I told him how we had been attracted to the spot by the burning vessel, and picked him out of the water, urging him not to say more than was necessary at the moment.
“Ah, now I remember,” he answered. “We were attacked by a pirate—a treacherous, cowardly pirate. They took us by surprise. We fought, however; but most of the crew were killed; some were carried off, I believe. I was knocked down below after being wounded, and supposed to be dead or dying. I was left to be burnt by the miscreants. I was only stunned, and soon recovering, I gained the deck just as they left it. The idea of being burned to death was too horrid to be endured. The boats were all destroyed, there was no time to make a raft; so, casting loose a hen-coop, I lowered it into the water, and lashed myself to it, trusting that Providence would find some means of preserving me; or, at all events, that I might thus enjoy a longer time to offer up my prayers to Heaven, and to prepare for death. It was an awful time, Seaworth; but I did not feel unhappy. I never possessed greater reliance in God’s mercy. I trusted that, if He did not think fit to preserve my life, He would, through the merits of our Saviour, lead me to a glorious immortality in the next. I had no fear, strange as it may seem, I assure you.”
“I should have said that of you, Prior, believe me,” I replied. “But I must not let you talk more now. I have one question first to ask before I impose silence. What sort of a craft was the vessel which attacked you?”
“A low black brig; and her crew seemed of all nations,” he replied.
“I thought so,” I exclaimed. “It was the Emu, and she it is which is still in sight.”
I instantly sent for Fairburn,—for he had left me with my friend alone,—and told him my suspicions. He had entertained the same opinion; and I found that, with all sail set, we were once wore again in chase of the mysterious craft which had so often escaped us.
Arranging Prior in a comfortable posture, I watched him till he fell asleep, his placid countenance, notwithstanding the dangers he had been in, showing a mind at rest and nerves unshaken. I found, on going on deck, that we had already risen the sails of the stranger above the horizon from the deck; and as we had the whole day before us, with a fair breeze, there was every probability of coming up with her. Should we overtake her, we had now, with Prior as a witness, stronger proofs than ever of her misdeeds. She had, however, so often escaped us, that I must own even I was not very sanguine of the result, and the crew, guided by the opinion of Dick Harper, were still less so. All the forenoon the chase continued. We were gaining on her certainly, but at the same time we were a long way from her; and early in the afternoon, the land appeared to the north-west, towards which she had altered her course.
When Van Graoul saw this, he shook his head. “So I did think,” he remarked. “That craft is not to be caught so easily. If what is said of her is true, there is a worse fate for her in store than we have prepared for her.”
Though the remark was made without reflection, I believe, I could not help thinking that there was much truth in it. Vengeance, far greater and more sure than the hand of man could inflict, would assuredly overtake the evil-doers.
The land we were approaching was of moderate height, thickly covered with trees, broken into headlands and promontories, and with numerous clusters of islands, and reefs, and rocks off it. Van Graoul knew it well, so that we boldly approached it. It became a question with us whether the pirates, seeing themselves so hard pressed, contemplated running the brig on shore, or whether they purposed taking up a position in one of the inlets of the coast, where they could defend themselves without risk of loss, should we attack them.