“I have no further dread of meeting any of your floating bull dogs,” said the pirate chief affably, as if in explanation of his motives. “And none of the French cruisers are up here now; they are all too busy in Tunisian waters. So, I may as well shift your cargo, captain, at the back of one of the little islands we are coming to, where we can lie by unseen without any interference.”
During the whole of that day, the ship was steered amongst a parcel of shoals, which made poor Captain Harding tremble for her safety, albeit she was taken out of his control; and, towards nightfall, she was brought to anchor in sixteen fathoms, under the lea of a rocky cliff that projected up into a peak on one of the tiny islets by which they were encircled. Here, the felucca having followed them, the pick of her cargo was removed to the smaller craft—a few bales of silk, some tobacco, and a good portion of wine; the cases of dried fruit being left untouched, as taking them to any of the Greek ports with the idea of finding a market for their contents, as the corsair well knew, would have been like carrying coals to Newcastle.
Then, the Englishmen, who had been well treated all the day in the matter of food and drink—some books even were brought up by the orders of the leader from the cabin, for them to read, his courtesy and attention were so great—were removed to the felucca, being followed by the Greek sailors; Captain Harding and the others subsequently witnessing the melancholy sight of the ill-fated Muscadine sinking at her anchors, for she had been scuttled in several places after the selected goods had been transferred to the pirate’s own vessel, which remained on the spot till the other disappeared beneath the waves.
“I should have liked to have burnt her, as I said I would do,” observed the corsair, as the Muscadine went down bows foremost, “all standing,” with a graceful plunge; “but I was afraid of attracting notice. However, she is safe now at the bottom, at all events; and sunken ships, like dead men, tell no tales!”
Captain Harding made no reply.
His heart was too full at seeing his ship, which he regarded almost like a living thing, so recklessly destroyed before his eyes; it was the ship which he had first gone to sea in as a boy, and which it had been the ambition of his life to command. It was too much, and turning his head away as the tips of her spars sank from view, he wiped away a tear from his eye with the back of his horny hand.
Nothing that the pirates had done hitherto affected him like this.