Jack Harkaway\'s Boy Tinker Among The Turks

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[Illustration: "'HEAVEN ABOVE!' EJACULATED JACK; 'WHY IT'S MR. MOLE.'"

JACK HARKAWAY AND HIS BOY TINKER. VOL. II.--_Frontispiece_]

JACK HARKAWAY'S
BOY TINKER AMONG THE TURKS

BEING THE CONCLUSION OF
THE "ADVENTURES OF YOUNG JACK HARKAWAY AND HIS BOY TINKER"

BY
BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG

BOOK NUMBER FIFTEEN

CHICAGO
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker
AMONG THE TURKS.

JACK GETS INTO HOT WATER--A MORAL LESSON, AND HOW HE PROFITED BY
IT--ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

The matter was not ended here, however.

When they got on board, there was a very serious reception awaiting
them.

Their project had been discovered and betrayed to the skipper by some
officious noodle, and Captain Willis was not a little alarmed.

The consequences might be very serious.

So the captain had Jack and Harry Girdwood up, and gave them a word or
two of a sort.

"We wish to preserve the most friendly relations with the people here,
Mr. Harkaway," said he, severely; "and this sort of adventure is not
calculated to achieve our object."

Jack did not attempt to deny what had occurred.

"We have done no harm," he said; "we were simply cruising about when we
saw murder done. We arrived too late to prevent it, but Tinker was
pleased to take it upon himself to avenge the murdered woman, for a
woman it was, as we could tell from her shrieks as the sack went under
and stifled them for ever."

The captain was somewhat startled at this.

"Is this true?"

"I would have you know, captain, that I am not in the habit of saying
what is not true."

The captain bowed stiffly at young Jack's rebuke.

"I don't wish to imply anything else," he said; "but before you get too
high up in the stirrups, young gentleman, remember that I command here.
Remember that in your own thirst for excitement, you act in a way
likely to compromise me as well as everybody on board. You are not
wanting in a proper appreciation of right and wrong. Before you add
anything worse to the present discussion, reflect. The injured air
which you are pleased to assume is out of place. I leave you to your
own reflections, young gentleman."

And so saying, the captain turned away and left him.

Jack's first impulse was to walk after the captain, and fire a parting
shot.

But Harry Girdwood's hand arrested him.

"Don't be foolish, Jack," said he.

"Let go, I----"

"Don't be foolish, I say, Jack," persisted Harry Girdwood. "Do you know
what you are saying?"

"Are you siding against me?" exclaimed Jack.

"In a general sense I am not against you, but I can't approve of your
replies. You had no right to retort, and I shouldn't be a true pal,
Jack, if I spoke to your face against my convictions."

Jack sulked for a little time.

And then he did as the captain had advised.

He reflected.

He was very soon led back to the correct train of thought, and being a
lad of high moral courage, as well as physically brave, he was not
afraid to acknowledge when he was in the wrong.

Harry Girdwood walked a little way off.

Young Jack--dare-devil Jack--coloured up as he walked to Harry and held
out his hand.

"Tip us your fin, messmate," he said, with forced gaiety. "You are
right, I was wrong, of course."

He turned off.

"Where are you going?" demanded Harry.

"To the captain."

"What for?"

"To apologise for being insolent."

Off he went.

"Captain Willis."

"Do you want me, Mr. Harkaway?" asked the captain.

"The chief mate was standing by, and Jack did not feel that he had so
far offended as to have to expiate his fault in public.

"When you are disengaged, Captain Willis, I would beg the favour of
half a word with you."

"Is it urgent, Mr. Harkaway?" he asked.

"I have been refractory, Captain Willis."

A faint smile stole over the captain's face in spite of his endeavour
to repress it.

"I will see you below presently," he said to the mate. "Come down to me
in a quarter of an hour or so."

"Yes, sir," said the mate.

"Now, Mr. Harkaway, I'm at your service," said Captain Willis, walking
forward.

Jack grew rather red in the face at this.

