I Found It A Difficult Task To Pick My Way Over The Slippery Stones, And Should Once Or Twice Have Fallen But For The Kindness Of The Genoese Mariners.

At last we reached the beach, and were proceeding towards the gate of the town, when two persons, Moors, came up to us.

I almost started at sight of the first; he was a huge old barbarian with a white uncombed beard, dirty turban, haik, and trousers, naked legs, and immense splay feet, the heels of which stood out a couple of inches at least behind his rusty black slippers.

"That is the captain of the port," said one of the Genoese; "pay him respect." I accordingly doffed my hat and cried, "Sba alkheir a sidi" (Good-morning, my lord). "Are you Englishmans?" shouted the old grisly giant. "Englishmans, my lord," I replied, and, advancing, presented him my hand, which he nearly wrung off with his tremendous gripe. The other Moor now addressed me in a jargon composed of English, Spanish, and Arabic. A queer-looking personage was he also, but very different in most respects from his companion, being shorter by a head at least, and less complete by one eye, for the left orb of vision was closed, leaving him, as the Spaniards style it, tuerto; he, however, far outshone the other in cleanliness of turban, haik, and trousers. From what he jabbered to me, I collected that he was the English consul's mahasni or soldier; that the consul, being aware of my arrival, had dispatched him to conduct me to his house.

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