The Knight of Malta

Carried along on the wave of battle, Pog suddenly found himself face to face with the baron. His pale, haughty face, his long red beard, were too conspicuous not to have made a lively impression on Raimond V.

He recognised in this pirate one of the two strangers who accompanied Erebus, at the time of the meeting in the gorges of Ollioules.

“It is the Muscovite who accompanied the brave young man to whom I owe my life,” cried Raimond V.; then he added, as he lifted his spear: “Ah! wild bear, you come from the ice of the north to ravage our provinces!”

And with these words Raimond V. aimed a terrible blow full in the breast. Pog avoided the blow by a quick movement in retreat, but his arm was run through.

“I am a Frenchman, like you,” cried the renegade, with a brutal sneer, “and it is French blood for which I thirst! That your death may be more bitter, know that your daughter is in my power!”

At these terrible words, the baron stood for a moment, bewildered.

Pog profited by his inaction to strike him a terrible blow on the head with his battle-axe. The baron’s helmet had already been broken; he staggered a moment like a drunken man, then fell unconscious.

“Another one of these Provençal bulls killed!” cried Pog, brandishing his battle-axe.

“Let us avenge our lord!” cried the people of Raimond V., hurling themselves at the pirates with such fury that they drove them back into the little street which led to the port.

Soon, reinforced by the sailors who had been besieged in the town hall, and whom the attack of Raimond V. had just delivered, they had such a decided advantage over the pirates, that the trumpets of the latter sounded a retreat.

At this signal, a part of the brigands formed in good order in the middle of the square, under the command of Pog. Then they made a vigorous resistance so as to give the other pirates time to transport their booty on board the galleys, and to drag to these vessels the men and women they had captured.

Remaining master of the position that he had defended, Pog covered the entrance of the little street leading to the port, and thus assured the retreat of the band of Trimalcyon, occupied in dragging the captives on board the galleys.

Pog, yielding the ground to his enemies, foot by foot, fell back into the little street, sure that his communication with the port and the galleys could not be intercepted, and that he could effect his reëmbarkation without danger. The street was so narrow that twenty determined men could defend it against ten times the number.

The rumour of the pirates’ retreat was spread through the city, and all the inhabitants who, entrenched in their houses, either from fear or a desire to watch over their dearest interests, had not dared to venture out, now rushed into the streets and joined the combatants, whose number increased in proportion as that of the pirates diminished.

Pog, although wounded in the head and arm, continued his retreat with rare intrepidity.

He was only a few steps from what he believed to be a place of safety. It proved to be otherwise.

The freebooters, who had directed their steps toward the port, in order to regain their galleys, fell into the ambuscade of Captain Georges.

Vigorously attacked by these fresh troops, the pirates fell into disorder in the little street, at the very moment when Pog entered it at the opposite end. Thus, caught in this narrow way, the two outlets of which were obstructed by assailants, the pirates found themselves between two fires.

From the side of the square they were attacked by the baron’s troops; from the side of the port, by the carabineers of Captain Georges.

Trimalcyon remained on board his galley, having that of Pog temporarily under his orders. At some distance from the quay, he awaited the return of the long-boats, which were to bring on board the booty and the pirates.

One of their number, throwing himself in the water, went to inform him of the danger which threatened his companions. Then Trimalcyon resorted to extreme measures. He had the irons removed from a part of the crew, armed them, and approached his galleys so near the quay that their beak-heads served as a landing-place, and at the head of this reinforcement, he, uttering a wild cry, threw himself upon the soldiers of Captain Georges, who in his turn found himself between two fires. Fog’s company, which had kept the street, sure of being supported, made a last effort against the carabineers, already attacked behind by Trimalcyon, cut their way through, operating in union with Trimalcyon’s men, and after a great loss, succeeded in gaining their vessels, carrying with them several prisoners, among whom were Master Isnard and his clerk.

The boldest of the sailors and citizens, and almost all of the carabineers of Captain Georges, jumped into their boats to pursue the pirates.

Unfortunately the advantage was on the side of the galleys.

Their ten pieces of artillery struck the boats which tried to approach them. Then the galley, by vigorous use of oars, rapidly gained the outlet of the port, and prepared to double the point of Verte Island.