Then he made a plunge, and blurted it all out.

"I have been an idiot, Captain Willis, and I want you to know that I
thoroughly appreciate your fairness and high sense of justice."

"Now you are flattering me, Mr. Harkaway," said the captain.

"Captain Willis," said impetuous Jack, "if you call me Mr. Harkaway, I
shall think that you are stiff-backed and bear malice."

"What a wild fellow you are," said the captain. "Why, what on earth
shall I call you?"

"Jack, sir," returned our hero. "John on Sunday and holidays, if you
prefer it, just as a proof that you don't bear any ill feeling to a
madman, who has the good luck to have a lucid interval, and to
apologise heartily as I do now."

The captain held out his hand.

Jack dropped his into it with a spank, and grasped it warmly.

"Don't say any more on this subject, Mr.--I mean, Jack," said the
captain, smiling, "or you will make me quite uncomfortable."

And so the matter ended.

Jack could not be dull for long together.

He plucked up his old vivacity, and went off to Mr. Figgins' cabin.

"I must go and give the orphan a turn," said he.

CHAPTER LX.

TURKISH CUSTOMS--JACK GIVES THE ORPHAN A NOTION OF WHAT HE MAY
EXPECT--MATRIMONIAL WEAKNESSES--PASHA BLUEBEARD--THE SORT OF A MAN HE
IS--HIS EXCELLENCY'S VISIT--MR. FIGGINS IS SPECIALLY INVITED--HOPES
AND FEARS.

Jack found Mr. Figgins in his cabin, squatting on a cushion
cross-legged.

Tinker and Bogey were attending upon him.

Since their desperate dive into the sea, and the adventure with the
shark, the two darkeys and the orphan had become fast friends.

"Hullo, Mr. Figgins," said Jack, in surprise, "what's going forward
now?"

"Only practising Turkish manners and customs," returned Mr. Figgins,
quite seriously. "I mean to go ashore to-morrow, and make some
acquaintances; I shouldn't like to appear quite strange when I got
ashore. When in Rome----"

"You must do as the Romans do," added young Jack.

"Yes; and when in Turkey," said the orphan, "you must----"

"Do as the Turkeys do," concluded Jack.

"Precisely," added the orphan. "That's it."

"You are practising to smoke the long hookah to begin with."

"Yes--no--it's a chibouk," said Mr. Figgins. "That is all you have to
know, I believe, to make yourself thoroughly well received in Turkish
polite society."

"Every thing," responded Jack, "with a hook--ah."

"I didn't feel very comfortable over it at first," said the orphan,
"but I'm getting on now."

"There's one danger you are exposed to on going ashore."

"What's that?"

"Any gentleman having the slightest pretensions to good looks is nearly
always obliged to get married a few times."

Mr. Figgins stared aghast at this.

"A few times?"

"Yes."

"But I'm an orphan."

"No matter; it's a fact, sir, I assure you," said Jack, gravely.

Mr. Figgins looked exceedingly alarmed.

"If I could believe that there was any thing more in that than your
joking, Mr. Jack, I should be precious uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"Because my experience of matrimony has been any thing but pleasant
already," responded the orphan.

"You have been married, then?" said Jack, in surprise.

"Once."

"Very moderate that, sir," said Jack. "You are a widower, I suppose,
then?"

"I suppose so."

"You are not sure?"

"Not quite."

"Ah, well, then, it won't be so bad for you as it might."

"What won't?"

"Marriage."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jack," exclaimed the orphan; "my experience of
the happy state was any thing but agreeable with one wife. Goodness
knows how long I should survive if I had, as you say, several wives."

"Don't worry yourself, Mr. Figgins," said Jack, "but it is just as well
to be prepared."

"For what?"

"An emergency. You don't know what might happen to you in this
country."

Mr. Figgins looked really very anxious at this.

"I don't well see how they can marry a man."

"That's not the question, Mr. Figgins. You could refuse. It would cost
you your life for a certainty."

