“Impossible, Captain Pog,” said a Frenchman, a renegade Provençal, who served as pilot. “The Black Rocks extend between wind and water more than half a league from the coast, and you would be sure to lose your galley, if you tried to come nearer to Maison-Forte.”
The pirate made a gesture of rage, and promenaded the deck in great agitation.
Finally the two galleys got out of the dangerous pass where they had been caught.
The artillery of Maison-Forte had disabled many men, and had damaged them to such a degree that they would be compelled to anchor promptly in some harbour on the coast, before they would be able to set sail for Tripoli.
The Sybarite had received several shots below her water-line, and the Red Galleon had her tree cut in two.
When they had doubled the promontory of Cape l’Aigle, the master carpenter of the galley, a renegade Calabrian, a good sailor and a man of great courage, came forward with a solemn air to Pog-Reis, and said: “Captain, I have daubed as much as I possibly can the damages in the peel, but they are too large, and a thorough refitting is absolutely necessary, for if we have stormy weather, we will not stand the sea two hours with such injuries.”
Pog made no reply, but continued walking the deck with agitation; then he called the pilot and said to him: “Can we not anchor a day or two in the islands of Ste. Marguerite or St Honorât? They say these islands are not armed. You left the coast a year ago; is it true?”
“It is true,” answered the pilot “There ought to be good anchorage in the isles of Pieres and St. Feriol, on the windward of St. Honorât?” asked Pog, who was acquainted with these islands.
“Yes, captain, the coast is so high, and the harbour so protected by the rocks which form these islands, that the galleys will be hidden better there than at Port-Cros.”
“There are not, I believe, fifty inhabitants on the island?” asked Pog.