“Any news from the Levant?” was the next query from the ship-of-war. “Stop, I’ll send a boat aboard.”
This, however, was the last thing which the corsair desired, and he impressed some whispered instructions rapidly on Mr Tompkins, with the assistance again of the pistol barrel; and that worthy spoke equally rapidly, to prevent the other vessel from lowering a boat, which they were on the point of doing, as they could hear the men piped away by the boatswain’s call for the purpose.
“Fever very bad at Beyrout,” sang out the first mate, again, inspired by his tutor. “Had to leave half crew in hospital! Short-handed! Can you lend us a few men? Who shall we report as having met us?”
This answer at once arrested the intention of the commander of the despatch vessel, and prevented his sending a boat to them—as the corsair had surmised it would, from the fear of his bluejackets catching the infection, Syrian fevers being as much dreaded in the Mediterranean as the plague—for the reply shouted back was an apology for non-communication or help.
“Sorry for you, but cannot spare any men! You’ll have to go into quarantine at Smyrna. Report H.M.S. Batrachia, from the Dardanelles to Malta.”
And then, in obedience to the orders of the officer on the bridge, the despatch vessel circled round again on her way; and putting on full steam was soon lost to sight in a cloud of black smoke far-away to leeward.
To the captain and two lads below it was the keenest agony to hear the welcome hail of the English steamer followed by the mate’s prevaricating reply, when they were certain that but one single word as to the real truth of the case would have summoned their countrymen to their rescue, and ensured the punishment of their lawless captors.
Of course they knew that Mr Tompkins had acted under intimidation, having been compelled to give the answers he did and prevented from calling for assistance; but both Tom and Charley would have died rather than have sacrificed the chance of their comrades’ escape through any morbid fear as to their own personal safety.
They could not speak to each other, being gagged, and having a couple of assassin—looking scoundrels mounting guard over them in addition, as they lay where they were thrown down on the floor of the main cabin; but their eyes said, as plainly as eyes could speak, the thoughts that were uppermost in the mind of each—a feeling of disappointment at the hope of a rescue being so rudely dispelled when it looked so imminent, and a sense of disgust at the disgraceful cowardice of the mate.
It may seem strange that the corsair, who had spared the lives of the captain and the remainder of the crew of the Muscadine, and appeared really on such jovial terms with his prisoners up to the moment of his going below with Captain Harding to look at the ship’s papers, should all at once change his demeanour and come out in his true colours; but, the matter is easy enough of explanation.