"The Pirate of the Mediterranean" (continued 9)

These remarks were made slowly and at intervals, and perhaps even fewer words were really used, as any one who has pulled a heavy oar, for life and death, will know the utter impossibility of carrying on an unbroken conversation, as I have written it down.

They had by this time nearly doubled the distance they were from the shore when the first boat was seen, and had thus gained the best part of half a mile from the harbour’s mouth. The nearest of the pirate’s boats was rather more than a quarter of a mile off, which in a stern chase, with slow-pulling boats, was a considerable distance.

The other boats they would not have seen at that distance, had not, as they pulled out, a gleam of moonshine fallen on their bows, and tinged their foaming wake with a line of gold, as they rounded the point before they could stand to the westward in pursuit. The night remained as calm and beautiful as at first, and the moon, though still young, afforded sufficient light to enable the pursuers and pursued to distinguish each other, as they urged their boats through the water.

Fleetwood’s arrangements had been as follows: Provided the weather was sufficiently moderate, in Mr Saltwell’s opinion, with whom all authority rested, to permit him to venture to sea, with safety, in an open boat, he was to get under-weigh, in the Ione every evening; to stand in till within sight of the island, and to send the boats on with all hands, well armed, to within about two miles of the island, due west of the harbour, or much nearer if the night should prove dark; but they were especially to avoid any risk of being seen from the island. As morning dawned they were to retire gradually, keeping a bright look-out for him, and they were then to return on board, and the Ione was to stand back to her anchorage.

As the night was decidedly bright, Fleetwood did not expect to find the boats nearer than within the distance he had fixed on, and they had then a mile and a half at least to sail before they could come up with them; but he hoped that the firing would have attracted their attention, and that, suspecting its true cause, they would have pulled closer in. Raby stood up as he steered, to peer into the darkness, but no sign could be seen of the wished-for boats.

“May I hail, sir?” he asked. “The pirates will only think that we are laughing at them, and perhaps some of those with Mr Linton may know my voice.”

“Yes, hail if you like; but we are still too far off for them to hear you,” said Fleetwood.

On this, Jack Raby, putting his hand to his mouth, gave a long shrill cry, which might have been heard a mile off; and it must have made the pirates think that one of them was wounded; but no answering hail was given.

The pirates’ boats, though so suddenly manned, were pulled well, and were decidedly overhauling the fugitives. Fleetwood remarked it, but he said nothing. He still hoped that as the distance was short between them, and when they might not only obtain assistance, but retaliate on the enemy, they might gain it before they were overtaken.

“It’s surprising that the pirates in the boats don’t fire on us,” observed Bowse. “They must see us clearly enough to take good aim at this distance. I suspect they have no fire-arms with them.”

“Depend on it, they are not without them,” replied Captain Vassilato. “His rifle was the first thing every man snatched up, as he left his hut and sprang on deck to jump into his boat. No, no, they make sure of coming up to us, and anticipate too much satisfaction in cutting our throats, to throw away a shot on us.”

“They would be less chary of their powder if they knew how short a distance our friends are from us,” said Fleetwood.

It occurred to him, also, that probably Zappa himself was on board one of the boats, and that he would not fire for fear of injuring Ada; for, judging from his own feelings, he had from the first, thought, and justly too, that the pirate was influenced to carry her off, more by his admiration of her than for the sake of her ransom, and this caused him still more anguish, when he saw the probability of her again falling into his power.

“I think there is a slight air springing up from the eastward, sir,” said Jack Raby, as he sat down again to steer. “I wish we had a sail to drive her on faster.”

“I fear, indeed, that there is a breeze getting up,” said Fleetwood, in a tone which ill concealed the apprehensions he felt. “The other boats, however, may not have sails. They must all have come off in a great hurry.”

“I see something which has a sail, though,” exclaimed Bowse. “The rascals have towed out one of their cursed misticos, and we shall have her after us presently. I see her white canvas, even now, gleaming in the moon-light. She does not feel the breeze yet, for there is a little northerly in it, and the cliffs becalm her.”

“I fear you are right, Bowse,” said Fleetwood. “I have just now, also, caught a glimpse of her; but the breeze is still very light, and will not send her faster through the water than the boats can pull, so we need not fear her, I hope. It convinces me, also, that the boats have no sails; but that they believe we have, and might, if the wind increases, get away from them. Courage, my friends, we must not despair.”

“We may give them a tough job to take us, sir, even if they come up with us,” exclaimed the young midshipman, glancing over the boats, which were clearly overhauling them. “There are five of us,”—he reckoned himself a man in strength, as he was in courage—“and, with arms in our hands, we may thrash a few dozen rascally pirates, any day. But it may be as well to sing out again, and let our friends know our whereabouts.”

He jumped up as he said this, and shouted at the top of his voice; but no hail was heard in return; and it now became too probable that, owing to the calm which had prevailed all day, the Ione had been delayed, and that her boats had not reached their station; for, otherwise, as Fleetwood suggested, they would most certainly have pulled towards them directly they heard the guns of the Sea Hawk. Again and again Jack Raby hailed, with the same result; and it now became very certain that they must not depend on the speedy assistance of their friends. To say that Fleetwood’s heart sank within him, as this circumstance became evident, would be wrong; at the same time that he saw clearly the very great danger to which he and those with him were exposed.

“That they have refrained from firing shows that they will not injure Ada; and when she tells the pirate that a large ransom is ready to be paid for her, he will send her, unharmed, on board the Ione; and, for ourselves, we must sell our lives dearly, as brave men should do.”

He thought this, as he saw the leading Greek boat rapidly gaining on them, and now little more than two-thirds the distance she had been before; while they had pulled rather more than a mile from the shore, which now rose dim and frowning astern of them. At the same rate they might thus pull two additional miles before they were overtaken; but then it was utterly impossible that their strength would enable them to continue urging the boat through the water at the same speed they had hitherto been doing. Could they indeed do so, it would be, they soon saw, to little purpose, for every instant the breeze increased, and the mistico was already up to the sternmost boats. They now saw that she had her sweeps out, as well as her canvas set—which, of course, still further lessened their chances of escape.

“I fear the knaves will have the best of it, sir,” exclaimed Bowse, incautiously, forgetting the effect his observation might have upon Ada. “But, never fear, sir, we’ll fight it out as long as we’ve hands to move. I’m sure Captain Vassilato and Mr Raby will, and I’ll answer for Pietro and myself.”

“Thanks—thanks—my friends; I fear it must come to that,” said Fleetwood. “Raby, have you got the muskets ready? We will give them a few shot, to show that we do not intend to yield, and at the same time the report may be heard by our friends.”

“Yes, sir; there are three muskets here,” replied the midshipman. “I suppose they are loaded.”

“Oh, never fear; Captain Vassilato and I examined them after we got down to the boat, and we loaded them on board the mistico,” said Bowse. “Take a steady aim when you fire, sir. If you can but hit one or two of the men at the oars, it will throw them into great confusion.”

“Shall I fire, sir?” asked Jack of his captain.

“No, wait till they get nearer; we must not throw a shot away,” was the answer.

Ada had heard, with the most intense anxiety, all the observations which had been made, and she could resist speaking no longer, which she did, in a voice weak and trembling with agitation and alarm.

“Oh, Fleetwood, I implore you, do not, for my sake, resist,” she said. “The pirates must inevitably overpower us, from what I hear; and you can do no good by fighting, but will certainly sacrifice your own life and that of your friends. Yield, without striking a blow, and they will not injure you; and you will surely find another opportunity to escape, while I must bear my lot as I best can. For myself I have no fears.”

“Ada, it is not death I fear; but the thought of losing you almost unmans me,” exclaimed Fleetwood. “And even if I felt, which I do not, that my life would be safe, were I again in the pirate’s power, I could not yield without fighting, nor would those with me, I am sure. I know all you feel, my beloved Ada; but were we this moment to cease pulling, and to allow the pirates to come alongside, it would but hasten our fate.”

Ada saw that further remonstrance would be useless, and relying, as she justly did, on Captain Fleetwood’s discretion and judgment, and feeling he was acting for the best, she said nothing, but waited in silence and dread the coming contest. Poor little Marianna, though her fate was less cruel than that of her mistress, as a short captivity was all she had to fear, was not the less alarmed, and lay at the bottom of the boat, giving way to her fears in floods of tears without attempting to rise.

The first boat approached within three cables’ length of that of the fugitives.

“Now, Raby, fire, and aim steadily,” exclaimed Fleetwood.

The midshipman, leaving the helm for an instant, took one of the muskets: and resting it on the stern of the boat, fired. A loud cry succeeded the report, and the boat’s progress was evidently stopped.

“You have hit one of them,” said Fleetwood. “Now, load your piece and fire again. If you can hit another, it will throw them into further confusion.”

