About eleven o'clock in the morning, Captain Simon, mounted on the platform of the rambade, was talking with Captain Hugues about the punishment which occurred the day before, and of the courage of the Moor.

Suddenly they saw a polacre, her sails almost torn away, flying before the tempest with the rapidity of an arrow, and about to enter the dangerous pa.s.s of which we have spoken.

Sometimes the frail vessel, rising on the crest of the towering waves, would show the edge of her keel running with foam like the breast of a race-horse.

Again, sinking in the hollow of the waves, she would plunge with such violence that her stem would be almost perpendicular.

Soon they could distinguish on the deluged deck two men enveloped in brown mantles with hoods, who were employing every possible effort to hold the whip-staff of the rudder.

Five other sailors, squatting at the prow, or holding on to the rigging, awaited the moment to aid in the manoeuvre.

So, by turns carried to the top of the waves and plunged in their depths, the polacre was hastening with frightful speed to tie narrow entrance of the channel, where the waves were dashing with fury.

"By St Elmo!" cried Captain Simon, "there's a ship gone to destruction!"

"She is lost," replied Hugues, coldly; "in a few minutes her rigging and hull will be nothing but a wreck, and her sailors will be corpses. May the Lord save the souls of our brothers!"

"Why did he dare venture in this pa.s.sage at such a time?" said the gunner.

"If a man is to be shipwrecked it is better to perish with a feeble hope. When a man hopes, he prays, and dies a Christian; when he despairs, he blasphemes, and dies a pagan.

"Look, look, Simon, there is the little boat going into the breakers; it is all up with her!"

At that moment the commander, who had been informed of the approach of the vessel and of her desperate condition, appeared on deck with all the chevaliers, officers, and others who manned the galley.

After carefully examining the polacre and the breakers, Pierre des Anbiez called out, in a loud and solemn voice:

"Let the two long-boats be ready and equipped to gather the corpses on the beach: no human power can save this unfortunate ship. Only G.o.d can help her." While the overseers superintended the execution of this order, the commander, turning to the chaplain, said:

"My brother, let us say the prayers for the dying, for these unfortunate men. Brothers, on your knees. Let the crew uncover."

It was a grand and imposing spectacle.

All the chevaliers, clothed in black, were kneeling bareheaded on the deck; the bell for prayer dolefully tolled a funeral knell amid the wild shrieks of the tempest.

The slaves were also on their knees and uncovered.

In the rear, in the middle of a group of chevaliers dressed in black, Father Elzear in his white ca.s.sock could be distinguished.

Prayers for the dying were said with as much solemnity as if they were being recited in a church on land, or in a cloister.

It was not a mere form; these monk-soldiers were sad and contemplative.

As sailors they saw a vessel without hope; as Christians they prayed for the souls of their brothers. In fact the polacre seemed in danger of going down every moment. The furious waves, rushing into the channel on their way to the sea, broke the current and whirled and tossed in every direction. Her sails, by which she might have made steady headway, were blown under the enormous rocks; her rudder was useless, and she was at the mercy of the wind and waters which rushed back and forth in unabating rage.

The prayers and chants continued without cessation.

Above all the other voices could be heard the manly, sonorous voice of the commander. The slaves on their knees looked in sullen apathy on this desperate struggle of man against the elements.

Suddenly, by an unhoped-for chance, either because the polacre was of such perfect construction, or because she responded finally to the action of her rudder, or because the little triangular sail that she hoisted caught some current of the upper air, the gallant little vessel steadied herself, resumed her headway, and cleared the dangerous pa.s.sage with the rapidity and lightness of a sea-gull.

A few minutes after she was out of danger, calmly sailing the waters of the road.

This manoeuvre was so unforeseen, so wonderful, and so well executed, that for a moment astonishment suspended the prayers of the chevaliers.

The commander, amazed, said to the officers, after a few moments of breathless silence:

"My brothers, let us thank the Lord for having heard our prayers, and let us sing a song of thanksgiving."

While the galley resounded with this pious and solemn invocation, the polacre, _The Holy Terror to the Moors_, for it was she, was beating about in the road with very little sail, in order to approach the black galley.

She was but a little distance from her when a cannon-shot, sent from the rambade of _Our Lady of Seven Sorrows_, signalled her to hoist her flag and lie to.

A second cannon-shot ordered her to send her captain on board the black galley. Whatever interest this vessel inspired in the commander when she was in danger, her perils past, she must conform to the established rules for visiting ships.

Soon the polacre lay to, and her little boat, equipped with two rowers and steered by a third sailor, approached the stem of the galley.

The man who was at the helm left the whip-staff, slowly climbed the stairs of the first seat of rowers, and stood before the commander and his chevaliers, who had gathered together in the rear of the galley. The sailor in question was no other than our old acquaintance, the worthy Luquin Trinquetaille. His hooded mantle, his boots, and his breeches of coa.r.s.e wool were running with water.

As he set foot on the deck of the galley he respectfully allowed his hood to fall back on his shoulders, and it could be easily seen that his good, honest face was still excited by the terrible experience through which he had just pa.s.sed.

The commander, in his visits to Maison-Forte, had often seen Luquin, and was agreeably surprised to recognise a man who could give him some news of his brother, Raimond V.

"The Lord has rescued your ship from a great peril," said the commander to him. "We have already prayed for your soul, and the souls of your companions.''

"May all of you be blessed, M. Commander; we had need of it, for our situation was awful; never since I have been at sea did I ever take part in such a frolic."

The commander replied to the captain, sternly, "The trials that the Lord sends us are not frolics. How is my brother Raimond?"

"Monseigneur is well," replied Trinquetaille, a little ashamed of having been reproved by the commander. "I left him in good health, day before yesterday, when I left Maison-Forte."

"And how is Mlle, des Anbiez?" asked Father Elzear, who had come near.

"Mlle, des Anbiez is very well, father," replied Luquin.

"Where did you sail from, and where are you going?" asked the commander.

"M. Commander, yesterday I came out of La Ciotat, with three fishing-boats, all armed, in order to cruise two or three leagues from the coasts to discover the pirates."

"The pirates?"

"Yes, M. Commander. A pirate chebec appeared three days ago; Master Peyrou discovered it. All the coast is alarmed; they expect a descent from the pirates, and they are right, because a tartan from Nice, that I met before this squall, told me that on the east of Corsica had been seen three vessels, and one of them is the _Red Galleon_ of Pog-Reis, the renegade."

"Pog-Reis!" exclaimed the commander.

"Pog-Reis!" repeated the chevaliers, who surrounded the commander.

"Pog-Reis!" again said Pierre des Anbiez, with an expression of savage satisfaction, as if at last he was about to meet an implacable enemy he had long sought, but who, by some fatality, had always escaped him.

"What were you going to do at Tolari?" asked the commander of Trinquetaille.