Pog was standing in the stem of the Red Galleon; he was pale, his hair and his clothes were full of blood; he threw a look of sullen triumph on the flames which continued to rise in the centre of the city.

Suddenly a cannon-shot resounded; a ball whistled above his head, and carried off a part of his galley’s stem. He turned around quickly. A second ball killed four of the galley-slaves and tore away the first seat of the rowers.

By a little cloud of whitish smoke which crowned the embattled terrace of Maison-Forte, that could be seen in the distance by moonlight, the pirate recognised the spot whence these projectiles were sent.

From his acquaintance with the habits of war, he perceived, from the great distance at which these missiles were fired, that they must have been shot by a culverin of large calibre, and consequently he could not return the fire, as the artillery of the Red Galleon was unable to carry to such a distance.

These first shots were followed by several others, not less happy, which caused considerable damage either on board the Red Galleon or the Sybarite.

“Hell and damnation!” cried Pog. “So long as we do not double the point of the bay, we will be under the fire of that hovel! Ply your oars faster, dogs,” cried he, addressing the crew. “Ply your oars faster, I tell you, or when I reach Tripoli, I will have your arms cut off to the shoulder!”

The crew had no need of that encouragement to redouble their efforts; the dead bodies of slaves killed by the cannon-balls, and still chained to the benches where their companions were rowing, proved to them the danger of remaining under the fire of that murderous culverin.

That piece, however, continued to aim with such marvellous accuracy, that it sent several balls on board the two galleys.

“Death and fury!” cried Pog, “once out of this channel I will go and anchor at the foot of the rocks within half-range of the musket, and there shall not remain one stone on another of the house where that culverin is in battery.”

“Impossible, Captain Pog,” said a Frenchman, a renegade Provençal, who served as pilot. “The Black Rocks extend between wind and water more than half a league from the coast, and you would be sure to lose your galley, if you tried to come nearer to Maison-Forte.”

The pirate made a gesture of rage, and promenaded the deck in great agitation.

Finally the two galleys got out of the dangerous pass where they had been caught.

The artillery of Maison-Forte had disabled many men, and had damaged them to such a degree that they would be compelled to anchor promptly in some harbour on the coast, before they would be able to set sail for Tripoli.

The Sybarite had received several shots below her water-line, and the Red Galleon had her tree cut in two.

When they had doubled the promontory of Cape l’Aigle, the master carpenter of the galley, a renegade Calabrian, a good sailor and a man of great courage, came forward with a solemn air to Pog-Reis, and said: “Captain, I have daubed as much as I possibly can the damages in the peel, but they are too large, and a thorough refitting is absolutely necessary, for if we have stormy weather, we will not stand the sea two hours with such injuries.”

Pog made no reply, but continued walking the deck with agitation; then he called the pilot and said to him: “Can we not anchor a day or two in the islands of Ste. Marguerite or St Honorât? They say these islands are not armed. You left the coast a year ago; is it true?”

“It is true,” answered the pilot “There ought to be good anchorage in the isles of Pieres and St. Feriol, on the windward of St. Honorât?” asked Pog, who was acquainted with these islands.

“Yes, captain, the coast is so high, and the harbour so protected by the rocks which form these islands, that the galleys will be hidden better there than at Port-Cros.”

“There are not, I believe, fifty inhabitants on the island?” asked Pog.

“Not more, captain, and twenty men at the outside; there is besides a very convenient shore for careening the ship.”

“Then steer for those islands; we ought to be about twenty-five leagues distant.”

“Thirty leagues, captain.”

“That is a great deal for the damage we have sustained, but it is, however, our surest place to put in. We will be there in a day if the wind is favourable.”

The galley of Trimalcyon, as well as the chebec, followed the manoeuvres of the Red Galleon, and the three vessels crowded sail toward the island of St Honorât, situated on the coast of Provence, a short distance from Cannes.

These orders given, Pog estimated the losses sustained by his crew; they were quite numerous. Sixteen soldiers had been killed in La Ciotat, and there were a great many wounded men on board.

Besides, the culverin of Maison-Forte had, as we have seen, killed four of the galley-slaves.