Jack Raby eagerly did as he was desired, and taking his aim in the most deliberate manner, another pirate was either killed or wounded. The effect was to make her drop so much astern that the second boat took the lead of her.

Jack again loaded his piece. He looked up at the star of which he had been steering, just touching the tiller with his arm, to bring the boat, which had gone off half a point, back to her proper course; and then turning round, and half kneeling on the seat, he fired with the same deliberate coolness as before. The bullet struck the boat, but no one appeared to be wounded, for on she came faster than ever. He loaded and fired again, with the same want of effect; a third shot, however, told on the body of one of the pirates, in the after part of the boat, but his place was instantly taken by another; though the delay allowed the boat which had so long led to come almost abreast of her; and they now, to Fleetwood’s grief, came up together, one pulling for each quarter.

“Load once more, Raby, and pass two of the muskets forward,” he exclaimed. “As they hook on, we will all fire together, two on each side; then, with our pistols, shoot those who are attempting to grapple the boat, and trust to our cutlasses for the rest. The moment we can free ourselves we will again take to our oars; and I hope we may give them such a taste of our quality, that the rest may not wish to molest us.”

“We’ll do our best,” was the unanimous cry, for all saw that Fleetwood’s proposal, however desperate, was the only one to afford them the chance of escape. It would have been as great folly to have trusted to the mercy of pirates, such as they were, as it is to confide in the honour or fair dealing of grasping, money-loving rogues on shore, more especially of those who fancy that they have the protection of the laws to shelter them, while they carry out their nefarious projects. The two leading boats were close to them, while the others were some way astern, with the mistico, which was bringing up the breeze, nearly abreast of the latter.

“Now,” exclaimed Fleetwood, throwing in his oar, and seizing a musket, as the bows of the two boats came up with their counter, “fire.”

The order was obeyed, and a man in each boat was seen to fall, but it did not check them, and they dashed alongside. The gallant adventurers drew their pistols, and fired them with equally good aim, for two more of their opponents fell wounded; and then grasping their cutlasses used them with such effect, that for some minutes their assailants were kept at bay, without either of themselves receiving a wound. Suddenly, in the midst of the clashing of swords and the cries of the combatants, Jack Raby jumped up on the seat at the risk of being cut down by the enemy; and, while he was still using his sword with one liana, he put the other to his mouth, and shouted out at the top of His voice—

“Ione—ahoy—ahoy! I thought so, I thought so,” he exclaimed, as a faint hail came across the waters. “I thought I heard their hail before we fired.”

On hearing this, Fleetwood and the rest simultaneously joined in the cry of—

“Ione—ahoy—ahoy!”

If, however, it had the effect of letting their friends know where they were, it also made the pirates see the necessity of finishing the affair without delay, if they would secure their prize. A tall figure had been seen standing in the after part of one of the boats. He now sprang forward, and crossed his blade with Fleetwood, who at once recognised him as Zappa. Both were good swordsmen, but the pirate had greater size and strength, and his arm was, besides, untired, while Fleetwood could scarcely wield his weapon. Zappa shouted to his men.

“Beware!” cried the Greek captain, who knew what was said.

The pirates from both boats made a simultaneous rush; a third came up at the same time. A blow, he could not parry, struck Fleetwood down, senseless, into the bottom of the boat; and at the same moment his companions fell desperately wounded, except Jack Raby, who found his sword whirled into the sea, and himself lifted, by main force, into one of the boats, with Pietro in his company. As Fleetwood tottered on receiving his wound, Ada Garden uttered a shriek of terror, but before her fears overpowered her she mustered her energies for the occasion, and endeavoured, as she knelt at the bottom of the boat, to prevent him from receiving any further injury as he fell. Regardless of the noise and confusion around, she raised his head on the cloaks, on which she had been reclining; she endeavoured to stanch the blood flowing from a deep wound in his head; she called on his name, in accents of anguish, to revive and speak to her, but in vain—no answer could he give. She observed not what was taking place, scarcely that his companions were taken away; that other men filled their places, and that the boat was being urged rapidly back towards the shore, by six fresh and powerful oarsmen. Meantime the mistico had come up, and now hauled her wind with her head to the northward, so that her guns might cover the retreat of the pirate boats; but as soon as they got in order, and began to move towards the harbour, she let draw her head sails, went about, and stood in the same direction, none of the pirates having the slightest intention of coming in contact with the British, if they could avoid it; for they also, it afterwards appeared, had heard the hail of the Tone’s boats, and rightly guessed from whence it came. The crews of the British boats gave way with a will; for, finding that all the firing had ceased, and that their hail was no longer answered, they began to suspect the truth, and that their friends had been overtaken and captured. Linton, it must be remembered, could not tell to a certainty what had taken place, and he therefore acted to the best of his judgment. He ordered the boats to accompany him, pulling as fast as they could, in the direction in which they had seen the firing; but they had come clearly in sight of the lofty cliffs of the island before they perceived the mistico standing in for the land, and a fleet of boats near her, just distinguishable through the gloom. The tables were now reversed, and it was this time the smaller force chasing the larger one; but even had there been twice the number of boats, Linton would not have hesitated to chase them. The British crews, as they found that they were in sight of the enemy, gave forth three of those hearty cheers which they can seldom resist uttering in moments of excitement, and, with redoubled energy, dashed after the retreating boats.

That cheer was heard by those of the captives who still retained their consciousness, and though it showed them that they were not deserted by their friends, it made the pirates still more eager to return to their strong-hold, to avoid encountering an enemy so evidently in good spirits and courage.

The mistico sailed well; but, as the wind stood, it was evident that she would be obliged to make one tack, if not more, before she could fetch the harbour, and this gave the British a hope that they should at all events be able to cut her off; and Linton doubted whether it would not be better first to get hold of as many of the boats as they could, and then to wait for her off the mouth of the harbour.

“I think the boats have got the captain, and the rest of them, on board, by the way they pull,” shouted Linton, to Tompion, who commanded the cutter. “Tackle them first, and we may pay the other rascals off afterwards. Huzza, my men—give way, or they will be into their den before we can get alongside them.”

“The mistico has tacked,” shouted Tompion, in return. “Shall I fire into her?”

“No—no; no firing—we may be hitting our friends,” cried Linton. “Let her go—we can get her afterwards.”

As the boats drew near her, the mistico opened a fire of small arms and swivels on them over the larboard side; for she was now standing directly across their course, bringing them, as she got more to the northward, under her stern; so that when she again tacked, she would be able to bring her starboard broadside to bear on them. The pirate boats also commenced a slight and uncertain fire, showing that very few of them had arms; but, as they drew near the shore, the cliffs appeared fringed with a blaze of fire, which opened down upon them.

Still undaunted, Linton pushed on: the boats were occasionally hit, but no one was wounded. The mistico again tacked; but she found the wind more scant than she had probably expected, and she consequently fell off, and instead of having the English boats on her starboard side, she passed astern of them, unable to fire, so close were both parties together, without an equal chance of injuring her own friends. The same cause also prevented the people on the cliffs from keeping up the hot fire they might otherwise have done; for in the darkness of night it was difficult to distinguish the position of the English boats, in consequence of their carefully abstaining from firing. Linton and his followers were almost up with the sternmost of the pirate boats when the lofty cliffs opened, as it seemed, by magic—the enemy disappeared in the narrow opening, and, as they were boldly pushing after them, they found a thick chain drawn across the passage, and at the same time a blaze of fire opened from the broadside of the brig, moored across it.

“Back your larboard oars, pull up your starboard oars, my men,” shouted Linton. “We are in a trap—must give it up, or be knocked to pieces, I’m afraid. Let all the boats pull to the south-west as fast as they can till we are out of the range of their guns.”

It was, indeed, time for the British to retire; for besides the big guns and swivels of the brig, every accessible point of the cliffs above their head appeared covered with musketry, and several heavy pieces sent forth their messengers of destruction from beneath the walls of the castle. Never were boats perhaps exposed to a hotter fire—to penetrate into the harbour was utterly impossible, and the probability of their escaping was small indeed.

“Pull on—pull for your lives, my men,” shouted the young lieutenant, as the boats’ heads came round, and their crews endeavoured to escape from the showers of round shot and bullets, which dashed the water up on every side of them, wounding several, and sending more than one brave heart to its last account.

“We shall do yet, my men. We’ll pay the villains off for this!” he shouted. “Oh, Heaven! They’ve done for me. Take the helm, Duff, and tell Mr Tompion—”

He spoke in a low tone, and before he finished the sentence he sunk down at the bottom of the boat.

Chapter Thirty One.

“And so, signora, you would show your gratitude for the attention and respect with which I have treated you, by endeavouring to escape from my care, and by bringing your countrymen to attempt my destruction.”

