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While Nina was speaking, she took out of a chest the capote she had worn on the previous occasion, and, throwing it over her shoulders, led the way down the steps. While Jack Raby hurried off down the ravine, she took her way towards the edge of the cliffs, where she saw a number of people, some of them still firing in the direction where the boats were supposed to be, though they must by that time have been beyond the range of the guns; it served, however, to occupy their attention, so that no one perceived her. She wandered among them for some time in vain, looking for her brother, till, at last, she found him, leaning against a part of the ruins on a high spot, from where he could overlook the whole scene. Twice she called him, but so absorbed was he in his own thoughts that he did not answer her, till she climbed up over the broken fragments at his feet, and touched his arm.

“Paolo, my brother,” she said, “I come to ask you to perform a generous and a noble work, from which you must not shrink. You love the English lady who has been held captive here. I knew it from the first, and I know that she cannot return your love, for her heart is another’s. Now listen: the man to whom her heart is given, your rival if you will, lies now in the island, wounded almost to death, and on your skill depends, probably, whether he lives or dies. Promise me, then, as you hope for salvation in another world, for peace of mind in this, to exert that skill to the utmost to preserve his life, to conceal his real character from my husband, and to aid him to escape from the island. Say you will do this, my brother, and I believe, from what I have seen of that fair girl, you are far more likely to win her regard by such conduct, and ultimately, perhaps, even her love, than were her lover to die without an attempt on your part to save him.”

Paolo listened without interrupting her, and did not immediately answer.

“Her love! Do you think it possible that I should gain her love?” he at length exclaimed, as if he had not heard anything else she had said. “I would sacrifice life itself for that bright jewel.”

“It would be wrong were I to hold hope out to you to induce you to act as I could wish, Paolo,” said Nina. “Think not of any other reward than such as your own heart will afford you. Her love I do not believe that you will attain, even were her lover to die. One of her nature places her heart on one object, and when that is torn from her, it never again finds a resting-place. All you may expect, and that, be assured, she will give you, is her gratitude and esteem. With that you must be content.”

“It is bitter to think so, and yet I have long ceased to hope,” murmured Paolo. “Tell me though, Nina, what would you have me do?”

His sister told him of the arrangement she had already made with Jack Raby.

“Come, my brother, decide what part you will take – there is no time to be lost; oh! let it be that one worthy of your generous nature.”

“Nina, I will do as you wish,” Paolo gasped forth, after a long silence. “I will endeavour to save the life of this man, even though my heart break when I see him united to her he loves.”

“Swear it, then, Paolo – swear it by the Holy Apostles – swear it, as you hope for Heaven’s mercy hereafter,” exclaimed Nina. “Not only for your own sake do I impose this oath, but for the sake of the sweet girl herself, that she may know that, though her lover is in his rival’s power, he is as safe as in the hands of his dearest friend.”

Paolo took the oath his sister prescribed, and leaping off the ruins, hurried, at headlong speed, down to the bay.

Nina followed at a slower pace.

The flight of the fugitives had been discovered by old Vlacco, even before they had quitted the bay. He had awoke in the night, he stated, and had taken it into his head, that he would go to see if they were safe in their prison. He was so astonished and confused on finding they were not there, that, at first, he could not decide what course to take. He then bethought him that his duty required him to inform his chief, and as soon as Zappa was made aware of the fact, the whole island was in commotion, and the pursuit was commenced.

It was with very great satisfaction that Nina heard of Ada’s flight, and most earnestly did she pray that she might not be overtaken. For the fair girl’s sake, she wished this, and for her own, even still more so. She admired her beauty, she was inclined to love her as a sister – and yet she could not conceal from herself that she greatly feared her as a rival in her husband’s affections. She had lately learned, too surely to doubt it, that his love was waning, and that he himself was far different from the character she had supposed him.

