Captain Poynder, who felt a deep interest in the fate of Major Norman and his daughter, easily managed to get ordered down to the Barbary coast to examine into the matter. Having ascertained from the master of the merchantman the spot, as nearly as he could describe it, where he had seen the wreck, we made sail for the westward. We came off the coast about dusk, and then hove-to. “Boats away!” was on this occasion a welcome sound; for we knew that it portended that there was work to be done. Mr Vernon commanded one of the boats, and I went with him. Stallman had charge of a second, and Dicky Sharpe, who since our trip to Smyrna had much improved in steadiness, accompanied him; while Stanfield, another mate, went in a third. A light gun was placed in the bow of each boat; and each man had a musket and brace of pistols, as well as his cutlass; so that we were well-armed and ready for anything. We were in high spirits, though we knew full well that it was no party of pleasure we were on; for, if discovered, we might expect some pretty sharp fighting, as the inhabitants of that part of the coast are the most warlike and determined pirates along the shores of the Mediterranean. With muffled oars and in perfect silence we pulled towards where the wreck was supposed to be. There was no moon; but the stars of a southern clime were shining—as they well know how to do in that region,—so that we could distinguish the dark outline of the coast, backed by a range of high mountains. The only sound was from the splash of our oars, which, as they rose rapidly from the water, let drop a sparkling shower of phosphorescent fire. I steered, while Mr Vernon with his night-glass swept the coast, in the hopes of discovering the wreck. We got close in with the shore; but not a sign of her was to be seen.
“Avast pulling, and let the other boats close up,” he whispered.
When the boats had got near enough, he ordered Stallman to pull to the eastward, and directed me to steer to the west, and Stanfield to follow us. That the coast was pretty thickly inhabited we had strong evidence; for so close in with it were we, that we could hear dogs barking, and music, and even human voices; while now and then the report of firearms showed that some Arabs were coming home from hunting, or were firing off their muskets at some festival or other. We had pulled at least five miles along the coast, when I fancied that I discerned, still further on, some dark object on the sands. We pulled up to it, and there, sure enough, lay a stranded vessel. Mr Vernon now directed Stanfield to wait off about a quarter of a mile, while we went in and tried to board the vessel, to ascertain positively what she was.
“Should any accident happen to us, or should we be taken prisoners,” he continued, “you will wait till nearly dawn to render us assistance, in case you have an opportunity, and then make the best of your way back to the ship. Captain Poynder will then, without doubt, devise some plan for rescuing us or any other persons we may find on shore.” Stanfield, of course, knew very well what he meant by this, and promised to keep a bright look-out, whatever might occur. Using still more caution than ever, we approached the vessel. She lay with her head inshore, in a small inlet, and it appeared much more likely that she had purposely been hauled in there, than that she had been driven on shore. There was ample water for our boat right under her stern. The stern-windows were open. Holding on by the rudder-chain, Mr Vernon climbed up, and got in at a sternport. Without asking leave, I followed his example, and the bowman then handed us up a lantern. I had a match-box in my pocket. We struck a light and lighted the lantern, and then commenced an examination of the cabin. At the first glance we saw it was that of an English merchantman. There were the state-cabins on either side, the buffets for plate and crockery, the neat book-case, the racks for charts and telescopes, the sofa at one end, and the fireplace, all showing an attention to the comfort of any passengers who might be on board. Everything valuable had, however, been carried away, the more cumbrous articles alone remaining. Mr Vernon looked round with deep anxiety depicted on his countenance. “Yes, D’Arcy, this is indeed the Ariadne. I know her well,” he whispered. “I myself put up that book-case, and screwed in those hooks for a cot in the state-cabin. Oh! what can their fate be? I must ascertain it without delay.”
“It would never do to go on shore as you are at present, sir. You would be taken prisoner or murdered outright, to a certainty,” I replied. He was silent for a minute.
“You are right, D’Arcy, you are right,” he replied, in a dejected tone. “The affair requires time and great circumspection. These people are not to be trifled with, I know. Force alone will not succeed, or I am certain Captain Poynder would land every man who can be spared from the ship, and would compel these Reefians to let us know what has become of their captives.”
“Yes, sir, and every man would gladly follow, wherever you might lead,” I replied.
“I know they would—I know they would, D’Arcy,” said he. “But let us take a look over the ship, and perhaps we may find out something to direct our proceedings.”
We opened the cabin-door cautiously, and crept up the companion-ladder. The hatch was off. We got on deck: no one was there. Shrouding the lantern, we crept along the deck, and descended into the main-hold. The entire cargo had been removed. We concluded that the vessel had no one on board, and were about to return, when I suggested that we should look into the forepeak. We therefore moved cautiously, as before, along the deck, and were descending the ladder, when Mr Vernon touched my leg.
“There is some one breathing down here,” he said. “Be prepared for a rush.”