These words, uttered in a deep, stern voice, were the first Ada heard with sufficient distinctness to comprehend their meaning, since the termination of the conflict, in which she had seen her lover, over whom she still hung, cast down wounded by her side. The tone and accent told her, too clearly, who was the speaker ere she raised her head, and, looking round, beheld the pirate Zappa, steering the boat. Whether or not it was fancy, she could scarcely tell; but, as she gazed at him through the gloom, his dress appeared disordered, and stained with blood, and his countenance seemed to her to wear an expression even of unusual ferocity. Dread, lest in his savage mood he should wreak his vengeance on Fleetwood, kept her silent.

“Speak, signora,” he repeated. “Why have you done this?”

“I have done nothing to injure you, nothing of which you have a right to complain,” said Ada, lifting up her head, though still remaining on her knees by Fleetwood’s side. “You unjustly deprived me of my liberty, and that I have attempted to regain. Of no other crime towards you can you accuse me.”

She said this with as firm a voice as she could command, remembering the effect her courage had had on the pirate, on a former occasion; and she now felt that it was, if possible, of still greater importance to her to retain her presence of mind; not only her own life, but that of Fleetwood; might depend on her behaviour.

“But you are mistaken, signora. I accuse you of instigating some strangers, to whom hospitality had been shown, to run off with the property of my people, and of inducing that unhappy youth, Paolo Montifalcone, treacherously, to assist in your flight,” returned the pirate firmly. “I will not, however, barter words with you. If I and my people escape from the attack your countrymen appear about to make on us, I may overlook your crime; but if any of them suffer through your means, you shall not escape my vengeance.”

“I am defenceless and in your power,” replied Ada. “I repeat that I have not instigated my countrymen to attack you, and if you suffer, it is through no fault of mine. But if you add a cold-blooded murder to your other crimes, you will bring down the vengeance of all civilised nations on your head, as instruments of the God whom you have offended.”

“My resolution is fixed, signora. What I do depends on the result of this night’s business,” said the pirate, in the same stern voice; and, without paying her any further apparent attention, he urged on his people to renewed exertions at their oars.

This conversation took place exactly as the British boats were first discovered through the darkness, coming up astern; and as they happened to be just there in line, and looming large in the gloom, Zappa could not tell what force was now being brought against him; and it was the belief that he was about to be attacked by overwhelming numbers, before, perhaps, he could get within shelter of the harbour, and make arrangements for his defence, which had stirred up all the devil within him. One of his remarks gave Ada some gleam of comfort, for it made her fancy that the pirate did not suspect that the wounded man at his feet was Captain Fleetwood, the enemy from whom he had most to dread, and she hoped that he still believed him to be simply the Maltese sailor he appeared. Hope, however slight, will, as the light branch keeps a drowning man above the surface of the treacherous waters, support a person amid present distress and difficulty, who would otherwise sink overwhelmed beneath them; and this idea, which had happily occurred to Ada, prevented her giving way to the wretchedness she felt at the failure of her lover’s gallant attempt to rescue her, and the too probable destruction he had brought on himself and those associated with him. The pirate every now and then turned his head to watch the advancing boats, expecting them each instant to fire on him; but seeing that they did not do so, he grew calmer as he approached the harbour, knowing that he should soon be in safety within it.

Though trembling lest her care should evince her interest in Fleetwood, Ada, as soon as Zappa’s attention had been withdrawn from her, again employed herself in endeavouring to staunch the blood which flowed from his wound. As she bent over him she found he breathed; and as she held his hand in hers, she felt that his pulse was still beating, though slow and faint. It had at last occurred to her, that it would be wiser to call Marianna to her assistance, though, with the natural jealousy of love, she was unwilling that any one but herself should tend, while she was able, the object of her affection, but the poor girl was little in a condition to render her any aid; as, overcome with her fears, and the continued excitement in which she had been kept, she had gone off in a fainting fit, from which she was only just recovering. She heard the voice of her mistress, and it served to revive her, and raising her head, she dragged herself towards her.

“Oh, holy Mary, and is the brave captain killed!” she exclaimed, as she saw Fleetwood’s rigid, death-like appearance, though the dark colour with which his skin was tinged concealed the ghastly pallor of his countenance. “Oh, holy mother, is he dead?”

Ada grasped Marianna’s arm, to make her keep silent, as she whispered—“He is your countryman, a seaman of Malta. You must attend to him.” And she trusted that Zappa had not overheard her maid’s indiscreet exclamation. Whether he had or not, his attention was again attracted towards them.

“You appear to take great interest in that wounded man, signora,” he observed, in a less angry tone than before.

“I do, signor,” she replied, in a firm voice, without waiting for his saying any thing further. “I perform but a woman’s part towards a wounded man, in endeavouring to alleviate his suffering. I do as I would towards any one in a like situation; and as I would towards you, were a shot, from the guns of my countrymen, this instant to lay you low, and were I again carried into captivity by your orders. We are taught by our religion, signor, not to distinguish our enemies from our friends, when they are in affliction.” Ada made this last observation as the genuine feeling of her heart, without any hypocrisy, however excusable some might think it, under the circumstances, and, doubtlessly, would have staunched the wounds of her greatest enemy, to the best of her power, had she been called on to do so; though the anxiety and tenderness which animated her, as she watched over Fleetwood, would have, of necessity, been wanting.

“Well, well, signora,” returned Zappa. “You and your attendant are welcome to do your best to prevent the man from dying, though he deserves nothing at my hands; but whatever men may say of me, they shall not justly accuse me of being a murderer in cold blood. Your countrymen do not appear to be in a fighting mood. Perhaps they are afraid of firing, lest they should hurt you. Is it not so, lady? I know more of their plans than you suspect. The expedition is led by the captain of the Ione, in person, and he was on the look out for you, when we so inopportunely came up, and spoilt your arrangements.”

“Can it be so?” thought Ada. “Is he really ignorant that Fleetwood is close to him? Alas, he may be deceiving me, and if I pretend to agree to his assertions, he will but use it as a weapon against me. The right and best plan is to refuse to give an opinion on the subject.”

“I am your prisoner, signor,” she said, aloud; “and as such I claim every right to endeavour to escape as I best can. It would therefore be folly in me to acknowledge by what means I have communicated with my countrymen, even if I had done as you suppose, lest you should prevent my doing so another time.”

“Per bacco, you are a brave girl!” exclaimed the pirate, in a tone in which Ada felt that admiration was too much mingled with a familiarity she had endeavoured to avoid. “I would rather be your friend than your enemy, if you would let me. Faith, you deserve your liberty, or anything else that you desire; but it would tax my generosity too much to give it to you.”

What he said further, Ada did not hear; for the noise of the firing, which then commenced from the cliffs above, as well as from the boats, drowned his words. She trembled for the fate of the Tone’s crew, who were coming to her assistance; for she was sufficiently acquainted with the nature of military defences, to know the impracticable character of the harbour into which the pirates, she was afraid, would try to draw them.

The firing increased; and she judged, by the gestures of the Greeks, who were rowing, that her countrymen were close upon them. Again the hope revived that, even then, Fleetwood might be rescued. The shouts of the British seamen rang in her ears. She could scarcely refrain from rising and waving to them to urge them on to the succour of their captain; but, just as she fancied they would be alongside, she saw the cliffs, at the entrance of the harbour, towering above her, and the boat shooting in; directly after, the Sea Hawk opened her fire, and her ears were deafened with the reverberating reports of the guns, and the shouts and shrieks of the pirates. The moment the boat touched the shore, Zappa and his companions sprang out, he shouting,—“To the castle—to the castle! We will give them the guns as they retreat.”

And Ada found herself left alone with Pietro and Marianna. In vain she endeavoured to arouse her lover to a state of consciousness—the same frightful torpor continued which the wound had caused; and her heart almost broke with anguish, as she began to fear he might die before he could receive any proper assistance.

“The pirate talks of his generosity. Would he allow him to be sent on board the Ione with a flag of truce?” she thought. “No, no; it were vain to hope it; and the very entreating him to do so would betray Charles to him.”

She then remembered the medical knowledge possessed by Paolo Montifalcone, and the great assistance he had been to her; but she had no means of testing his surgical skill, though she understood that Zappa had, at first, detained him, that he might be useful to any of his followers who were wounded—but then the idea occurred to her—though, perhaps, she did not express it in so many words,—“Can I trust him? He has confessed his unhappy attachment to me. I told him that, if no other circumstance prevented my marrying him, my heart was another’s, and can I dare to place that favoured rival in his power? He is, apparently, generous, and possesses many excellent qualities; but he is an Italian; and if the tales I have heard of Italians are true, they are less scrupulous than other persons of ridding themselves of those they hate. Perhaps he would not contemplate such a deed—he might now shudder at the thought of it; but if the temptation were thrown in his way, could he withstand it? I might, were I to trust him, be guilty of my Charles’s death, and of causing that unhappy youth to commit a murder. Oh! God help me! What shall I do?”