By his own acknowledgment, he was a blood-stained pirate; and she had already too many proofs of the fact, even had he not, now that he was indifferent to her love, boasted to her of his deeds. Sometimes, alas, the dreadful thought would occur to her, that even her life would not be safe, if it stood between him and his wishes; and yet, woman-like, she still loved on. She tried to shut her eyes to his faults, to forget his unkindness, and to discover only the noble qualities she at first believed he possessed. Though she feared Ada, she could not hate her; and would not have harmed her, now that she felt sure she would never consent to become the pirate’s bride should she die, much less his mistress; but she was not the less anxious for her departure, and proportionably grieved when she heard that she was once more a prisoner in the island. With natural jealousy, when Zappa spoke of obtaining a ransom for Ada, she had endeavoured to ascertain what steps he had taken, for the purpose of arranging it; and by no means could she learn that he had even made any attempts to open negotiations on the subject with any persons at Malta, or elsewhere; and this confirmed her in her fears that this was simply a pretext to weary out his prisoner, and to reconcile her to her fate. She was certain, also, that Captain Fleetwood could have heard nothing on the subject; as he would, she thought, have preferred so safe a way of recovering her, instead of the dangerous one he had attempted. Such were the subjects which occupied her mind, as she walked down the ravine to meet her rival. In the meantime, Ada had watched, with an anxiety scarcely describable, for the return of Raby; every instant expecting to have the pirates come back; and to have her lover dragged roughly from her; and to have to run the risk either of betraying him, or of allowing him to perish without assistance.

At last Jack arrived, followed at an interval by Paolo.

“Signora,” he said, “I have come to take charge of a man I hear is sorely wounded. Do not doubt me; I repeat the oath I have given my sister, that I will, to the best of my abilities, endeavour to restore him to health, and if an occasion occurs, to aid in his escape from hence. I ask – I look for no reward.”

“I trust you, signor,” replied Ada, giving him her hand. “You could not commit so black an act as to deceive me, and now, oh! hasten to put your good intentions into execution.”

On this Paolo told her of the fisherman’s hut, to which he purposed to convey Captain Fleetwood, and hurried off to summon the old man. He soon returned, stating that he was from home, and as no time was to be lost, he proposed that he and Raby should carry the wounded officer there at once, with the aid of Ada and Marianna. This they accomplished without much difficulty, by means of a cloak found at the bottom of the boat, and then, urged by Paolo and Raby, Ada tore herself away from him, and with Marianna, endeavoured to find her way up the ravine, while Jack remained to keep watch over his commander.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Lieutenant Saltwell, on whom, in his captain’s absence, had devolved the command of the Ione, walked her quarterdeck on the night on which the events we have been describing took place, with a mind very ill at ease.

He had been during the whole afternoon endeavouring, by every possible means in his power, to get the brig up to the spot agreed on, off the island of Lissa, so that he might dispatch the boats at dark to wait still closer in for the coming of Fleetwood and his companions. The breeze with which they had started had failed them soon afterwards, so the sweeps had been got out, and the boats had towed ahead, till he was fearful of knocking up their crews and unfitting them for the work they had still to perform; and yet, do all they could, he was obliged to dispatch them, under the orders of the several lieutenants, with a pull of some eighteen or twenty miles before them.

“For heaven’s sake, make the best speed you can,” said Saltwell, as he bade his brother officers good bye. “Our captain will make the attempt to-night, depend on it, and it will be sad work if he cannot find the boats.”

“Never fear, we shall not miss him, I hope,” exclaimed Linton, as he leaped into his boat. “Shove off and give way, my merry men.”

The boat’s crew did their best; but the event was another convincing proof of the misfortunes which may arise from being a little too late. Had they been ten minutes sooner, they would, perhaps, have been in time to prevent their captain and his companions from falling again into the hands of the pirates. Linton felt this when he found that they were recaptured, and, stung with regret, although he was in no manner to blame, he agreed on the pursuit with a zeal which very nearly led to the destruction of himself and his followers.

We left him severely, if not mortally, wounded, off the mouth of the pirate’s harbour. The command, therefore, devolved on Tompion, who immediately ordered the boats to separate as much as possible, keeping within sight of each other, to cause the shots of the enemy to become less effective, by being scattered over a wider range.

“Pull away, my lads,” exclaimed the mate; “we shall soon be out of this, and we shall have an opportunity before long of paying them off.”

