Pasha ran his vessel close in towards the land, and having ordered the small boat to be lowered, called the slave, and pointing to the beach, said: "There is your native country. You have served me faithfully for seventeen years. I now give you your freedom." The Portuguese, falling on his knees, kissed the hem of his late master's robe, and was profuse in his thanks; but Pichellin stopped him, coolly saying: "Do not thank me, but God, who put it into my heart te restore you to liberty." While the boat was being prepared to laud him, the Portuguese, apparently overpowered with feelings of joy, descended into the cabin, as if to conceal his emotions, but in reality to steal Pichellin's most valuable jewels and other portable property, which he quickly concealed round his person. As soon as the boat was ready, Pichellin ordered him to be set ashore, and not long after discovered his loss when the wily Portuguese was far out of his reach. Pichellin had some rough virtues: he prided himself on being a man of his word. A Genoese, who had made a fortune by trade at Cadiz, was returning to his native country with his only child, a girl nine years of age, when his vessel was taken on the coast of Spain by Pichellin's cruiser. Not being far from land, the crew of the Christian vessel escaped to the shore, the terrified Genoese going with them, leaving his daughter in the hands of the pirates. Immediately, when he saw that his child was a captive, he waded into the water, and waved his hat as a signal to the Algerines, who, thinking he might be a Moslem captive about to escape, sent a boat for him. On reaching the cruiser, Pichellin, seeing a Christian, exclaimed: "What madman are you that voluntarily surrenders himself a slave?" "That girl is my daughter," said the Genoese: "I could not leave her. If you will set us to ransom, I will pay it; if not, the satisfaction of having done my duty will enable me to support the hardships of slavery." Pichellin appeared struck, and after musing a moment, said: "I will take fifteen hundred dollars for the ransom of you and your daughter." "I will pay it," replied the Genoese. "Hold, master!" exclaimed one of Pichellin's slaves; "I know that man well: he was one of the richest merchants in Cadiz, and can afford to pay ten times that amount for ransom." "Silence, dog!" said the old pirate. "I have said it: my word is my word." Pichellin was further so accommodating as to take the merchant's bill for the money, and set him and his daughter ashore at once.
Each slave who, from poverty, ignorance of a trade, or want of cunning, was compelled to work in the gangs, always carried a bag and a spoon — the bag, to hold anything he might chance to steal; the spoon, in case any charitable person, as was frequently the case, should present him with a mess of pottage. Only those, however, worked in the gangs who could not by any possibility avoid it; and numberless were the schemes adopted by the slaves to raise money to support themselves and secure their exemption from that description of labor. Some, at the risk of the bastinado, smuggled brandy — a strictly forbidden article — into the bagnes, and sold it out in small quantities to such as wanted it. Scholars were well employed by their less learned fel