Just then, some rapid steps were heard of a person running along the sands. They attracted the attention of Marianna, who had begun to recover from her fright; and looking over the side of the boat, she screamed out,—“Is it you, Mr Raby? Oh, come here—come here! We want you very much.”

She was right in her supposition; and the next instant the midshipman had sprung into the boat.

“What, Miss Garden! Are you left here alone? And, good heavens! is that the captain?” he exclaimed, in a tone of voice which showed how deeply he felt, joyous and careless as he was on ordinary occasions. “Oh, Miss Garden, he is not dead!”

“I trust in Heaven he is not, Mr Raby,” replied Ada. “He has been stunned and severely wounded, and, had no one been with him, would have bled to death; even now, I know not what may happen if he does not speedily receive assistance. Had we the strength to do so, we might convey him up to the tower, where I suppose I shall be again shut up, and his wounds might thus be properly dressed.”

“I am afraid that you, and Marianna, and I, should never be able to carry him all that way without hurting him,” returned Jack Raby. “If I could find our companions, we could easily do it; but I don’t know what became of them. I was dragged into a boat by myself, and knocked down, and told to be quiet; out, as soon as we got in here, the rascals went off to man their guns, and quite forgot me, I suppose; so, directly I found that they were gone, I felt to see if my head was hurt, and feeling it all right, I jumped out and set off, determined to try and find out what had become of you and the rest. If I could not succeed, I thought about going up to the Italian lady, and getting her to make interest for us all. I was in a great hurry, because I did not know when the pirates might come back; and they will, probably, shut me up somewhere, so that I cannot get to speak to her.”

“Your suggestion, Mr Raby, affords much hope that we may obtain assistance for Captain Fleetwood,” said Ada. “Oh! hurry up to the tower, and I am certain that the Signora Nina will exert herself to the utmost in our favour. Tell her all that happened—tell her that the life of one very dear to me depends on her sending us aid; and she will find some one who will come and assist to carry your captain to a place of safety. I need scarcely advise you to take every precaution to avoid being stopped on your way.”

“Never fear me, Miss Garden,” answered the midshipman, as he leaped on shore. “If I hear any one coming near me, I’ll stow myself away under the rocks, or climb right up the cliffs over their heads. It’s fortunately so dark, that there’s very little chance of my being seen, and I’ll be back again as fast as I can.”

Nina Montifalcone was sitting, solitary and sad, at the window of her tower, gazing out on the sea, and watching the scene enacting below her. She had risen from her couch on hearing the firing and noise, and had gone to where she now was, to learn the cause of it. The rapid discharge of the guns from the brig and fort told her that fighting was going on, and the British boats in full retreat explained what else had happened. So interested was she on what was going on without, that she did not hear the sound of the footsteps of a person who entered the room.

“Signora, signora,” said a voice near her; she started on hearing herself addressed, and saw Jack Raby standing at her elbow. “I have come in a great hurry, and have not a moment to spare, to tell you that Signora Garden, your friend, is on the shore of the bay in a boat, and that there is a person very badly wounded in it, who will die if you cannot send him assistance; and also that, if you do not intercede for us with the pira— I mean with the chief of this island,—I and my companions shall, very likely, to-morrow morning, be hung, or shot, or have our throats cut, or be thrown over the cliffs, or, at all events, sent out of the world.”

“The Signora Garden, and one in whom she is interested, wounded,” repeated Nina. “Ah! I see how it is. Tell me, frankly, boy. Is it the captain of the English brig who is wounded?”

“Signora, si, I will not deny it,” said the midshipman. “There is, therefore, you will see, still greater necessity for you to interfere in his favour.”

“I tell you, boy, if it were known who he was, and for what purpose he came here, I could not preserve his life for one instant,” replied Nina. “He must not be brought up here on any account, for he would be certainly recognised in the morning. Have you met my brother, Signor Paolo. He alone can assist us.”

“What, the Italian gentleman? No, signora. I took too much care in coming up here to fall in with anybody,” said Jack.

“Then I must go in search of him. We shall probably find him among the spectators of the fight. I will send him down to the boat. Tell the signora that there is a cottage close to the shore on the other side of the bay, to the inhabitants of which my brother has been of great service, by preserving the lives of their children in a dire sickness, and thither the wounded man shall be conveyed. If they have any gratitude in their nature, they will perform any service Paolo may require; and the English captain will be safe with them, even should they discover who he is. Now, hasten back to the bay with the message, and entreat Signora Garden to return to her tower, and to appear to take no further interest in him. It will betray him, to a certainty, if she does, and it can do him no good. I will, however, endeavour to arrange that you shall remain with him to attend on him. Tell her that, as soon as I have dispatched Paolo, I will go myself to meet her.”

While Nina was speaking, she took out of a chest the capote she had worn on the previous occasion, and, throwing it over her shoulders, led the way down the steps. While Jack Raby hurried off down the ravine, she took her way towards the edge of the cliffs, where she saw a number of people, some of them still firing in the direction where the boats were supposed to be, though they must by that time have been beyond the range of the guns; it served, however, to occupy their attention, so that no one perceived her. She wandered among them for some time in vain, looking for her brother, till, at last, she found him, leaning against a part of the ruins on a high spot, from where he could overlook the whole scene. Twice she called him, but so absorbed was he in his own thoughts that he did not answer her, till she climbed up over the broken fragments at his feet, and touched his arm.

“Paolo, my brother,” she said, “I come to ask you to perform a generous and a noble work, from which you must not shrink. You love the English lady who has been held captive here. I knew it from the first, and I know that she cannot return your love, for her heart is another’s. Now listen: the man to whom her heart is given, your rival if you will, lies now in the island, wounded almost to death, and on your skill depends, probably, whether he lives or dies. Promise me, then, as you hope for salvation in another world, for peace of mind in this, to exert that skill to the utmost to preserve his life, to conceal his real character from my husband, and to aid him to escape from the island. Say you will do this, my brother, and I believe, from what I have seen of that fair girl, you are far more likely to win her regard by such conduct, and ultimately, perhaps, even her love, than were her lover to die without an attempt on your part to save him.”

Paolo listened without interrupting her, and did not immediately answer.

“Her love! Do you think it possible that I should gain her love?” he at length exclaimed, as if he had not heard anything else she had said. “I would sacrifice life itself for that bright jewel.”

“It would be wrong were I to hold hope out to you to induce you to act as I could wish, Paolo,” said Nina. “Think not of any other reward than such as your own heart will afford you. Her love I do not believe that you will attain, even were her lover to die. One of her nature places her heart on one object, and when that is torn from her, it never again finds a resting-place. All you may expect, and that, be assured, she will give you, is her gratitude and esteem. With that you must be content.”

“It is bitter to think so, and yet I have long ceased to hope,” murmured Paolo. “Tell me though, Nina, what would you have me do?”

His sister told him of the arrangement she had already made with Jack Raby.

“Come, my brother, decide what part you will take—there is no time to be lost; oh! let it be that one worthy of your generous nature.”

“Nina, I will do as you wish,” Paolo gasped forth, after a long silence. “I will endeavour to save the life of this man, even though my heart break when I see him united to her he loves.”

“Swear it, then, Paolo—swear it by the Holy Apostles—swear it, as you hope for Heaven’s mercy hereafter,” exclaimed Nina. “Not only for your own sake do I impose this oath, but for the sake of the sweet girl herself, that she may know that, though her lover is in his rival’s power, he is as safe as in the hands of his dearest friend.”

Paolo took the oath his sister prescribed, and leaping off the ruins, hurried, at headlong speed, down to the bay.

Nina followed at a slower pace.

The flight of the fugitives had been discovered by old Vlacco, even before they had quitted the bay. He had awoke in the night, he stated, and had taken it into his head, that he would go to see if they were safe in their prison. He was so astonished and confused on finding they were not there, that, at first, he could not decide what course to take. He then bethought him that his duty required him to inform his chief, and as soon as Zappa was made aware of the fact, the whole island was in commotion, and the pursuit was commenced.

It was with very great satisfaction that Nina heard of Ada’s flight, and most earnestly did she pray that she might not be overtaken. For the fair girl’s sake, she wished this, and for her own, even still more so. She admired her beauty, she was inclined to love her as a sister—and yet she could not conceal from herself that she greatly feared her as a rival in her husband’s affections. She had lately learned, too surely to doubt it, that his love was waning, and that he himself was far different from the character she had supposed him.