The men needed no inducement to pull hard, for it was excessively hot work, and they had no fancy to be exposed to the showers of bullets which came whizzing round them, especially when they were compelled to run away from the enemy.

The frowning and lofty cliffs, fringed with tiny glances of vivid light, and the bright flashes of the Sea Hawk’s guns, which were reflected on the calm water, formed, doubtlessly, an exceedingly picturesque spectacle, which those who were pulling at the oars had full opportunity to contemplate, but not the less disagreeable to them on that account, especially as it would have been a very useless amusement to fire against the cliffs in return. Fortunately, no further casualties occurred, and every instant, as their distance from the shore increased, there was less chance of a shot hitting them. At length, Tompion, seeing that they were free from danger, hailed the other boats, to order the crews to rest on their oars to recover breath, before they shaped their course to return to their ship. The hail was answered by another from the westernmost boat, commanded by Jemmy Duff; he sung out, —

“Did you see the mistico get into the harbour, with the rest of the rascals?”

“No,” said Tompion. “Did any one on board see her?” he asked of the crew.

“No, sir,” was the general answer.

“No one saw her go in,” he answered.

“Then, by Jove, there she is, on our starboard beam,” sung out Duff in return. “She is pretty nearly becalmed, it seems. She has got out there, I suspect, to watch us, and to try to cut us off. What shall we do?”

“I and the gig will close you, and we’ll see what is to be done,” said Tompion, ordering the other boat to follow him, and all the boats were soon alongside each other.

There, sure enough, Tompion perceived the mistico, about a quarter of a mile off, with her head to the southward, evidently watching their movements. It might seem surprising that she had not attacked them when under the cliffs; but, in the first place, she could not then get up to them, and had she been able to do so, it would have prevented the pirates on shore from firing on them.

The wind had at this juncture almost failed her, but she had her sweeps to depend on, and with a strong crew they could send her along at a great rate. She was commanded on the present occasion by the second lieutenant of the Sea Hawk – at least by the officer who performed the duties of one – who had hurried on board with as many men as he could find, and swept out to sea the moment the alarm of the prisoners’ escape was given; and now, somewhat mistaking the character of British seamen, he had begun to edge up towards the boats, purposely to take them by surprise, and hoping to make them an easy prey.

Of most of this Tompion was soon aware, and it now became a question as to the advisability of attacking her instead.

“What does Mr Linton say?” asked Duff. “We should not take long about it, I think, and she would be something to show for our night’s work.”

“Tell Mr Linton how things stand, Jennings, and ask him what he wishes us to do,” said Tompion to the coxswain of the gig.

“Poor Mr Linton can say nothing, sir,” returned Jennings, in a sorrowful tone. “I’m afraid he’ll never speak again.”

An exclamation of grief escaped from all who heard the words.

“What! is he dead?” inquired Tompion, in a voice which showed that he participated in the feeling of the crews, although he might very probably benefit by the vacancy thus created; yet, I will venture to say, the thought of this did not enter his head.

“No, sir, not dead, I hope,” said the coxswain. “I have bound up his wound as well as I can, and stopped the bleeding; but he’s in a dead faint, and I don’t know if he’ll come to again.”

“Well, Duff, I should like to act as Mr Linton would have done, and I’m sure he would have attacked the mistico without giving two thoughts about it,” observed Tompion; “but then, again, for his sake, we ought to get back to the ship as fast as we can, to obtain surgical assistance for him.”

“I know how you feel, Tompion,” exclaimed Jemmy Duff – “but I have it: our two boats can easily tackle the rascally mistico, and let the gig pull back to the brig as fast as she can, with Mr Linton and Timmins here, who is badly hurt, and let them tell Saltwell of our whereabouts, and we shall fall in with her before the morning with a prize in tow, I hope.”

“Capital!” exclaimed Tompion, who was, for a wonder, not above taking advice from a junior, when it happened to be good, and coincided with his own opinion. “What say you, my lads – do you think you’ve got strength enough in your arms to punish some of those rascals for Mr Linton’s too like death, and the trick they played us?”

