that it had better be the sixth of August, the day when we rescued him from that villainous old Moor.

The following afternoon, Mother asked me to keep Ahmed out of the house for a few hours. We went to the Park and went for a good walk, then practised our bowling and batting for a while. I'd arranged with Mother to be back home for four o'clock, and when we arrived, there were Simon and Paul and the Captain, and another cake with fourteen candles, and on it in pink icing were the words "Happy Birthday Ahmed".

I don't think I have ever seen such a marvellous smile on anyone's face as I did then. I explained about blowing out the candles and making a wish. After tea we had another game in the garden. Ahmed was in the Captain's team this time, and of course they won.

Not long after that the School Term began. We made our way to the Assembly Hall and the Headmaster spoke to everyone. He welcomed various new boys, and then said: "This term we also welcome a boy from overseas. Please don't turn round and stare at him. But I know we will all do our best to make him welcome."

Fortunately we had been placed in the same class, though even with Captain Grey's help he was a long way behind in most subjects. But I've never seen anyone work so hard. A few days later when he was working at some French homework, I said lightly: "Ahmed, I think you are working even harder than you did when… you know…"

"Yes," he replied, "But then I worked hard because I was beaten if I did not. Now I do it because I want to." Several times, when we undressed for bed, I had seen the cruel scars on his back and elsewhere, and grieved for them. Now I knew how he had come by them.

Before long, Ahmed was not only a member of our family – we never formally adopted him, but it was so none the less – and was also becoming a very popular boy at our school. At cricket he was a demon bowler, and responsible for some remarkable victories over other schools. The other chaps had taken seriously what the Head had said, and carefully refrained from asking impertinent questions.

The masters at school were quick to praise Ahmed, too. Every day, in every subject, he was making progress, and many of them gave him some extra tuition during free time. But Father insisted that we take some time for recreation at the week-ends. We would go for a good long walk or meet with some friends in the park for a scratch game of cricket.

Gradually we settled down into the new routine. To my secret sorrow, for I had come very much to enjoy the feeling of Ahmed's body next to mine in bed, Father bought a new bed and mattress for him. But at least we still shared the room.

Now that he was eating properly and getting plenty of fresh air and exercise, Ahmed grew taller and filled out. There were other signs that he was growing, too; much the same as with me. We'd read in the 'B.O.P.' all kinds of awful warnings about what would happen if we indulged in 'solitary vice. But there was nothing to indicate any possible harm from those pleasures if they were mutual. And, I reasoned, did it matter whether the other party were a woman or a man? Or, indeed, another boy?

Ahmed had no such reticence. Among his people – or rather, those who had been his people, for he was beginning to indicate a desire to be brought into the Christian fold – since women were covered from head to toe in cloth, and a man did not expect even to see his wife's face until they were actually married, it was a commonplace for young men to find comfort with one another. And so, although we no longer slept in the same bed, there was nothing to prevent our enjoying each other's society whenever we chose. And we did indeed frequently so choose.

Christmas came, and Ahmed came with us to Church. Then Spring came, and I noticed that Ahmed was becoming a very fine looking young man. Then the Summer Term at school, and end of year examinations. No-one was more delighted than I by Ahmed's marks. He had done well in every subject, even Latin which must have been a tremendous challenge for him.

Then one evening, as we lay close together after celebrating the arrival of the Summer holidays, Ahmed said to me: "I wonder whether we could return to Tanjier. I should like to see whether old Aziz has another slave. If so, I should like to try to rescue him, too."

The next morning, we put the question to Father, and then to Captain Grey. And in consequence, a week later, we set sail in the Mary Belle . I had provided myself with some more magnesium cartridges and some thunder-flashes which the Captain carried in a leathern satchel. We made our way to the Bab-el-Oued and entered the café. Aziz, that villainous old Moor, was still there, playing cards with some of his friends; but we were waited on by a thin, frightened-looking boy. Ahmed went over to him and whispered in his ear, then brought him over to me. "His name is Rashid," said Ahmed softly to me, "He speaks no English. But he will come with us gladly. He says that Aziz beats him often."

At this, the boy Rashid turned his back to me and lowered the tattered drawers that he was wearing. I could scarcely restrain a cry of horror, for the boy's rear was covered with weals and bruises. I gestured to him to cover himself. Then the Captain said: "I will try whether that man will sell the boy to us."

He crossed over to where Aziz and his friends sat on the floor. And then a most surprising thing happened. They stood up, but when the Captain put his hand into his satchel to bring out some money, they all fell flat on their faces in front of him, murmuring what sounded like prayers in their own tongue. Beside me, I could feel Ahmed shaking with laughter. "What is it?" I whispered to him.

He could hardly get the words out, but he said: "They think the Captain is a great sorcerer, and he has a familiar demon in his bag."

"No matter," I replied. "Do you take Rashid to the harbour. I will follow with the Captain as soon as we may."

They slipped away while the men were still face down on the floor, and I went over and stood next to Captain Grey. I had learned enough Arabic from Ahmed to say what I needed to. I whispered a few words of explanation to the Captain, and then spoke in as loud and booming a voice as I could muster.

"Do you promise never to beat any boy again?"

Aziz groaned his assent.

"And never to buy more slaves?"

He groaned again.

"For," I said, "If you do, this great sorcerer, Captain Grey (of course they did not understand the English name) will surely return, with me by his side, and take terrible vengeance upon you."

"I promise," said Aziz, his few teeth chattering with fear. "Great Master, I promise. Spare me and my friends, spare us, we pray."

"Very well," I replied. "We will spare you, this time."

I took a thunder-flash and let it off. It produced a brilliant light and a magnificent crash, at which Aziz and his friends hid their faces on the floor again. Quickly, before they found the courage to look up, the Captain and I slipped away and made haste to join our friends at the Harbour.

The rest of the tale is soon told. On our return journey to England, Ahmed made a start on teaching some English to our new friend. Father and Mother jibbed at welcoming another new member to our household, so Rashid went to live with Captain Grey. In due course he, too, appeared in our school, where he did well.

Ahmed and I both went to the University, though I have to admit that he obtained a much better degree than I. We both married, of course; Ahmed and his wife Fatima have two daughters while I and my wife Jane have two sons. They are all great friends.

The Captain died quite suddenly not long ago, to the great sorrow of all of us. He left most of his property to Rashid, whom he had come to love as a son. But he left the Mary Belle to Ahmed and me, and we made one more journey in her back to Tanjier. Aziz, we learned from an old man in the Bab-el-Marsa, had died not long before, but our informant told us that he had had some kind of terrifying vision, as a consequence of which he had sold his café and lived a simple life, attended by just one young servant whom he treated with great kindness, and devoted his life to the care of the poor, and especially orphan boys.

And as for Ahmed and me: well, since our marriages, we no longer enjoy each other's society in the special way we used to. But we are still the closest and most loving of friends.

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