By his own acknowledgment, he was a blood-stained pirate; and she had already too many proofs of the fact, even had he not, now that he was indifferent to her love, boasted to her of his deeds. Sometimes, alas, the dreadful thought would occur to her, that even her life would not be safe, if it stood between him and his wishes; and yet, woman-like, she still loved on. She tried to shut her eyes to his faults, to forget his unkindness, and to discover only the noble qualities she at first believed he possessed. Though she feared Ada, she could not hate her; and would not have harmed her, now that she felt sure she would never consent to become the pirate’s bride should she die, much less his mistress; but she was not the less anxious for her departure, and proportionably grieved when she heard that she was once more a prisoner in the island. With natural jealousy, when Zappa spoke of obtaining a ransom for Ada, she had endeavoured to ascertain what steps he had taken, for the purpose of arranging it; and by no means could she learn that he had even made any attempts to open negotiations on the subject with any persons at Malta, or elsewhere; and this confirmed her in her fears that this was simply a pretext to weary out his prisoner, and to reconcile her to her fate. She was certain, also, that Captain Fleetwood could have heard nothing on the subject; as he would, she thought, have preferred so safe a way of recovering her, instead of the dangerous one he had attempted. Such were the subjects which occupied her mind, as she walked down the ravine to meet her rival. In the meantime, Ada had watched, with an anxiety scarcely describable, for the return of Raby; every instant expecting to have the pirates come back; and to have her lover dragged roughly from her; and to have to run the risk either of betraying him, or of allowing him to perish without assistance.

At last Jack arrived, followed at an interval by Paolo.

“Signora,” he said, “I have come to take charge of a man I hear is sorely wounded. Do not doubt me; I repeat the oath I have given my sister, that I will, to the best of my abilities, endeavour to restore him to health, and if an occasion occurs, to aid in his escape from hence. I ask—I look for no reward.”

“I trust you, signor,” replied Ada, giving him her hand. “You could not commit so black an act as to deceive me, and now, oh! hasten to put your good intentions into execution.”

On this Paolo told her of the fisherman’s hut, to which he purposed to convey Captain Fleetwood, and hurried off to summon the old man. He soon returned, stating that he was from home, and as no time was to be lost, he proposed that he and Raby should carry the wounded officer there at once, with the aid of Ada and Marianna. This they accomplished without much difficulty, by means of a cloak found at the bottom of the boat, and then, urged by Paolo and Raby, Ada tore herself away from him, and with Marianna, endeavoured to find her way up the ravine, while Jack remained to keep watch over his commander.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Lieutenant Saltwell, on whom, in his captain’s absence, had devolved the command of the Ione, walked her quarterdeck on the night on which the events we have been describing took place, with a mind very ill at ease.

He had been during the whole afternoon endeavouring, by every possible means in his power, to get the brig up to the spot agreed on, off the island of Lissa, so that he might dispatch the boats at dark to wait still closer in for the coming of Fleetwood and his companions. The breeze with which they had started had failed them soon afterwards, so the sweeps had been got out, and the boats had towed ahead, till he was fearful of knocking up their crews and unfitting them for the work they had still to perform; and yet, do all they could, he was obliged to dispatch them, under the orders of the several lieutenants, with a pull of some eighteen or twenty miles before them.

“For heaven’s sake, make the best speed you can,” said Saltwell, as he bade his brother officers good bye. “Our captain will make the attempt to-night, depend on it, and it will be sad work if he cannot find the boats.”

“Never fear, we shall not miss him, I hope,” exclaimed Linton, as he leaped into his boat. “Shove off and give way, my merry men.”

The boat’s crew did their best; but the event was another convincing proof of the misfortunes which may arise from being a little too late. Had they been ten minutes sooner, they would, perhaps, have been in time to prevent their captain and his companions from falling again into the hands of the pirates. Linton felt this when he found that they were recaptured, and, stung with regret, although he was in no manner to blame, he agreed on the pursuit with a zeal which very nearly led to the destruction of himself and his followers.

We left him severely, if not mortally, wounded, off the mouth of the pirate’s harbour. The command, therefore, devolved on Tompion, who immediately ordered the boats to separate as much as possible, keeping within sight of each other, to cause the shots of the enemy to become less effective, by being scattered over a wider range.

“Pull away, my lads,” exclaimed the mate; “we shall soon be out of this, and we shall have an opportunity before long of paying them off.”

The men needed no inducement to pull hard, for it was excessively hot work, and they had no fancy to be exposed to the showers of bullets which came whizzing round them, especially when they were compelled to run away from the enemy.

The frowning and lofty cliffs, fringed with tiny glances of vivid light, and the bright flashes of the Sea Hawk’s guns, which were reflected on the calm water, formed, doubtlessly, an exceedingly picturesque spectacle, which those who were pulling at the oars had full opportunity to contemplate, but not the less disagreeable to them on that account, especially as it would have been a very useless amusement to fire against the cliffs in return. Fortunately, no further casualties occurred, and every instant, as their distance from the shore increased, there was less chance of a shot hitting them. At length, Tompion, seeing that they were free from danger, hailed the other boats, to order the crews to rest on their oars to recover breath, before they shaped their course to return to their ship. The hail was answered by another from the westernmost boat, commanded by Jemmy Duff; he sung out—

“Did you see the mistico get into the harbour, with the rest of the rascals?”

“No,” said Tompion. “Did any one on board see her?” he asked of the crew.

“No, sir,” was the general answer.

“No one saw her go in,” he answered.

“Then, by Jove, there she is, on our starboard beam,” sung out Duff in return. “She is pretty nearly becalmed, it seems. She has got out there, I suspect, to watch us, and to try to cut us off. What shall we do?”

“I and the gig will close you, and we’ll see what is to be done,” said Tompion, ordering the other boat to follow him, and all the boats were soon alongside each other.

There, sure enough, Tompion perceived the mistico, about a quarter of a mile off, with her head to the southward, evidently watching their movements. It might seem surprising that she had not attacked them when under the cliffs; but, in the first place, she could not then get up to them, and had she been able to do so, it would have prevented the pirates on shore from firing on them.

The wind had at this juncture almost failed her, but she had her sweeps to depend on, and with a strong crew they could send her along at a great rate. She was commanded on the present occasion by the second lieutenant of the Sea Hawk—at least by the officer who performed the duties of one—who had hurried on board with as many men as he could find, and swept out to sea the moment the alarm of the prisoners’ escape was given; and now, somewhat mistaking the character of British seamen, he had begun to edge up towards the boats, purposely to take them by surprise, and hoping to make them an easy prey.

Of most of this Tompion was soon aware, and it now became a question as to the advisability of attacking her instead.

“What does Mr Linton say?” asked Duff. “We should not take long about it, I think, and she would be something to show for our night’s work.”

“Tell Mr Linton how things stand, Jennings, and ask him what he wishes us to do,” said Tompion to the coxswain of the gig.

“Poor Mr Linton can say nothing, sir,” returned Jennings, in a sorrowful tone. “I’m afraid he’ll never speak again.”

An exclamation of grief escaped from all who heard the words.

“What! is he dead?” inquired Tompion, in a voice which showed that he participated in the feeling of the crews, although he might very probably benefit by the vacancy thus created; yet, I will venture to say, the thought of this did not enter his head.

“No, sir, not dead, I hope,” said the coxswain. “I have bound up his wound as well as I can, and stopped the bleeding; but he’s in a dead faint, and I don’t know if he’ll come to again.”

“Well, Duff, I should like to act as Mr Linton would have done, and I’m sure he would have attacked the mistico without giving two thoughts about it,” observed Tompion; “but then, again, for his sake, we ought to get back to the ship as fast as we can, to obtain surgical assistance for him.”

“I know how you feel, Tompion,” exclaimed Jemmy Duff—“but I have it: our two boats can easily tackle the rascally mistico, and let the gig pull back to the brig as fast as she can, with Mr Linton and Timmins here, who is badly hurt, and let them tell Saltwell of our whereabouts, and we shall fall in with her before the morning with a prize in tow, I hope.”

“Capital!” exclaimed Tompion, who was, for a wonder, not above taking advice from a junior, when it happened to be good, and coincided with his own opinion. “What say you, my lads—do you think you’ve got strength enough in your arms to punish some of those rascals for Mr Linton’s too like death, and the trick they played us?”

“All right, sir, never fear. We can give it them yet,” exclaimed both crews, with one voice; and seldom will British seamen be found to make any other answer.

“Well, then, Jennings, do you steer due west,—right for that tar, that is your course. When you get about five miles from this, fire a musket, and continue firing every ten minutes. They will show a blue light as soon as they hear you, and you can scarcely miss the ship. Take poor Timmins on board with you—there’s no one else hurt, I hope.”

“No, sir, no,” was the answer.

“I need not tell you to make the best of your way, and I’m sorry, for your sakes, we can’t have you, my men, with us, in the affair on hand.”

Having given these orders, most reluctantly they were obeyed by the crew of the gig, which immediately pulled away in the direction pointed out, and was soon lost to sight in the gloom. Tompion made the necessary preparations for the attack on the mistico.

