‘Sorrah a bit!’ returned Lanty, ‘tho’ ’tis a pretty place enough. If my old mother was here, ’tis her heart would warm to the mountains.’
‘Is it Calypso’s Island?’ whispered Ulysse to his sister.
‘See, what are they doing?’ cried Estelle. ‘There are people—don’t you see, white specks crowding down to the water.’
There was just then a splash, and two bronzed figures were seen setting forth from the tartane to swim to shore. The Turkish Reis had despatched them, to ascertain whether the vessel had drifted, and who the inhabitants might be.
A good while elapsed before one of these scouts returned. There was a great deal of talk and gesticulating round him, and Lanty, mingling with it, brought back word that the place was the Bay of Golo, not far from Djigheli, and just beyond the Algerine frontier. The people were Cabeleyzes, a wild race of savage dogs, which means dogs according the Moors, living in the mountains, and independent of the Dey. A considerable number rushed to the coast, armed, and in great numbers, perceiving the tartane to be an Italian vessel, and expecting a raid by Sicilian robbers on their cattle; but the Moors had informed them that it was no such thing, but a prize taken in the name of the Dey of Algiers, in which an illustrious French Bey’s harem was being conveyed to Algiers. From that city the tartane was now about a day’s sail, having been driven to the eastward of it during the storm. ‘The Turkish commander evidently does not like the neighbourhood,’ said Arthur, ‘judging by his gestures.’
‘Dogs and sons of dogs are the best names he has for them,’ rejoined Lanty.
‘See! They have cut the cable! Are we not to wait for the other man who swam ashore?’
So it was. A favourable wind was blowing, and the Reis, being by no means certain of the disposition of the Cabeleyzes, chose to leave them behind him as soon as possible, and make his way to Algiers, which began to appear to his unfortunate passengers like a haven of safety.
They were not, however, out of the bay when the wind suddenly veered, and before the great lateen sail could be reefed, it had almost caused the vessel to be blown over. There was a pitching and tossing almost as violent as in the storm, and then wind and current began carrying the tartane towards the rocky shore. The Reis called the men to the oars, but their numbers were too few to be availing, and in a very few minutes more the vessel was driven hopelessly towards a mass of rocks.
Arthur, the Abbé, Hébert, and Lanty were all standing together at the head of the vessel. The poor Abbé seemed dazed, and kept dreamily fingering his rosary, and murmuring to himself. The other three consulted in a low voice.