Amongst the Brigands.
As soon as the Muscadine had succumbed to her ill fate so tragically, the felucca made sail at once from the place, steering north, as well as Captain Harding could make out; for neither he nor the boys were allowed to look at the compass, and they none of them spoke to Tompkins since his betrayal of the captain’s trust, although he could probably have told them, for he “appeared to be hail fellow well met” with his captors, as Charley said.
The night passed, and again another day and night, without anything noteworthy happening, the swift craft sailing at racehorse speed, and always in the same direction, to the best of their belief, as if towards some fixed destination; but the corsair did not enlighten them, and, indeed, did not address them during the interval.
Towards the evening of the second day on which they were on board her, the felucca drew near land, from which she held off and on until the shades of night covered her movements, when she approached close to the shore, and a boat was lowered over her side.
The pirate chief then, for the first time since the Muscadine disappeared under the waters of the Aegean Sea, addressed Captain Harding and his companions, who had found the time of their captivity hang wearily on their hands, although they were virtually free to walk about on board their prison-house, with the exception of speaking to any of the crew or looking at the compass, both of which were interdicted, with significant threats whenever they tried to evade the prohibition.
“Now, captain,” said the corsair, with an oily smile, which sat worse upon his countenance than a frown, “I will thank you to sign this order,” producing the skipper’s bank-draft, and a pen and ink all ready for the purpose. “Just sign it, and I will put you and your brother Englishmen ashore at once.”
“Where are we?” asked the captain.
“On the coast of Greece,” was the answer, “not far from Salonica, where I am going with the felucca to dispose of my cargo,” with a naïve candour which made Charley Onslow laugh outright.
“His cargo, indeed,” he whispered to Tom. “You have often talked of my Irish impudence, but, bedad, that beats Banagher.”
“Be quiet,” replied Tom; “you’ll only get us into a row.”