“All right, sir, never fear. We can give it them yet,” exclaimed both crews, with one voice; and seldom will British seamen be found to make any other answer.

“Well, then, Jennings, do you steer due west, – right for that tar, that is your course. When you get about five miles from this, fire a musket, and continue firing every ten minutes. They will show a blue light as soon as they hear you, and you can scarcely miss the ship. Take poor Timmins on board with you – there’s no one else hurt, I hope.”

“No, sir, no,” was the answer.

“I need not tell you to make the best of your way, and I’m sorry, for your sakes, we can’t have you, my men, with us, in the affair on hand.”

Having given these orders, most reluctantly they were obeyed by the crew of the gig, which immediately pulled away in the direction pointed out, and was soon lost to sight in the gloom. Tompion made the necessary preparations for the attack on the mistico.

He was not above despising an enemy whom he intended to attack, and as the fight, in which he was about to engage, would be the first in which he had held the command, he was doubly anxious that it should be successful. He ordered his men to see that their pistols, and the muskets in the boat, were properly loaded and primed, and a small brass swivel, mounted in the bows, he had loaded with musket balls, almost up to the muzzle, to fire as they ran past the enemy’s quarter.

“Duff,” he exclaimed, “you board on the starboard side, I will grapple her on the larboard, as I want to be a few seconds before you, to give her a taste of my gun, and if she stands in as she now does, I shall get there quickest. Now, my men, give way, and let the scoundrels have a taste of your cutlasses when you get at them. Huzza for old England!”

As he uttered these words, the men repeated the cheer till the night air rung again, and bending to their oars, made the water fly from under the bows of the boats, while their heads turned in the direction of the piratical mistico.

The loud cheer and the suddenness of the movement completely took the pirates by surprise, it appeared; and instead of tacking and standing boldly towards the English to meet them, as they expected, her helm was put up, the sheets eased off, her long sweeps run out, and away she went dead before the wind, at a rate which Tompion saw would give his men a tough pull to come up with her. Another reason for her so doing was soon apparent, by her opening a fire of two swivel guns over her counter, which her crew probably calculated would check the advance of the boats. It is extraordinary at what speed the Greek misticos can be urged through the water; and on this occasion the Zoe did full justice to her character, for her crew were strong, fresh, and in high spirits, while, on the other hand, the British seamen had been rowing all night, and the greater part of the day, and were dispirited by the loss of their officer and the ill success of the expedition; not, however, that this prevented them from exerting themselves to the very utmost of their strength. The wind also, which had been very uncertain and changeable, now almost a calm, now a fresh breeze, now blowing from the eastward, now some points to the north of it, then a like number to the south, seemed suddenly to fix itself in the latter point with a considerable increase of strength, which sent the mistico flying through the water at a greater speed than ever.

“Give way, my men, oh, give way!” shouted Tompion, scarcely able to articulate in his eagerness to overtake the enemy, for with the increase of the breeze he saw their chance of doing so gradually fading away, and the proud hopes he had begun to form, of revenging the loss they had sustained, and of being able to carry with him his first prize as a proof of what they had done, with a vista of honour and promotion in the distance, cruelly dissipated. Again the British seamen cheered, and stretched their arms till their oars bent and cracked, but the sound was answered by shouts of derisive laughter from the Greeks, and a discharge from their swivel guns with several rounds from their musketry, though happily without doing much damage. Both boats were struck over and over again, and one man was wounded, but not sufficiently to disable him.

The cutter returned it with a bow-chaser, and to some purpose, it seemed, by the cries and shrieks which followed.

“Give it them again!” shouted Tompion. “If they do get away, they shall have cause to remember us. Fire, my men, fire!”

Again the shot told with fearful effect among the crowded crew of the Zoe; and from the cries and confusion on board they had reason to hope that some of those working her sweeps were disabled; and as the firing ceased, that those who had worked the guns had taken their places. Tompion had been narrowly watching her movements; he had from the first suspected some ruse to be played off on him.

“Ah! she has put her helm to port, and is running in for the land again!” he exclaimed. “Keep a little more to the eastward, Duff, and try to out her off; we may have her yet, before she gets into port.”

