“What is to be done, Captain Pog?” cried Trimalcyon. “There are only blows to be gained at Marseilles; the squadron of the Marquis de Brézé protects the port. To attack an enemy unseasonably is to do him good instead of harm; we can do nothing at Marseilles.”
“Nothing,” said Captain Pog.
“Then La Ciotat invites us; the swine, those citizens, are alarmed, it is true, but, Sardanapalus! what does that matter? The little birds tremble when they see the hawk ready to pounce upon them; but do their terrors make his claws any the less sharp, or his beak less cutting? What do you say to it, Captain Pog?”
“To La Ciotat, to-morrow at sunset, if the wind ceases. We will surprise these people in the midst of a feast; we will change their cries of joy into cries of death!” said Pog, in a hollow voice.
“Sardanapalus! these citizens, they say, have hens on golden eggs hidden in their houses. They say that the convent of the Minimes brothers is filled with costly wines, without counting the money of the farm-rent that the farmers bring to these rich do-nothings at Christmas. We will find their cash-box well furnished.”
“To La Ciotat,” said Pog; “The wind may change in our favour. I am going to return on board the Red Galleon; at the first signal, follow my manoeuvre.”
“So be it, Captain Pog,” replied Trimalcyon.
While the pirates, ambushed in that solitary bay, are preparing to surprise and attack the inhabitants of La Ciotat, we will return to Cape l’Aigle, where we left the watchman occupied in drawing up the defence of the coast.