The Pirate of the Mediterranean: A Tale of the Sea

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Fleetwood, his heart almost broker with agony at his disappointment, saw that it would be in vain for him to pursue, and he also remembered that the Ypsilante, with her reduced crew, and severely handled as she had been by the fort, was in no way a match for the Sea Hawk, though her shot might injure her, who was, he feared, on board.

There was, however, a doubt, on board which of the vessels Ada had been carried, if she really had again been torn, almost as it were, from his arms, and he dared not entertain a hope to the contrary.

Quick in action as in thought, these ideas passed through his mind as he returned to the shore, with the purpose of hastening back to the ships, and getting them to start in chase of the pirates.

At least, he thought, the Ypsilante will know what direction the Sea Hawk has taken, and be able to direct us in the pursuit. Before, however, he could return to his ship, he had numerous important duties to perform as leader of the expedition, and, indeed, from the firing which still continued on the heights, he saw that even the fort was not yet entirely their own.

For him the great object of the enterprise had failed, totally, miserably failed. Not only was Ada Garden again lost, but she would certainly be placed in a position infinitely worse than that in which she had hitherto been. He scarcely dared to think what act the pirate might commit, now that he was driven to desperation; she had no longer her attendant with her, and the Signora Nina might have lost the little influence over him she had before possessed. He bitterly cursed the mistake he had made in not dispatching one at least of the British ships round to assist the Ypsilante in blockading the entrance; but he checked himself, as it occurred to him that, had he done so, Ada might have been placed in still greater peril, as Zappa might still have attempted to carry her off, and, on finding himself completely entrapped, without a hope of escape, might have blown up the Sea Hawk, with all on board her, and he remembered the principle which had often sustained him through adversity and sorrow, though he could not accuse himself of having, through his own conduct, brought on the misfortune, or the cause of grief, that Heaven ordains everything for the best, and that it is impious to repine at its decrees. With a far different feeling did he climb up the path than that with which he had rushed down it, and though his spirits, disappointed and agitated as he was, did not fail him, his bodily strength almost did, and, had it not been for Small, he would scarcely have accomplished the undertaking against the fierce gale which was blowing down the ravine.

As they climbed up, the occasional roar of the big guns, and the rattle of musketry, was still heard, and on the summit a sight met his view which he had scarcely expected, and which grieved him sorely. Some of the huts I mentioned as having been built to contain the pirates’ provisions and other stores, had caught fire, and lighted up the whole scene. Hedged up on the outer promontory were the band of islanders, under old Vlacco, who, without the remotest prospect of victory or escape, yet refused to yield or ask for quarter. The old pirate had saved his chief; he had enabled him to escape by the gallant way he had held the post. He was now fighting on his own account for revenge, and to sell his life as dearly as he could. He was determined the victory the British had obtained should not be bought cheaply; he and his men worked the guns with the greatest courage; while one party were engaged in loading them, the others would rush forward and defend them, and then retire at the moment they were fired, and be at their posts again before the British could reach them.

Their numbers were being gradually thinned; but, in the meantime, they were committing great havoc; and the ground in front of their entrenchment was strewed with the dead and dying marines and seamen, who had, with equal gallantry and true courage, ventured to attack them. The numbers of the British seemed, to Fleetwood, to be awfully decreased; the marines and a few seamen only appearing to keep the pirates in check, when a loud shout proclaimed the cause of it; and he saw Colonel Gauntlett at the head of a large party, dragging forward one of the guns from another part of the fort. They halted, and, opening on either side, the gun was fired directly at the centre of the gang of pirates.

“Now, on, my friends!” shouted the colonel.

“On, on!” cried the lieutenant; and, at the same moment, Fleetwood led on his party towards the devoted desperadoes. Not one cried for quarter; but they could not, for an instant, withstand such an attack; every one was cut down or driven towards the edge of the cliff, where, still inspired by their desire of revenge, they seized their opponents, and endeavoured to drag them over with themselves. Almost the last survivor was old Vlacco; and exerting all the remaining strength which age had left him, for he was still unwounded, he fixed his death grasp on the arm of one of the foremost of his assailants; slowly he stepped back, as he was forced to retreat, enticing his antagonist on, till, feeling his left foot over the edge, he sprang forward to grasp him.

“In Heaven’s name, hold me back!” shouted a voice, which Captain Fleetwood thought he recognised as Bowse’s. The old pirate threw himself back with all his might, in the hopes of overbalancing the man whose arm he held, and dragging him with him. For himself he had no hope, no expectation but instant death, and the gratification of his revenge against one of those who had caused the destruction of himself and many of his comrades. Bowse was a powerful man; but he had been weakened by long confinement, and the pirate was large and heavy. Once he drew himself back, lifting the old man with him; but again Vlacco forced him forward, pressed as he was by others behind, who did not see their nearness to the dreadful precipice, and he felt that the despairing pirate was dragging him, with himself, to instant destruction; his feet lost their hold of the ground, and he was falling forward, when he, at length, sung out for help—though scarcely expecting it; but at that instant he felt himself dragged back by a powerful hand, and a sword descending, severed, with a blow, the arm of the old pirate, who, with a cry of rage, disappeared into the dark obscurity of the abyss below; and Bowse, turning round to thank his preserver, found that he was his old shipmate, Tommy Small.