He was not above despising an enemy whom he intended to attack, and as the fight, in which he was about to engage, would be the first in which he had held the command, he was doubly anxious that it should be successful. He ordered his men to see that their pistols, and the muskets in the boat, were properly loaded and primed, and a small brass swivel, mounted in the bows, he had loaded with musket balls, almost up to the muzzle, to fire as they ran past the enemy’s quarter.

“Duff,” he exclaimed, “you board on the starboard side, I will grapple her on the larboard, as I want to be a few seconds before you, to give her a taste of my gun, and if she stands in as she now does, I shall get there quickest. Now, my men, give way, and let the scoundrels have a taste of your cutlasses when you get at them. Huzza for old England!”

As he uttered these words, the men repeated the cheer till the night air rung again, and bending to their oars, made the water fly from under the bows of the boats, while their heads turned in the direction of the piratical mistico.

The loud cheer and the suddenness of the movement completely took the pirates by surprise, it appeared; and instead of tacking and standing boldly towards the English to meet them, as they expected, her helm was put up, the sheets eased off, her long sweeps run out, and away she went dead before the wind, at a rate which Tompion saw would give his men a tough pull to come up with her. Another reason for her so doing was soon apparent, by her opening a fire of two swivel guns over her counter, which her crew probably calculated would check the advance of the boats. It is extraordinary at what speed the Greek misticos can be urged through the water; and on this occasion the Zoe did full justice to her character, for her crew were strong, fresh, and in high spirits, while, on the other hand, the British seamen had been rowing all night, and the greater part of the day, and were dispirited by the loss of their officer and the ill success of the expedition; not, however, that this prevented them from exerting themselves to the very utmost of their strength. The wind also, which had been very uncertain and changeable, now almost a calm, now a fresh breeze, now blowing from the eastward, now some points to the north of it, then a like number to the south, seemed suddenly to fix itself in the latter point with a considerable increase of strength, which sent the mistico flying through the water at a greater speed than ever.

“Give way, my men, oh, give way!” shouted Tompion, scarcely able to articulate in his eagerness to overtake the enemy, for with the increase of the breeze he saw their chance of doing so gradually fading away, and the proud hopes he had begun to form, of revenging the loss they had sustained, and of being able to carry with him his first prize as a proof of what they had done, with a vista of honour and promotion in the distance, cruelly dissipated. Again the British seamen cheered, and stretched their arms till their oars bent and cracked, but the sound was answered by shouts of derisive laughter from the Greeks, and a discharge from their swivel guns with several rounds from their musketry, though happily without doing much damage. Both boats were struck over and over again, and one man was wounded, but not sufficiently to disable him.

The cutter returned it with a bow-chaser, and to some purpose, it seemed, by the cries and shrieks which followed.

“Give it them again!” shouted Tompion. “If they do get away, they shall have cause to remember us. Fire, my men, fire!”

Again the shot told with fearful effect among the crowded crew of the Zoe; and from the cries and confusion on board they had reason to hope that some of those working her sweeps were disabled; and as the firing ceased, that those who had worked the guns had taken their places. Tompion had been narrowly watching her movements; he had from the first suspected some ruse to be played off on him.

“Ah! she has put her helm to port, and is running in for the land again!” he exclaimed. “Keep a little more to the eastward, Duff, and try to out her off; we may have her yet, before she gets into port.”

The mistico had had quite enough to say, it seemed, to the British boats; and was now endeavouring to get safe into the harbour, and very probably to try and tempt them to follow her, if they had not already had sufficient warning of what they might expect if they did so.

On they all three went in the same direction, the mistico by her change of course being thrown somewhat nearer to her pursuers than she before was, but they otherwise gained little, if anything, on her. The cutter perseveringly kept up her fire as fast as the gun could be cleaned and loaded, and the mistico more slowly returned it, the small sheets of flame which ever and anon issued from the mouths of the pieces showing their position to those on shore, as they drew near.

Still Tompion did not like to abandon the pursuit—they had already expended so much exertion and time, that he felt as if it would be throwing it all uselessly away if they were, after all, to fail; and yet he began to see that they had already gone far enough, and that, if he persisted in the chase, he might incur a greater disaster than had yet happened to them. He looked up at the cliffs, and tried to persuade himself that they were still at some distance off. They certainly looked very dark and lofty; but as there was no firing from them, he thought that they must be still too far off for any shot to reach them. The crew of the mistico, now that they felt pretty certain of not being captured, cheered and laughed, and called out to them, using every device to enrage them, and induce them to follow.

“We must soon be about ship, Duff!” Tompion sang out from his boat; “and I am afraid, after all, we have done little good.”

“If you will go on a little longer, perhaps the wind may shift, and we shall have her becalmed under the cliffs,” replied the midshipman. “It would be a great thing to carry her off in sight of the enemy.”

Tompion was too ready to follow his messmate’s advice, so they persevered in the chase with great gallantry, but certainly with a want of discretion, though it must be borne in mind that they had now less danger to apprehend either from the brig or the cliffs, as the pirates could not possibly fire without risking the killing of friends as well as foes. Now, although Tompion fancied that all their exertions would be thrown away, he was not aware, as the reader possibly is, that they were of the very greatest service to their friends on shore. It was their gallant pursuit of the mistico which had so completely engaged the attention of the pirates that they entirely forgot their prisoners, and allowed them to make the arrangements I have described. Had it not been for them, their captain would very soon have been discovered by Zappa, and his life would probably have been sacrificed, Raby would not have had time to reach Nina’s tower, nor would Nina have found Paolo, and sent him to assist the sufferers. Thus it is, by persevering in doing what is right, and brave, and honest, in all the affairs in life, good will ultimately arise from our acts, even though we ourselves may not immediately discover it, and though; perhaps, we may to the end of our lives remain in ignorance of the effect we have produced. There is a time when all things must be known, and then we shall reap our reward. Let this be a consolation to us in all our troubles and disappointments when we have been strenuously endeavouring to do some important good, and find all our plans and projects defeated by the selfishness, the ignorance, the obstinacy of others, perhaps of the persons we would benefit, till at last we are inclined to exclaim: “What is the use of attempting to do good in this world? Do all I can, I cannot succeed.” We do succeed—we can succeed; often, very often, when the result is not seen. We may, it is true, strive very much, and yet do very little good; but is not that little good something? is it not pure gold—treasure which will endure? So also (I am moralising while the British boats are still in pursuit of the mistico) man cannot see the ultimate result of the evil he may commit—there the order is reversed. A little evil in appearance may cause a vast amount of crime, wretchedness, and suffering. Even a word idly spoken may give rise to thoughts which may grow up and flourish, till they become like a upas tree to destroy all within their influence. To commit a small evil may be like the withdrawing the keystone from the arch, to cause the ruin of the whole edifice; or it may be like an ear of corn, which may soon serve to sow the whole field, and in the end millions and millions of acres. If men could but remember this, they would hesitate ere, by a seemingly trivial act, they incurred the awful responsibility of the immeasurable amount of crime and suffering they may cause.

How much further Tompion and Duff would have ventured I do not know, when their progress was arrested by a sight which silenced even the jeering laughter of the pirates. A loud, crashing noise was heard, which seemed to rend and tear in sunder the very cliffs, from the summit of which bright flames burst forth suddenly, and exposing the pinnacled rocks, the shattered ruins, and the groups of figures standing on them, in front of the fire, to the view of those below. The glare for the first moment almost blinded the eyes of the English, so long accustomed to darkness; but they soon saw that the fire proceeded from a tall tower near the edge of the cliff, and that the flames were bursting forth from the door, the windows, and the very roof itself, quickly towering up towards the sky. That some dreadful catastrophe had occurred, there appeared to be no doubt by the commotion created among the people. They began to run in all directions; some, it seemed, to procure water to throw on the flames, others to find ladders to scale the walls, and some were seen to attempt to gain the interior, but were again speedily driven forth by the fury of the flames. Their efforts, it was very soon seen, were of little avail, the flames seemed to gain fresh strength by some new stimulant, they darted up higher than before in a pyramid of fire, the tower was seen to rock to and fro, and down it came with a tremendous crash, burying, it seemed too probable, beneath its burning ruins many who could not have had time to escape to a distance. The mistico, while this event was taking place, had, favoured by the wind, got considerably ahead of the boats, and was by this time close in with the harbour’s mouth.

“Duff, ahoy,” cried Tompion. “That looks like a warning to us, and I think we ought to take it, and be off before the villains recover from their confusion. Pull up your starboard oars. We must give it up.”

“I am afraid so,” said Duff, imitating his senior’s example, and defeated in their object, the two boats once more steered in the direction where it was expected the Ione would be found. They were allowed to escape without further molestation, for the greater number of the pirates were engaged in watching the progress of the flames, or in endeavouring to quench them; for not only was the tower destroyed, but the fire had communicated to the building attached to it, and that also was rapidly being consumed.

