As the stranger vessel approached nearer with the intention of speaking, as he could understand, he lowered the revolver which he had held for more than a minute pressed against the first mate’s forehead. But he had it still in his hand, as the trembling Tompkins was aware, ready for action, only that its muzzle was now touching his side instead of his temple.
“Now, answer correctly,” whispered the corsair in the mate’s ear, in a fierce thrilling whisper that penetrated through every fibre of his body, when the hail of the British man-of-war rang out in the air.—“Answer as I told you, or you are a dead man, if fifty English frigates were alongside!”
Story 2—Chapter VII.
The Last of the Old Ship.
It was not an English frigate, as might have been supposed, from the observation of the pirate chief, but one of those despatch vessels that we usually keep in eastern waters in attendance on our Mediterranean fleet; and being a steamer, of course she could arrest her progress, and remain in proximity to the Muscadine without the necessity of laying-to like a sailing-ship, or any trouble save slacking speed.
“Answer,” repeated the corsair sternly, still in the same melodramatic whisper, enforcing his order with a dig of the revolver barrel in Tompkins’ side.
“The Mus—” began the mate in faltering accents. But another savage dig of the pistol improved his articulation, and he shouted out, as loud almost as if he had a speaking-trumpet like the officer who had hailed them.
“The Muscadine of Bristol,” he cried with all the power of his lungs, “from Beyrout to Smyrna with assorted cargo.”