Poor Hubert!

In the morning the “Old Man” appeared, and the slaves were all assembled to hear his words: 

“Come, ye Christians, and hearken unto me, for ye shall hear my words—­sweet to the wise, but as goads to the foolish.  Ye are my property, bought with my money, and is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own?  But there is one God, and Mohammed is His prophet; and to please them is more to me than diamonds of Golconda or rubies of Shiraz.

“Therefore, I make proclamation, that every slave who will embrace the true faith of Islam shall be free, only tarrying here until we be assured of his knowledge of the Koran and steadfastness of purpose, when he shall go forth to the world, his own master, the slave of none but God and His prophet.

“But if there be senseless Jews, or unbelieving Nazarenes, who will not accept the blessing offered them, for six months shall they groan beneath the taskmaster, toiling in the sun; and then, if yet obstinate, they shall die, for the edification and warning of others, and the manner of their death shall be in fit proportion to their deserts.

“Hasty judgment beseemeth not a man.  Ere the morrow’s sun arise, let your decision be made.”

The day was given to work in the burning sun, doubtless as a foretaste of what awaited the obstinate Christian.  During the day troops of lithe, active boys of all ages from ten to twenty, had pranced about the garden—­bright in face, lively and versatile in disposition; but with a certain cruel look about their black eyes and swarthy features which was the result of their system of education.

And they had not been sparing of their remarks about the slaves: 

“Fresh food for the stake—­fresh work for the torturers.”

“Pooh!  They will give way and become good Mussulmen.  Bah!  Bah!  Most of them do, and deprive us of the fun.”

That night Hubert and the young Alphonse of Poitou lay chained side by side.

“What shall you do in the morning, Sir Englishman?” said young Alphonse, after many a sigh.

“God helping us, our course is clear enough—­we may not deny our faith.”

“Perhaps you have one to deny,” said the other, with another sigh.  “For me, I have never been religious.”

“Nor have I,” said Hubert.  “I always laughed at a dear companion who chose the religious life, even while I admired him in my heart.  But when it comes to denying one’s faith, and accepting the religion of Mohammed, it seems to me there is no more to be said.  I have got at least as much religion as may keep me from that, although I am not a saint.”

“I wish I had; but it is fearful:  the toil in the sun, the chains, the silence, the starvation, and then the impalement, the scourging to death, the stake—­or whatever else awaits us—­at the end of the six months; while all these scoffing youngsters, whose savage mirth we have heard ringing about the place, are taught to exult in one’s sufferings—­the bloodthirsty tyrant.  But might we not in so hard a case pretend to become Mussulmen, and, as soon as we can escape, seek absolution and reconciliation to the Church?”