There, by the light of the conflagration, appeared a child of from seven to eight years of age, who had taken refuge in the wheel-house, and, from the midst of the flames surrounding him on every side, was tearfully holding out his little arms to M. de Morin.
He hesitated for a second, for they cried out from the boats—
"Do not venture—it is certain death! The fire is spreading towards the powder, and the ship will blow up, we must get away."
And, indeed, the boats were already being pulled away.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you leave me my my fate! Be it so! I will not abandon this poor little soul."
And then, creeping at one time along the vessel's side, at another catching hold of a rope, or a shroud, sometimes making his way along the deck itself, he went aft through the flames despite every obstacle, braving every danger.
At length he reached the wheel-house, mounted it, seized the child in his arms, and with him plunged into the river, without even calling on the boats to come to his assistance.
One of them saw him and got up to him just as the current was whirling him towards a snag, under which he would have been sucked by the stream, a bruised and bleeding mass.
Some moments afterwards, as the cutter was close by with the flotilla, a loud report was heard. The wretched slave-ship was engulfed in the Nile.
Madame de Guéran, standing on the poop of the "Khedive," had been a trembling, agitated, spectator of all these scenes, and when MM. Périères and de Morin came on board, she rushed to them, grasped them by the hands, and utterly overcome, burst into tears.