The orphan nearly rolled off his cushion.

"What!"

"Fact, I assure you," said Jack, gravely.

"Explain."

"You will be expected to pay a visit of state to the pasha."

"Yes."

"That is the greatest honour on landing for a stranger."

"What is a pasha?"

"The governor of the province, a regular Bung."

"Well."

"Bluebeard was a pasha, you remember."

"No, no," interrupted the orphan, delighted to show his historical
accuracy. "Bluebeard was a bashaw."

"It is the same thing, another way of writing or pronouncing the
identical same dignity or rank. Well, you know that polygamy is the pet
vice of the followers of Islam."

"Oh, it's dreadful, Jack."

"The greater the man, the greater the polygamist. A pasha has as many
wives as he can keep, and more too. The pasha of this province is not
rich for his rank, and for his matrimonial proclivities."

"Lor'!"

"How many wives should you suppose he has?" asked Jack, with an air of
deep gravity.

"Don't know," replied the orphan, quietly.

"Ninety-eight living."

Mr. Figgins jumped up and dropped his chibouk.

"Never."

"A fact," asserted Jack, with gravity.

"Why, the man must be a regular Bluebeard."

"You've hit it, sir," responded Jack; "that's the sort of man he is."

"Well, that is all very well for the Turks and for these old sinners
the pashas, but I am an Englishman."

"This is the way it will most likely be done," continued Jack. "On your
presentation to his excellency the pasha, you are expected to make some
present. The pasha makes a return visit of ceremony, and leaves behind
him some solid evidence of his liberality."

"Well?"

"Well, but the very highest compliment that a pasha can pay you is to
leave you one of his wives. He generally makes it an old stock-keeper,
something that has been a good thirty years or so in the seraglio."

Mr. Figgins took the liveliest interest in this narrative.

He was growing rapidly convinced of the truth of Jack's descriptions of
these singular manners and customs of the country in which they were.

Yet he eyed Jack as one who has a lingering doubt.

"Ahem!" said Mr. Figgins, "I don't think that I shall join you on your
visit ashore in the morning."

"We'll see in the morning," said Jack; "it's a pity to put off your
trip for the sake of such a trifling danger as that of having a wife or
so given to you."

"It's no use," said Mr. Figgins, "my mind is fully made up; I shall not
visit the pasha."

"It will be taken as a grave insult to go ashore without paying your
respects to his excellency."

"I can't help that," returned the orphan, resolutely; "I won't visit
him."

"Mr. Figgins," said Jack, in a voice of deep solemnity, "these Turks
are cruel, vindictive, and revengeful. The last Englishman who refused
was, by order of the pasha, skinned alive, placed on the sunny side of
a wall, and blown to death by flies."

"Surely the Turks are not such barbarians," said Mr. Figgins.

"You'll find they are. They'd think no more of polishing you off than
of killing a fly."

If that rascal Jack intended to make poor Mr. Figgins uneasy, he
certainly succeeded very well.

Mr. Figgins looked supremely miserable.

"Good night, Mr. Figgins. Think it over."

"I tell you I----"

"Never mind, don't decide too rashly. Pleasant dreams."

"Pleasant dreams," said the orphan. "I shall have the nightmare."

The orphan's pillow was haunted that night by visions of a terrible
nature.

He fancied himself in the presence of a turbaned Turk, a powerful
pasha, who was sitting cross-legged on an ottoman, smoking a pipe, of
endless length, and holding in his hand a drawn sword--a scimitar that
looked ready to chop his head off.

Beside this terrible Turk stood five ladies, in baggy trousers, and
long veils.

No words were spoken, but instinctively the orphan knew that he had to
decide between the scimitar and the quintet of wives--wall-flowers of
the pasha's harem.

Silently, in mute horror, the orphan was about to submit to the least
of the two evils, and choose a wife.

Then he awoke suddenly.

What an immense relief it was to find it only a dream after all.

