CHAPTER LVII

Strange Trio—­The Mulatto—­The Peace-offering—­Moors of Granada—­ Vive la Guadeloupo—­The Moors—­Pascual Fava—­Blind Algerine—­The Retreat.

Three men were seated in the wustuddur of Joanna Correa, when I entered; singular-looking men they all were, though perhaps three were never gathered together more unlike to each other in all points.  The first on whom I cast my eye was a man about sixty, dressed in a grey kerseymere coat with short lappets, yellow waistcoat, and wide coarse canvas trousers; upon his head was a very broad dirty straw hat, and in his hand he held a thick cane with ivory handle; his eyes were bleared and squinting, his face rubicund, and his nose much carbuncled.  Beside him sat a good-looking black, who perhaps appeared more negro than he really was, from the circumstance of his being dressed in spotless white jean—­ jerkin, waistcoat, and pantaloons being all of that material:  his head gear consisted of a blue Montero cap.  His eyes sparkled like diamonds, and there was an indescribable expression of good humour and fun upon his countenance.  The third man was a Mulatto, and by far the most remarkable personage of the group:  he might be between thirty and forty; his body was very long, and though uncouthly put together, exhibited every mark of strength and vigour; it was cased in a ferioul of red wool, a kind of garment which descends below the hips.  His long muscular and hairy arms were naked from the elbow, where the sleeves of the ferioul terminate; his under limbs were short in comparison with his body and arms; his legs were bare, but he wore blue kandrisa as far as the knee; every features of his face was ugly, exceedingly and bitterly ugly, and one of his eyes was sightless, being covered with a white film.  By his side on the ground was a large barrel, seemingly a water-cask, which he occasionally seized with a finger and thumb, and waved over his head as if it had been a quart pot.  Such was the trio who now occupied the wustuddur of Joanna Correa:  and I had scarcely time to remark what I have just recorded, when that good lady entered from a back court with her handmaid Johar, or the pearl, an ugly fat Jewish girl with an immense mole on her cheek.

“Que Dios remate tu nombre,” exclaimed the Mulatto; “may Allah blot out your name, Joanna, and may he likewise blot out that of your maid Johar.  It is more than fifteen minutes that I have been seated here, after having poured out into the tinaja the water which I brought from the fountain, and during all that time I have waited in vain for one single word of civility from yourself or from Johar.  Usted no tiene modo, you have no manner with you, nor more has Johar.  This is the only house in Tangier where I am not received with fitting love and respect, and yet I have done more for you than for any other person.  Have I not filled your tinaja with water when other people have gone