“But how can we ever get to England in a small boat like this?” asked the middy, in much anxiety, for in the hurry and excitement of the start the difficulty had not occurred to him.
“No fear about that, sir,” answered Brown, who pulled the bow oar; “we ain’t such fools as to make the voyage in a cockle-shell like this! The boat b’longs to a privateer as is owned by a friend o’ mine, an’ the wessel’s lyin’ off an’ on waitin’ for us.”
“There she goes!” said one of the sailors. “Look out!”
As he spoke a large schooner loomed up against the dark sky, and was hailed. A gruff voice replied. Another moment the sails flapped, and the boat was towing alongside. Our middy was first to leap on deck—and not without a purpose in view, for he was thus in a position to hand up the passengers.
“Do you forgive me, Hester?” he whispered humbly, as he stooped to grasp her little hand.
“I forgive you!” she whispered timidly, as she passed him, and was led by her father into the vessel’s cabin.
That night two of the swiftest of the piratical war-vessels were seen to warp out from the Mole, and put to sea, but long before the land breeze filled their peaked sails the privateer was cleaving her way, homeward bound, through the dark waters of the Mediterranean.