Saltwell had too much anxiety on his mind to allow him to turn in to take any rest, and for the greater part of the night he had walked the deck while he beat the brig up towards the island. He became still more anxious, as the morning approached, at the non-appearance of the boats, and was continually hailing the look-outs to keep their eyes and ears open to catch any sign of their coming. Colonel Gauntlett, who, of course, was not less anxious on his niece’s account, was also constantly by his side; but the hours of night wore on, and no boats appeared. The brig stood on towards the island, for Saltwell considered that if the expedition was successful, there was no further reason for concealment, and that the nearer he got the better, and that, at all events, with the breeze which had sprung up, he could stand out of sight of land again, before daylight. The faint outline of the island, invisible to any but a seaman’s eye, at last appeared through the darkness. Several of the officers were collected together on the poop, looking towards it, as the brig now lay up on the starboard tack.

“Ah, what is that?” exclaimed Saltwell, as a bright light was seen reflected on the sky.

“Why, they have either set fire to one of their vessels, or have blown up some fort or other. That may account for the boats’ not returning.”

“I don’t think that is likely,” observed Colonel Gauntlett. “Captain Fleetwood would scarcely delay to attack the pirates with a lady in one of the boats. Would you, Mr Saltwell?”

“No, sir, I would not,” returned Saltwell. “You are right, and I do not think the captain would; but still I cannot account for the fire, and it is a large one, or we should not see it at this distance.”

“I see no reason to conclude that Captain Fleetwood has anything to do with the conflagration,” observed the colonel. “I wish we could see something of him and my little girl though. It is hazardous work he has been on, and I do not half like it. Couldn’t you fire a few guns, to give them notice of our whereabouts? I don’t see how they are to find the ship otherwise.”

“A sailor’s eye is sharper than you may suppose, colonel,” said Saltwell; “and depend on it, they will keep a sharp lookout for us. However, I will do as you propose, for the wind is off the shore, and the pirates are not likely to hear the guns. Mr Brown, fire the foremost gun on the starboard side, and the next to it in four minutes’ time.”

Directly after the order was issued, the gun sent forth its sheet of flame, and its dull sound was heard booming along the waters. Several others followed without any answering signal. The Ione had now, in Mr Saltwell’s opinion, stood long enough to the northward, or rather to the north-east, so he tacked ship, and they headed up rather more towards the island, though she soon again fell off nearly south. The larboard guns were now fired, and at last a tiny spirt of fire was seen to the eastward, and the sharp report of a musket struck on the ears.

“About ship then,” cried Saltwell, and when she was round, after standing on a little way he hove her to, and ordered Mr Black to burn a blue light to show their position. On this a faint cheer came down on the wind to prove that the signal was perceived. The next few minutes were passed, by those more immediately interested in the success of the expedition, in considerable anxiety. The splash of oars was heard, and but a single boat glided out of the darkness.

“In Heaven’s name, where are the rest?” was the question asked by many voices at once.

“Mr Tompion sent me back, sir, with Mr Linton, who is badly hurt, while he and Mr Duff stopped to chase a pirate craft which had been dodging us,” replied Jennings, to Saltwell’s questions, giving afterwards a brief account of the failure of their expedition.

“Poor Linton wounded, and by such villains,” muttered Saltwell, as his brother-officer was lifted carefully on deck. “How does he seem, Viall?” he inquired of the surgeon, who hurried forward when he heard what had occurred.

“We shall see better when we get him below,” returned the surgeon. “He is alive, and that is all I can say.”

The wounded officer was carried to his berth, where the surgeon and his assistants assembled to examine his hurts.

“This is a bad business, indeed, for the captain,” said Saltwell to Colonel Gauntlett, as they resumed their walk on the poop, while the ship remained hove to, waiting for the arrival of the other boats; “I fear the pirate will murder him, and those with him, when he finds out who he is.”

“What, think you he will venture to murder a British officer, when he knows that his strong-hold is discovered, and that his death would certainly be avenged?” exclaimed the colonel. “Poor fellow! and my little niece—if the poor girl ever escapes from that infernal den—I’m afraid she will never recover it.”

“I own, I fear for the worst,” said Saltwell, who was weary, and out of spirits. “Zappa knows well enough that he has deserved a rope, and, from what I hear, he is the sort of character to win it thoroughly; but we must do our best to punish him. As soon as the boats come back, I intend to give Tompion a fresh crew, and to leave him in the cutter, well armed and provisioned, to watch the island, while we go in search of the Ypsilante; and, as Captain Vassilato left her under my orders, I shall send her off with a requisition to any of our cruisers she can fall in with, to assemble at an island to the southward of this; and I have not the slightest doubt, that any captain, who happens to be senior officer, when he hears of what has occurred, will take the responsibility of ordering a grand attack on the island. If not, we will, by Heaven, try what our own brave fellows and the crew of the Ypsilante can do to rescue their captain, or avenge their deaths.”

“Bravo, Mr Saltwell, I am rejoiced to hear you say this,” exclaimed the colonel, warmly grasping the lieutenant’s hand. “And I and Mitchell will act as volunteers with the marines. I wish we had done this at first. A strong hand and a firm heart, are the best things to trust to. I never liked the plan poor Fleetwood has pursued, from the first. Your plots and your disguises seldom succeed; and they are not fit for Englishmen to engage in—they are contrary to the genius of our country, thank Heaven; but that Greek friend of his over-persuaded him, and, I am afraid, has led him to his destruction.”

“I wish that I could say, sir, that I thought all had gone well,” returned Saltwell. “However, we must now do our best to mend matters. Well, doctor, what report can you make of poor Linton?” he asked of the surgeon, who just then appeared on deck.

“I have extracted the ball, and he has recovered his senses,” answered the surgeon. “He is in very great danger; but I can give no decided opinion as yet. He has expressed a wish to see you, and has begged me to call you.”

“Poor, poor fellow, I’ll go below instantly,” cried Saltwell, hurrying down, and auguring the worst from the doctor’s tone.

He found Linton stretched out in his narrow berth, lighted by the sickly glare of a small lamp fastened against the bulkhead.

The clothes had been thrown over the lower part of his body; but his shoulder was bare, the pallid hue of his skin contrasting with the dark, red stains on the linen of the shirt, which had been cut off, and still lay beneath it. The arm, on the side where the ball had entered the neck, lay immovable by his side, looking shrunk and withered, except a slight twitching of the fingers, which showed the agony he was enduring.

O’Farrell, the assistant surgeon, sat at the head of the bed, applying a cooling lotion round the part which had been bound up, to prevent inflammation, if possible, from setting in, administering now and then some restorative to revive him from the exhaustion consequent to his great loss of blood.

As soon as Saltwell entered, his eyes turned towards him, and his lips moved; but his brother-officer heard no sound, till he put his ear close to his mouth.

“Saltwell,” he whispered, “don’t let them blame me wrongfully for being beaten off by those rascally pirates; I did my best, as you know I would. Our poor captain—I grieve for him more. Don’t let a stain remain on our names. And, Saltwell, if I die, as I think I shall, when you get home, see my poor Julia—bear her my deepest love, and tell her I thought of her to the last.”

“I’ll do all you wish, my dear fellow,” answered Saltwell, deeply affected. “But we must not let you slip through the doctor’s fingers; cheer up, for the sake of all your friends. And now try and get some rest—it will do you more good than any thing I can say, or the doctor can give you.”

“I fear not, Saltwell, I fear not,” said Linton. “But I won’t keep you, for you’ll be wanted on deck, as the boats will soon be coming back, and I trust to you to remember to fulfil my wishes.”

Saltwell saw that his presence did more harm than good to his wounded friend, as it induced him to talk; so, bidding him try to sleep, he left the cabin. As he reached the deck, he saw that the first faint indications of the coming dawn had appeared in the eastern horizon—not streaks of light exactly, but a less dense gloom, which could best be distinguished by contrasting it with the darkness of the opposite horizon, and, at that instant, the flash of a gun was seen in the same quarter, and the sound came booming over the water towards them.

“Ah! there comes the cutter,” he exclaimed; “Tompion is firing his brass gun to draw our attention. Don’t fire again, Mr Black, it is not necessary, and will disturb Mr Linton, but burn a blue light—it will prevent their going out of their course, for it will be some time before they will otherwise be able to distinguish us.”

The gunner had the blue light already, expecting to be called on to use it, and the next instant a lurid glare illumined the whole ship; the sails, the spars, and the countenances of the people, all assumed a sepulchral hue, which gave her the appearance of some phantom bark, such as has appeared to the excited imagination of many a seaman in his wandering through those distant and torrid climes, whose pestilential vapours, rising from the overteeming earth, fever his blood and cut short his span of life.

It had scarcely done burning before another gun was fired; but whether as a signal, or for any other reason, it was, at first, impossible to say, till several others followed in rapid succession.

“It must be a summons to us,” observed the first lieutenant to the master. “Fill the fore-topsail, and let fall the fore-sail—we will, at all events, stand on as close as we can to them.”