"I don't quite believe that young Harkaway," said the orphan,
dubiously; "he is such a dreadful practical joker. But I won't go on
shore, nevertheless. It's not very interesting to see these savages,
after all; they really are nothing more than savages."

And after a long and tedious time spent in endeavouring to get to sleep
again, he dropped off.

But only to dream again about getting very much married.

* * * *

He slept far into the morning, for his dreams had disturbed him much,
and he was tired out.

When he awoke, there was someone knocking at his cabin door.

"Come in."

"It's only me, Mr. Figgins," said a familiar voice.

"Come in, captain."

Captain Deering entered.

"Not up yet, Mr. Figgins?" he said, in surprise. "We've got visitors
aboard already."

"Dear me."

"Distinguished visitors. The pasha and his suite."

"You don't say so?" exclaimed the orphan, sitting up.

"Fact, sir," returned the captain. "It must be ten years since I last
had the honour of an interview with his excellency."

"You know him, then, Captain Deering?"

"Rather. Been here often. Know every inch of the country," said the
captain.

"What sort of a man is the pasha?" said the orphan, thinking of Jack's
statement.

"Oh, a decent fellow enough, unless he's riled," was the reply.

"Do you speak the language?" said the orphan.

"Like a native."

"Is he as much married as they say?" demanded Mr. Figgins.

The captain smiled.

"His excellency has a weakness that way; but," he added, in a warning
voice, "you must not make any allusion to that."

"I won't see him," said Mr. Figgins. "I don't intend to visit him."

"But I have come to fetch you to pay your respects."

"Where?"

"Here, on board, in the state saloon."

"But----"

"Make haste, Mr. Figgins," interrupted Captain Deering. "It is no joke
to make a pasha wait. Look alive. I'll come and fetch you in five
minutes. Up you get."

And then Captain Deering departed.

Mr. Figgins was sorely perplexed now.

But he arose and began to dress himself as quickly as possible.

"After all," he said to himself, "it is just as well. I should
certainly like to see the pasha, and this is a bit of luck, for there's
no danger here at any rate, if what that young Harkaway said was true."

He went to the cabin door and shouted out for Tinker.

"Tinker!"

"He's engaged," answered Captain Deering, who was close by.

"I want him."

"He's away, attending his excellency in the saloon," returned Captain
Deering.

"Bogey then."

"Bogey's there too."

"Never mind."

"Are you nearly ready?"

"Yes"

"Look sharp. I wouldn't have his excellency put out of temper for the
world; it would be sure to result in the bowstringing of a few of his
poor devils of slaves when he got ashore again, and you wouldn't care
to have that on your conscience."

Mr. Figgins very hurriedly completed his toilet.

"What a fiend this wretched old bigamist must be," he said to himself.
"I'm precious glad that young Harkaway warned me, after all. I might
have got into some trouble if I had gone ashore without knowing this."

"Stop," said the captain. "Have you any thing to take his excellency as
a present?"

This made the orphan feel somewhat nervous.

It tended to confirm what young Jack had said.

"It is, then, the custom to make presents?" he said.

"Yes."

"What shall I give?"

"Any thing. That's a very nice watch you wear."

"Must I give that?"

"Yes. His excellency is sure to present you with a much richer
one--that's Turkish etiquette."

This again corroborated Jack's words.

Yet it was a far more pleasant way of putting it than Jack had thought
fit to do.

Mr. Figgins only objected to a present of wives.

Any thing rich in the way of jewellery was quite another matter.

"On entering the presence, you have only to prostrate yourself three
times; the third time you work it so that you just touch his
excellency's toe with your lips."

"I hope his excellency's boots will be clean."

"His excellency would not insult you by letting you kiss his boot. No
boot or stocking does he wear."

Mr. Figgins made an awfully wry face at this.

"Ugh! I don't like the idea of kissing a naked toe."

"You'll soon get used to it," said the captain, cheerfully, "when
you've kissed as many pashas' toes as I have. Hold your tongue--here we
are."

He pushed open the saloon door and ushered Mr. Figgins into the
presence of his excellency.

