All eyes turned shorewards. A boat had just put off; they knew it well. Black Ali and his companions were returning. Swiftly the victors had to decide upon their course. Their ability to cope successfully with the slave dealer and his myrmidons was not in doubt; they were well-armed and out-numbered them in the proportion of three to one. Moreover, their position on the ship gave them, an additional advantage; there would be little risk in the encounter; their danger lay in their nearness to the shore; the fight would be witnessed from the mole, and Black Ali's friends and the authorities of the place would come to his assistance; then all their late efforts would have been in vain. Ardently as they longed to meet their persecutor face to face and to mete out to him the punishment he had so richly earned, they were compelled reluctantly to forego their vengeance.
Their resolve was quickly taken; their only safety lay in flight. St. Just, by tacit consent, assumed, for the nonce, the post of leader. No sooner had they come to this decision, than his voice rang out, "Four men to the windlass and cast loose the anchor."
The minutes were too precious to be spent in weighing it; it would have to go, despite the risk they ran thereby.
Four men instantly ran up, and the next moment the windlass was whirling round; soon the end of the chain was reached and with a rattle was cast overboard.
"A sailor, a steersman," St. Just next shouted.
A tall Greek sprang to his feet.
"I can steer," he cried.
"To the helm, then," rejoined St. Just, "and stand by till the sweeps are out; then bring her round."
The order was obeyed.
"Out with the sweeps, and row for your lives," went on the captain. "Port side only, until you have got her head round to the sea; starboard side back water."