We
arrived at Moscow, and from thence we at last gained Constantinople. On
my arrival I selected my luggage, that I might pay the sum agreed; but
it was snatched from me by the old rascal, who saluted me with a kick in
the body which half-killed me. I was locked up in a room, and in half an
hour a slave-merchant came, and I was sold for a low sum and taken away,
remonstrating in vain against the injustice. My beauty was now gone, I
was more than thirty years old, and hardship had done the rest.
My subsequent life has been nothing but a series of changes and
disasters. I was sold to a pastrycook, and broiled by standing over the
oven. I grew obstinate and was punished by blows, but for those I cared
not. The pastry was burnt, and I was resold to a barber, whose wife was
a shrew, and half-killed me; fortunately the barber was accused of
shaving a criminal, who had escaped from prison, and one morning was
stretched out before his own door, with his head under his arm. His wife
and I were both sold again as slaves.
Thus did I go down-hill each year, fetching less and less, and receiving
worse treatment, until I was embarked with several others by an
Armenian, who was bound to Smyrna. The vessel was captured by an
Algerine pirate, and for a long while I was kept on board to cook their
victuals. At last she was wrecked on this coast; how I escaped I know
not, for I was weary of life. But I was thrown up, and made my way to
this place--where I have for many years lived in company with an old
wretch like myself, supplicating alms.
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