“Not yet, Captain Pog,” replied the young sailor; “he departed with his stick and his wallet, disguised as a beggar. He will be here, without doubt, in an hour. I waited for him in vain. Seeing that he did not arrive, I came in my long-boat; the barge which landed him on the shore will bring him back here. But shall we attack La Ciotat or Marseilles, Captain Pog?”
“Marseilles, unless the report of the spy makes me change my opinion,” said Pog.
“And on our return, shall we not stop a moment at La Ciotat?” asked Erebus. “Hadji is expecting us.”
“And your beautiful maiden also, my boy. Ah! ah! you are more impatient to see her beautiful eyes than the gaping mouths of the cannon of the castle,” said Trimalcyon, “and you are right, I do not reproach you for it.”
“By the cross of Malta, which I abhor!” cried Erebus, with impatience, “I would rather never see that lovely girl in the cabin of my chebec than not to sound my war-cry at the attack of Marseilles. Captain Pog knows that in all our combats with the French or with the galleys of religion, my arm, although young, has dealt some heavy blows.”
“Be quiet! whether we attack Marseilles or not, you will be able to approach La Ciotat with your chebec and carry off your maiden. I will not allow you to lose this new chance of damning your soul, my dear child,” said Pog, with a sinister laugh.
“My soul? You have always told me, Captain Pog, that I had no soul,” replied the unhappy Erebus, with a bantering indifference.
“You do not see, my boy, that Captain Pog is jesting,” said Trimalcyon, “as far as the soul is concerned; but as for your beauty, by Sardanapalus! we will carry her off; the pains of Hadji and your mysterious gallantries shall not be lost, although, in my opinion, you were wrong to make yourself as romantic as an ancient Moor of Grenada, just to please this Omphale. A few more abductions, my dear child, and you will realise that it is far better to break a wild filly with violence than to tame her by dint of sweetness and petting. But your young palate requires milk and honey yet awhile. Later you will come to the spices.”
“You flatter me, Trimalcyon, by comparing me to a Moor of Grenada,” said Erebus, with bitterness. “They were noble and chivalrous, and not real robbers like us.” “Robbers? Do you hear him, Captain Pog? He is yet not more than half out of his shell, and he comes talking of robbers! And who in the devil told you we were robbers? That is the way they impose upon youth, the way they deceive it and corrupt it. Why, speak to him, I pray you, Captain Pog! Robbers! Give me something to drink, Swan-skin, to help me swallow that word! Zounds! Robbers!”
Erebus seemed very little impressed by the grotesque anger of Trimalcyon.