Slowly the Alerte made her way inside the island, and thence through the channel over the bar. The while the lead was kept going, Pengelly and the bo'sun taking bearings and noting how the channel bore for future occasions.
"Stand by and let go!" roared Cain as the Alerte arrived at her anchorage. "Is the buoy streamed, Mr. Barnard?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the bo'sun.
"Then let go!"
With the rattle of chain tearing through the hawsepipe, the anchor plunged to the bed of the Wad-el-Abuam.
Pengelly turned to his captain.
"Snug little crib, this, sir," he remarked. "What about our pilot? Are we going to overhaul his boat in case there's anything useful? The blighter might have been pearling. One never knows."
"Certainly not," replied Cain, with a deep frown of disgust. "The fellow did us a good turn. Only an ungrateful, low-down swine would suggest such a thing."
Turning to the Moor, who was standing a couple of paces off, the pirate captain handed him a gold coin.
The pilot took the piece of money, made an elaborate salaam, and went to the side, the felucca having been brought to the gangway. Already the two negroes were hoisting sail. With another salaam, the Moor boarded his own craft, the ropes were cast off, and the felucca headed for the open sea.