CHAPTER LXI.

MORE ABOUT CHIVEY AND HIS MASTER--THE FATAL PIT--IS IT THE END?--ARTFUL
CHIVEY AND THE ARTFULLER NOTARY--DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND--HOW THE TIGER
PREPARED TO SPRING--HERBERT MURRAY IN DANGER.

Before we proceed to describe the orphan's presentation to that arch
polygamist, the Turkish pasha, and the remarkable result of that
interview, we must look around and see if we are not neglecting any of
the characters whose eventful careers we have undertaken to chronicle.

We are losing sight of one at least, who has a very decided claim upon
our attention.

This person is none other than Herbert Murray.

The reader will not have forgotten under what circumstances we parted
company with this unscrupulous son of an unscrupulous father.

Goaded to desperation by his villainous servant, Herbert Murray turned
upon the traitor and hurled him down the gravel pit.

Then the assassin walked away from the scene.

But ere he had got far, his steps were arrested by the sound of a
groan.

A groan that came from the gravel pit.

"Was it my fancy?"

No.

Surely not.

There it was again.

A low moan--a wail of anguish.

Back he went, muttering to himself--

"Not dead?"

He went round nearly to the bottom of the pit, and peered over.

There was Chivey leaning upon his elbow groaning with the severity of
his bruises, and the dreadful shock he had received.

"You've done for me, now," he moaned, as he caught sight of his master.

"No; but I shall," retorted the assassin.

And he took a deliberate aim with the pistol.

"I expected this," said Chivey, faintly; "but remember murder is a
hanging matter."

"I shall escape," retorted Murray, coldly.

"But you can't," said Chivey, with a grin of triumph, even as he
groaned.

There was something in his manner which made Murray uneasy.

"Twenty-four hours after I'm missing," gasped Chivey, "your forgery
will be in the hands of the police; they can get you back for forgery,
and while you're in the dock of the Old Bailey, if not before, to stand
your trial for forgery, they will have a clue to my murder."

His words caused Murray a singular thrill.

"What do you mean by that, traitor?" he demanded.

"Mean? Why, I know you too well to trust you. I tell you I have taken
every possible precaution," retorted Chivey, "so that you are safe only
while I live. I know my man too well not to take every precaution.
Now," he added, sinking back exhausted, "now, my young sweet and
pleasant, fire away."

Murray paused, and concealed his pistol.

Was it true about these precautions?

Chivey was vindictive as he was cunning.

He had shown this in every action.

"Supposing I spare you?" said Murray.

"You can't," retorted the tiger; "I'm done for."

"So much the better."

"So you say now," returned Chivey, his voice growing fainter and
fainter. "Wait and remember my words--I'll be revenged."

He gasped for breath.

Then all was still.

Was he dead?

Murray trembled with fear at the thought.

The words of the revengeful tiger rang in his ear.

And he strode away.

Silent and moody as befits one bearing the brand of Cain.

* * * *

Chivey was far from being as badly hurt as he at first appeared.

He had no bones broken, his worst injuries being a few bruises and a
very unpleasant shaking.

But Chivey was artful.

He thought it best to keep quiet until Herbert Murray should be gone.

Chivey struggled up on to his knees.

Then he began to crawl along the sand pit.

Progress was difficult at first.

But he persevered and got along in time.

"If these bruises would only let me think how further to act," he
muttered to himself, as groaning, he crawled back to the town.

"Senor Velasquez," he said to himself, as a happy thought crossed him.
"Senor Velasquez is my man for a million."

He paused to think over the ways and means, and a cunning smile
deepened on his face, as he gradually made up his mind.

"The worst of this is that I must have a confederate," muttered the
young schemer.

"No matter, there is only one way out of it, and I must make the best
of it."

Senor Velasquez was an obscure notary.

Chivey had made a chatting acquaintance with the notary in the town,
the Spaniard speaking English with tolerable proficiency.