The mistico had had quite enough to say, it seemed, to the British boats; and was now endeavouring to get safe into the harbour, and very probably to try and tempt them to follow her, if they had not already had sufficient warning of what they might expect if they did so.

On they all three went in the same direction, the mistico by her change of course being thrown somewhat nearer to her pursuers than she before was, but they otherwise gained little, if anything, on her. The cutter perseveringly kept up her fire as fast as the gun could be cleaned and loaded, and the mistico more slowly returned it, the small sheets of flame which ever and anon issued from the mouths of the pieces showing their position to those on shore, as they drew near.

Still Tompion did not like to abandon the pursuit – they had already expended so much exertion and time, that he felt as if it would be throwing it all uselessly away if they were, after all, to fail; and yet he began to see that they had already gone far enough, and that, if he persisted in the chase, he might incur a greater disaster than had yet happened to them. He looked up at the cliffs, and tried to persuade himself that they were still at some distance off. They certainly looked very dark and lofty; but as there was no firing from them, he thought that they must be still too far off for any shot to reach them. The crew of the mistico, now that they felt pretty certain of not being captured, cheered and laughed, and called out to them, using every device to enrage them, and induce them to follow.

“We must soon be about ship, Duff!” Tompion sang out from his boat; “and I am afraid, after all, we have done little good.”

“If you will go on a little longer, perhaps the wind may shift, and we shall have her becalmed under the cliffs,” replied the midshipman. “It would be a great thing to carry her off in sight of the enemy.”

Tompion was too ready to follow his messmate’s advice, so they persevered in the chase with great gallantry, but certainly with a want of discretion, though it must be borne in mind that they had now less danger to apprehend either from the brig or the cliffs, as the pirates could not possibly fire without risking the killing of friends as well as foes. Now, although Tompion fancied that all their exertions would be thrown away, he was not aware, as the reader possibly is, that they were of the very greatest service to their friends on shore. It was their gallant pursuit of the mistico which had so completely engaged the attention of the pirates that they entirely forgot their prisoners, and allowed them to make the arrangements I have described. Had it not been for them, their captain would very soon have been discovered by Zappa, and his life would probably have been sacrificed, Raby would not have had time to reach Nina’s tower, nor would Nina have found Paolo, and sent him to assist the sufferers. Thus it is, by persevering in doing what is right, and brave, and honest, in all the affairs in life, good will ultimately arise from our acts, even though we ourselves may not immediately discover it, and though; perhaps, we may to the end of our lives remain in ignorance of the effect we have produced. There is a time when all things must be known, and then we shall reap our reward. Let this be a consolation to us in all our troubles and disappointments when we have been strenuously endeavouring to do some important good, and find all our plans and projects defeated by the selfishness, the ignorance, the obstinacy of others, perhaps of the persons we would benefit, till at last we are inclined to exclaim: “What is the use of attempting to do good in this world? Do all I can, I cannot succeed.” We do succeed – we can succeed; often, very often, when the result is not seen. We may, it is true, strive very much, and yet do very little good; but is not that little good something? is it not pure gold – treasure which will endure? So also (I am moralising while the British boats are still in pursuit of the mistico) man cannot see the ultimate result of the evil he may commit – there the order is reversed. A little evil in appearance may cause a vast amount of crime, wretchedness, and suffering. Even a word idly spoken may give rise to thoughts which may grow up and flourish, till they become like a upas tree to destroy all within their influence. To commit a small evil may be like the withdrawing the keystone from the arch, to cause the ruin of the whole edifice; or it may be like an ear of corn, which may soon serve to sow the whole field, and in the end millions and millions of acres. If men could but remember this, they would hesitate ere, by a seemingly trivial act, they incurred the awful responsibility of the immeasurable amount of crime and suffering they may cause.

