There she lay, close on their quarter, with her head to the wind, her foremast shattered to the deck, the spars and rigging dashing against her sides, her bulwarks stove in: the proud ship of Russia, was a wreck—she was on fire!
Even at that moment of confusion, some small guns were fired over her stern, with a determined feeling of animosity and revenge, in the hopes of doing some injury, but their shot fell impotently into the waves, and the crew were too much occupied with their own preservation, to pay any further attention to the hard-driven chase.
Loud prayers ascended from the deck of the Turk, for their narrow and providential escape; Ivan’s heartbeat quicker with gratitude than it had with fear; while young Conrin clasped his hands with silent fervour, and seemed ready to fall at his master’s feet with joy.
The Hadji, having concluded his brief prayer, exclaimed; “Did I not tell you, Reis, that Allah would protect us, that my prayers would not be in vain? Look, where the late impious Kaffir lies shattered and scathed by Heaven’s rage, at the very moment he thought himself secure of his prey. Another time think not that it is your kismet (fate) to die; that will come in Allah’s good time; but strive on always to the last. Think you my countrymen could hold out against our mighty foe, if we thought that it was our kismet to be conquered? Bosh! kismet is a good thing, when it points to victory; but else it is nonsense. No, my brother, no; strive while you can, and yield to fate only when it overpowers you.”
These principles the gallant Hadji not only preached, but with the rest of his countrymen, practised.
As the danger diminished, so did the courage of the terror-stricken crew return. They taunted with gestures their crippled and now impotent foe, as the light zebeque bounded away from her before the gale. “Why don’t you come on now?” some cried. “See, Giaour; see, cowardly Kaffir, we are sailing away from you; why don’t you follow us as before? Come on, then, come on. We cannot wait for you. We are in a hurry to pursue our voyage.”
With such like expressions the crew shewed their delight at their escape, while rapidly scudding onward they soon run the corvette out of sight. As long as her movements could be distinguished, she remained with her head still to the wind, dipping her bows under the waves which broke in deluges over her. Thick wreaths of smoke rose from that part of her deck where her foremast had stood, curling round her remaining masts as it was blown aft; but that in time decreased, and the fire was apparently got under. So little mercy had she shewn to the zebeque, that no commiseration was felt for her fate, whatever it might be.
Those only who have escaped from imminent peril, when either death or slavery has been about to overtake them, can fully enter into the feelings of gratitude and satisfaction which our hero experienced, as the last topmast sails of the Russian ship sank below the horizon; and those only who have seen a loved object rescued from a threatened danger, can feel as the young Conrin did; for few could love so well as that strangely enthusiastic and romantic boy loved his master.
They continued on their course, running all day before the wind, which drove them towards their destination, each moment dreading to fall in with another Russian cruiser; but not a sail appeared to alarm them. By night the wind, still keeping favourable, subsided to a gentle breeze, while a sharp lookout was kept from the mast-head for another enemy, or to discover the coast, which they knew they must be now nearing.