"What is the nature of the secret you hold _in terrorem_ over your
master?" demanded the notary, when Chivey at length reached his office.

Chivey smiled.

"I said it was a secret, Mr. Velasquez," he answered.

"But if you seek my advice about that," the notary made reply, "I must
know all the particulars of the case."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"Why?"

"How can I advise if you keep me in the dark?"

Chivey leered at the Spanish notary and grinned.

"Don't you try and come the old soldier over me, please," he said.

"Old soldier?" said Senor Velasquez, in surprise.

"Yes."

"What is 'old soldier?' What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, sir, the artful."

"Is this English?" exclaimed the notary.

"Rather."

"Well, I confess I do not understand it."

"Then," said Chivey, getting quite cheerful as he warmed into the
matter, "I think your English education has been very seriously
neglected, that's what I think."

"Possibly," said the Spaniard. "I only learnt your tongue as a student,
and am not well grounded in slang."

"More's the pity."

There was a spice of contempt in Chivey's tone which appeared rather to
aggravate Senor Velasquez.

"You are too clever, Mr. Chivey," said he, "far too clever. Now you
want to keep your secret, and I shall guess that your secret
concerns----"

He paused.

"Who?" asked Chivey.

"The young man whose letters you employed me to intercept."

The tiger looked alarmed.

"I mean the young Senor Jack Harkaway."

Chivey looked about him rather anxiously.

"Don't be so imprudent, Senor Velasquez," he said. "You are a precious
dangerous party to have any thing to do with."

"Not I," returned Senor Velasquez; "I am easily dealt with. But those
who would deal with me must not be too cunning."

"You don't find nothing of that sort about me," said Chivey.

"What is it you require of me?" demanded the notary, getting vexed.

"He's a proud old cove," thought the tiger.

So he drew in his horns and met the notary half way.

"You are just right, Mr. Velasquez," he remarked. "It does concern Jack
Harkaway."

"I knew that."

"Now I want you to give me your promise not to tell what I am going to
say to you, nor to make any use of it without my express permission."

"I promise. Now proceed, for I am pressed for time."

"I will," said the tiger, resolutely.

The notary produced paper and writing materials.

"My master, Mr. Murray, has attempted my life," began Chivey, "and this
is because I am possessed of certain secrets."

"I see."

"He is at the present moment under the idea that he has killed me. Now
what I want is, to make him thoroughly understand that he does not get
out of his difficulty by getting me out of the way, not by any manner
of means at all."

"I see."

"How will you do it?"

"I will go and see him."

Chivey jumped at the idea immediately.

"Yes, sir, that's the sort; there's no letters then to tell tales
against us."

"None."

"Get one from him, though, if you can," said Chivey, eagerly;
"something compromising him yet deeper, like."

"I will do it," said Senor Velasquez. "And what will you pay for it?
Give it a price."

"Thirty pounds," returned Chivey, in a feverish state of anxiety.

"I'll do it," returned the notary, with great coolness.

CHAPTER LXII.

HOW SENOR VELASQUEZ PLAYED A DEEP GAME WITH CHIVEY--DOUBLE DEALING--HERBERT
MURRAY'S CHANCE--"HARKAWAY MUST BE PUT AWAY"--A GUILTY COMPACT--CHIVEY
IN DURANCE VILE--THE SICK ROOM AND THE OPIATE--AN OVERDOSE--THE
NOTARY'S GUARDIAN--THE SPANISH GAROTTE--"TALKING IN YOUR SLEEP IS A
VERY BAD GAME."

Senor Velasquez was any thing but a fool.

Chivey was not soft, but he was not competent to cope with such a keen
spirit as this Spanish notary.

Senor Velasquez walked up to the hotel in which Herbert Murray was
staying, and the first person he chanced to meet was Murray himself.

"I wish to have a word with you in private, Senor Murray," said the
notary.

Murray looked anxiously around him, starting "like a guilty thing upon
a fearful summons."

The bland smile of the Spanish notary reassured him, however.

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