How much further Tompion and Duff would have ventured I do not know, when their progress was arrested by a sight which silenced even the jeering laughter of the pirates. A loud, crashing noise was heard, which seemed to rend and tear in sunder the very cliffs, from the summit of which bright flames burst forth suddenly, and exposing the pinnacled rocks, the shattered ruins, and the groups of figures standing on them, in front of the fire, to the view of those below. The glare for the first moment almost blinded the eyes of the English, so long accustomed to darkness; but they soon saw that the fire proceeded from a tall tower near the edge of the cliff, and that the flames were bursting forth from the door, the windows, and the very roof itself, quickly towering up towards the sky. That some dreadful catastrophe had occurred, there appeared to be no doubt by the commotion created among the people. They began to run in all directions; some, it seemed, to procure water to throw on the flames, others to find ladders to scale the walls, and some were seen to attempt to gain the interior, but were again speedily driven forth by the fury of the flames. Their efforts, it was very soon seen, were of little avail, the flames seemed to gain fresh strength by some new stimulant, they darted up higher than before in a pyramid of fire, the tower was seen to rock to and fro, and down it came with a tremendous crash, burying, it seemed too probable, beneath its burning ruins many who could not have had time to escape to a distance. The mistico, while this event was taking place, had, favoured by the wind, got considerably ahead of the boats, and was by this time close in with the harbour’s mouth.

“Duff, ahoy,” cried Tompion. “That looks like a warning to us, and I think we ought to take it, and be off before the villains recover from their confusion. Pull up your starboard oars. We must give it up.”

“I am afraid so,” said Duff, imitating his senior’s example, and defeated in their object, the two boats once more steered in the direction where it was expected the Ione would be found. They were allowed to escape without further molestation, for the greater number of the pirates were engaged in watching the progress of the flames, or in endeavouring to quench them; for not only was the tower destroyed, but the fire had communicated to the building attached to it, and that also was rapidly being consumed.

Saltwell had too much anxiety on his mind to allow him to turn in to take any rest, and for the greater part of the night he had walked the deck while he beat the brig up towards the island. He became still more anxious, as the morning approached, at the non-appearance of the boats, and was continually hailing the look-outs to keep their eyes and ears open to catch any sign of their coming. Colonel Gauntlett, who, of course, was not less anxious on his niece’s account, was also constantly by his side; but the hours of night wore on, and no boats appeared. The brig stood on towards the island, for Saltwell considered that if the expedition was successful, there was no further reason for concealment, and that the nearer he got the better, and that, at all events, with the breeze which had sprung up, he could stand out of sight of land again, before daylight. The faint outline of the island, invisible to any but a seaman’s eye, at last appeared through the darkness. Several of the officers were collected together on the poop, looking towards it, as the brig now lay up on the starboard tack.

“Ah, what is that?” exclaimed Saltwell, as a bright light was seen reflected on the sky.

“Why, they have either set fire to one of their vessels, or have blown up some fort or other. That may account for the boats’ not returning.”

“I don’t think that is likely,” observed Colonel Gauntlett. “Captain Fleetwood would scarcely delay to attack the pirates with a lady in one of the boats. Would you, Mr Saltwell?”

“No, sir, I would not,” returned Saltwell. “You are right, and I do not think the captain would; but still I cannot account for the fire, and it is a large one, or we should not see it at this distance.”

“I see no reason to conclude that Captain Fleetwood has anything to do with the conflagration,” observed the colonel. “I wish we could see something of him and my little girl though. It is hazardous work he has been on, and I do not half like it. Couldn’t you fire a few guns, to give them notice of our whereabouts? I don’t see how they are to find the ship otherwise.”

“A sailor’s eye is sharper than you may suppose, colonel,” said Saltwell; “and depend on it, they will keep a sharp lookout for us. However, I will do as you propose, for the wind is off the shore, and the pirates are not likely to hear the guns. Mr Brown, fire the foremost gun on the starboard side, and the next to it in four minutes’ time.”

Directly after the order was issued, the gun sent forth its sheet of flame, and its dull sound was heard booming along the waters. Several others followed without any answering signal. The Ione had now, in Mr Saltwell’s opinion, stood long enough to the northward, or rather to the north-east, so he tacked ship, and they headed up rather more towards the island, though she soon again fell off nearly south. The larboard guns were now fired, and at last a tiny spirt of fire was seen to the eastward, and the sharp report of a musket struck on the ears.