The breeze, which sent the Ione along, was very light, so that some time elapsed before she neared the spot whence the firing had been supposed to proceed. Saltwell was on the point of ordering another blue light to be burned, when a loud hail was heard, and, directly afterwards, the boats were seen approaching as fast as the weary crews could send them through the water.

“Has Mr Linton got back alive?” were the first words heard spoken by Tompion.

“Yes—yes, all right,” was the answer.

“Thank Heaven for that!” he exclaimed; and, as soon as the cutter ran alongside, he jumped on deck and went aft to report himself as come on board.

“I hope you do not think that I have done wrong, sir,” he said, when he had finished his account of what had occurred. “I fully thought we should capture the mistico, and I could not tell but what some of our friends had been taken on board her.”

“No, Mr Tompion, I have no reason to find fault with your behaviour. As far as I can judge, you showed judgment and gallantry, which, in an officer, it is all important should always be combined. And, at all events, you have got clear out of the scrape, though you certainly ran a great risk of being captured.”

“Well, sir, I am very glad you approve of what I have done,” answered Tompion. “And now, sir, if you will allow me to make a suggestion, I would keep off the island till daylight; for, not long ago, as we were pulling here, both Duff and I fancied we heard some firing off the mouth of the harbour, but we could not tell for certain, we’ve had such a din of popping in our ears all night; however, I cannot help thinking some of the party have made another attempt to escape.”

“I am afraid that there is very little chance of that,” said Saltwell. “If that villain, Zappa, does not murder them, it is more than I expect. However, we’ll stand on towards the island till daybreak, as you suggest; and now, Mr Tompion, I should think you require both rest and food, so go down below and take them. Tell Mason to give you and Mr Duff whatever he has got in the gun-room—you’ll get it quicker there than in your own berth.”

Midshipmen are proverbially hungry, and I need not say that our two young friends did ample justice to a cold round of beef, which the gun-room steward placed before them.

Saltwell had scarcely turned in when he was again roused up by Togle, the midshipman of the watch, who came to tell him that a suspicious sail was seen to the eastward. He immediately came on deck; and just in the centre of the red glow on the sky, which precedes the rising of the bright luminary of day, there appeared the tapering sails of a lateen-rigged craft, looking like the dark fin of a huge shark, just floating on the lead-coloured waters.

“She’s standing this way too, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “And give me a glass. I thought so; she’s in chase of a small boat under sail, just a-head of her Mr Togle, go aloft with a glass, and see what you can make out. I can distinguish little more than the upper leech of the sail; and were it not so calm, even that could not be seen.”

Togle hailed from aloft, to say that there was certainly a boat a-head of the stranger.

“I think that I can even make out that she has people in her, as she is much nearer us than the mistico, which keeps firing at her every now and then.”

“You are right,” said the lieutenant, as the midshipman came on deck. “She is little more than half way between us. All hands make sail! We must do our best to overhaul her first; for, though I have slight hopes on the subject, she may have some of our friends in her, trying to escape.”

Every stitch of canvas the brig could carry on a wind was now set; but the mistico stood boldly on, and it became a matter of great doubt whether or not she would have time to get hold of her prey, and escape back to port before the Ione could come up with her.

Chapter Thirty Three.

The triumph of Zappa at recovering Miss Garden was great, in proportion to his anger against those whom he suspected to have assisted at her escape; but once having got her again in his power, and safe inside his well-fortified harbour, he felt as a cat does towards the unfortunate mouse it has caught and killed—that he might leave and return to her when he pleased, without a chance of her again running away: he therefore hurried off to the fort, at the summit of the cliffs, to superintend the destruction of the English flotilla, which he believed had been sent against him; for he could not have supposed that so small a force as was really there would have thus boldly followed him to the very mouth of his den.

On his arrival at the fort, he found old Vlacco busily engaged in pointing the guns to bear down on the British boats; and on his sounding his well-known bugle, a large number of his followers collected with their fire-arms, to assist in the defence of the post. While they all were occupied in firing at the enemy, Vlacco sent into the tower to bring a supply of powder for the guns, from some casks, which, with the usual carelessness of the Greeks, had been left there without the slightest precaution against accident. A cask was broached, and much of the powder scattered about. After the boats had disappeared, the pirates were retiring from the fort, when Tompion’s gallant attack on the mistico called them back, and it was at this time that a spark from the lantern of a man, sent for a further supply of powder, fell among the scattered grains, and produced the conflagration I have before spoken of. As the flames burst forth, and burnt with terrific energy, Zappa flew towards the building, in vain endeavouring to find means of entrance. Wherever he attempted it at the door or window, the fire drove him back. In vain he called on the name of Nina. She neither answered nor did she appear at either of the casements. His usual calm demeanour had completely deserted him, and he seemed like a madman as he rushed round the building, urging his followers to bring ladders to enable him to mount to the story, where he expected to find her. Two were at last found, but they were far too short to be of use, and he was soon warned to retire to a distance by the explosion of another cask of powder, which shook the old walls to their foundation, and he had scarcely got to a secure position, when the remainder igniting, the whole edifice came tumbling down at once, and lay a heap of smoking ruins on the ground. Some of the burning embers had fallen on the roof of the adjoining building, and that now blazed up, and being very dry and rotten, burnt with equal fury, so that in a very short time it was reduced to a heap of ashes: the old walls of the castle, against which it was built, alone standing. It was thus that all traces of the means by which the prisoners had made their escape were obliterated. The islanders could do nothing to stop the progress of the flames, for the only water procurable was from a deep well, whence only a small quantity could be drawn up at a time, and there were no means at hand to get it from the sea, over the cliffs.

The conflagration had the effect of attracting the population, far and near, to the spot—the fishermen and other inhabitants of the neighbouring village, the seamen from the vessels, and indeed everybody in the bay, came rushing up the ravine to see what was taking place.

Zappa stood at a distance, contemplating the scene of havoc. He thought of Nina in all her youth and beauty, of her fond affection, her deep devotion, of all the sacrifices she had made for him—and callous and bad as was his heart, a transient pang of bitter regret visited it, for the cruel return he had made her.

“This, then, Nina Montifalcone, is the fate I have reserved for you. An agonising death the only reward I can give you for that love which still endured after I had torn aside the bright veil with which your fervid imagination had clothed me, and showed myself to you in my real colours—that love which I verily believed would have endured after you knew that my heart had been captivated by one still younger, still more beautiful, than yourself.”

As he gave vent aloud to these feelings, so strange to his bosom, which now agitated him, he suddenly stood like one transfixed, his breath came thick, his eye dilated, for there before him, with the full glare of the fire falling on her, stood the figure of Nina. Her countenance was pale as death, and she neither spoke nor approached him.

“Who are you?” he exclaimed at length, in a voice trembling with emotion; “speak, if you would not drive me to distraction. Tell me whence you come, and why you now come to seek me.”

“I am Nina Montifalcone,—some time your wife, whom you oft have told you loved,” she replied, in a tone of deep dejection. “What I soon shall be, the greedy worm may best tell.”

Her voice recalled him to his senses, though her words seemed strange.

“Nina,” he exclaimed, “you overheard my vain ravings when I thought you had fallen a victim to yon devouring flames; but think no more of them, and tell me by what miracle you escaped from the tower, before the flames burst forth—for afterwards, no power could have saved you.”

“I had gone to comfort and succour the unfortunate, those whom your injustice has made prisoners in this island, and I sought you even now to plead for them,” she answered boldly; the tone of meek sorrow with which she had before spoken being no longer discernible.

“You take me unawares, and would work on me at a weak moment, Nina,” he replied. “But know you, girl, that the persons of whom you speak are spies, come here in disguise to work my destruction? Ah! you look surprised, incredulous! Yes, these men—these pretended Maltese—are no other than Englishmen, belonging to a ship of war lying at no great distance from this island, for the express purpose of capturing my vessel, my gallant Sea Hawk, if they can fall in with her; and I have not told you all—their leader is the captain himself, the very man to whom that fair English girl, of whom you are so foolishly jealous, is betrothed. I knew this, I say, from the first; but I pretended ignorance, for I wished to discover who were their accomplices among those I trusted. He even now lies dead or dying in the bay below, and I left the fair girl with him, that she might know I did not kill him; but I tell you, Nina, if he were to recover, he should not live to escape, and to bring destruction on me. If he dies now, it is through his own folly, and no one can accuse me of having slain him; so, except you would wish to make his blood rest on my head, do not pray for his recovery.”

“Oh! you would not do so black a deed—you would not slay an innocent man because he came to regain the bride of whom you had deprived him! for I feel assured that for no other object did he visit this island; and that should he recover, were you to give her to him, and allow him and those who came with him to depart, he would promise never to molest you, or to take advantage in any way of the knowledge he has obtained by his visit to this island.”