For Love of a Bedouin Maid

by Voleur

St. Just's eyes glistened at the sight.

He grasped the proffered articles with avidity and thanked the donor with effusion.

After a little further talk, the young officer was obliged to leave him. Then St. Just became conscious that he was hungry; so he fell to upon the pork and biscuits. The fare was coarse, and the biscuits were desperately hard, and he had to hammer them into little pieces with the handle of his knife.

But, on the whole, he made an excellent meal, for what was wanting in the quality of the food was made up by appetite in himself. Then came the crowning luxury of the pipe. He smoked three. Then he turned into his berth, and so finished his first day on board the English cruiser, which was spinning merrily on her way towards Cadiz. She averaged ten knots an hour, for the wind was with them, and the Captain had crowded on her all the sail that she could carry.

For St. Just, one day was much like another, and he found the hours drag slowly, in spite of the companionship of his pipe. The one pleasure he looked forward to was his two hours' daily exercise on deck. The sight of the dancing waves and the blue sky overhead, and the smell of the fresh salt breeze, seemed to instill him with new life, but it made him long for his liberty all the more.

Once the La France had a narrow escape of being captured. A large French brig was sighted in the distance and, at once, gave chase; she began rapidly to overhaul them. When the Frenchman was within gunshot, Captain Fergusson was not long in knowing it; the ball struck the sea only a few yards on their starboard side. The disparity in the size of the two ships was such that the only alternatives of the English one's escaping capture were, either to be able by smarter seamanship to dodge the Frenchman, or that an English ship should come to their assistance. Captain Fergusson knew the importance of his reaching the British Admiral, and this added to his anxiety; it may even be said it was its sole cause. Eagerly he scanned the distance, the compass round, on the chance of sighting a vessel that flew the Union Jack; but not a sail of any sort could he discover, save that which was bringing the Frenchman ever nearer. St. Just was enjoying his interval of exercise while the chase proceeded, and watched with great excitement the distance between the two vessels lessening.

Gradually the brig gained on them, and ever and anon a shot ploughed up the sea all round the gallant little cruiser; but, so far, she had not been struck. Captain Fergusson, for all he knew that a contest could practically have but one result, was resolved to fight before hauling down his flag. So he had the deck cleared for action, and the cannon shotted. Then, with a look of desperate resolve, he calmly waited. Nothing it seemed could save him.

But, all at once, the tension on his face relaxed, and his eye brightened; a chance he had not reckoned in his calculations was to befriend him. Looking southward, in the opposite direction to the brig, he noticed that the air was becoming hazy. His practiced eye informed him what it was—a sea mist. If they could only hold on long enough, they would run into it, and so be lost to the view of their pursuer.

"By God!" he cried excitedly to the First Lieutenant, "if only we can get into that fog we shall give the Frenchman the slip."

At that moment a shot struck the little vessel on the taffrail, but did no serious damage, and no one on board was hit. It was the last, for, soon afterwards, the La France ran into the mist and was lost to sight.