The wind was favourable for the black galley and the polacre, and after having passed the island of Lerol the two vessels slackened their speed.

Luquin Trinquetaille touched at the different harbours along the coast, without meeting the pirate ships, which he was to announce to the commander by a shot from his swivel-gun.

Toward evening, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, the black galley and the polacre arrived in sight of the isles of Ste. Marguerite, at the moment, as we have just said, when the chebec of Hadji issued from the road, in quest of the Christian galleys, in obedience to the commands of Pog.

Captain Trinquetaille signalled the chebec, and set every sail to join it. The Bohemian slackened his speed and waited for him. The betrothed of Stephanette, by the aid of his telescope, recognised Hadji, who was commanding the little craft. The worthy captain of the Holy Terror to the Moors boiled with rage at this encounter, and had need of all his self-control not to attack the author of Stephanette’s abduction, but, faithful to the orders of the commander, he doubled the point of Lerol, and soon perceived the Red Galleon and the galley of Trimalcyon anchored in the bay, very near each other.

Thus having obtained an exact knowledge of the position of the pirates, he stood toward the black galley in order to announce this discovery to Pierre des Anbiez, while the chebec of Hadji was entering the bay under full sail.

When he arrived near the stem of the black galley and gave this information to the pilot, the latter, in obedience to the commander, ordered him to set back the sails of the polacre, and come on board.

Luquin obeyed, but was in despair to see that the chebec of Hadji, whom he was burning to fight, had escaped him.

The chevaliers had assembled on the deck of the galley, and, according to the methods of warfare of that time, had cleared the deck for action.

The rambades, which formed a sort of forecastle at the prow, where the five pieces of artillery belonging to the galley were in battery, were already covered with coarse oakum cloth, several inches in thickness. This heavy covering was designed to deaden the effect of the enemy’s projectiles.

In case the galley was boarded by the enemy, an entrenchment called a bastion had been erected, which extended the entire length of the ship’s balcony, and reached to the height of the fourth bench of the prow.

This entrenchment was constructed of beams and crosspieces of timber, the spaces between being filled with old cordage and dilapidated sails. This construction, six feet high on the side of the stem, was only five feet high at the prow, toward which it sloped to the level of the rambades, and was designed to prevent the raking fire of the enemy’s artillery, sweeping the length of the galley.

The subordinate officers and soldiers were armed with steel helmets, buff-skin, and neck-pieces of iron. Matches ready for lighting lay near the cannon and swivel-guns; the masts had been hauled down and placed in the waist of the vessel, as galleys never fight with sails up, but are sustained by their oars.

The slaves who composed the crew looked on these preparations for battle with mute terror or sullen indifference. These poor creatures, chained to their benches, were accounted only a locomotive power. The discipline of force, to which they had been subjected on board the galley, had, through its severity, given them the calmness necessary for confronting danger.

Their position was one of peculiar trial. The gagged and passive spectators of a desperate battle,—since during a conflict the crews were generally gagged by means of a piece of wood inserted in the mouth,—they were not able to deaden their perception of danger, or satisfy that instinct of ferocity which self-preservation always awakens in men at the sight of carnage, that enthusiasm or courage which demands blow for blow, and kills in order not to be killed.

Nor had these slaves any hope of the ordinary results which follow a victory. If their vessel was the conqueror they continued to row on board of her; if she was conquered, they rowed on board of the conqueror.

Placed during the action between the balls of the enemy and the pistols of their keepers, who killed them on their first refusal to row, the men of the crew only escaped certain death by exposing themselves to a death less certain, inasmuch as there was a possibility of missing the enemy’s balls, while the keepers fired their pistols into the breasts of their helpless victims. Under such an alternative the galley-slaves resigned themselves to their fate and continued to row.

In all cases, they were indifferent to victory, and not unfrequently were interested in defeat, since the conquerors, Turks or Arabs, often delivered their own nationality. As to the renegades, all crews were alike to them. Hence, the convict-crew of the black galley knew only that they were about to do battle with the Red Galleon, and were utterly indifferent to the result of the engagement.

Preparations for the fight went on in the most profound silence. The calm, austere countenances of the soldiers of the cross showed that they found nothing unusual in these preliminary details. The chevaliers carefully inspected the different services with which they were charged; so seriously was every duty performed, that one might have thought the actors were preparing for some religious rite.

At the stern, the assembled chevaliers made a rigid examination of the position of the two galleys commanded by the pirates.

When Luquin Trinquetaille arrived on deck, the overseer ordered him to attend the commander, who was expected there. Pierre des Anbiez, kneeling in his chamber, was fervently praying. Since his departure from Maison-Forte, the gloomiest presentiments had assailed his mind. In the poignancy of his remorse, he had seen a providential coincidence in his return and the frightful disasters which had just overwhelmed his family. He accused himself of having, by his own crime, called down the vengeance of Heaven upon the house of Anbiez.

His imagination, unnaturally excited by the violent emotions which had shaken his whole being, evoked the strangest phantoms.

As he cast a serious yet fearful glance upon the portrait of Pog,—the Count de Montreuil,—which was hanging in his chamber, it seemed to him that the eyes of this portrait glowed with a supernatural brilliancy.

Twice he approached the frame to assure himself that he was not the sport of an illusion; twice he recoiled terrified, feeling his brow bathed in a cold sweat, and his hair standing up on his head.

Then he was struck with dizziness,—his reason forsook him,—he saw nothing more. Objects unnamable passed before his eyes with frightful rapidity; it seemed to him that he was being transported on the wings of a whirlwind.

By degrees he came to himself,—the aberration was past, and he found himself in his chamber on the galley, face to face with the portrait of Pog.

For the first time in his life he felt a dark and painful presentiment at the thought of going into battle. Instead of burning with that wild enthusiasm which characterised him, instead of thinking with a sort of ferocious joy upon the tumult of the fray, which had so often stifled the remorse which cried aloud in his soul, his thoughts turned involuntarily to death and disaster.

He started, as he asked himself if his soul was ready to appear before the Lord,—if the austerities which he had imposed upon himself for so many years sufficed for the expiation of his crime.

Terrified, he fell upon his knees, and began to pray with fervour, beseeching God to give him the courage and the strength to accomplish his last mission,—once more to uplift the cross triumphantly, and to rescue Reine des Anbiez from the hands of her ravishers.

He had scarcely finished his prayer when some one knocked at his door. He rose to his feet. The artilleryman, Captain Hugues, appeared.

“What do you want?”

“A man in a boat, sent by these miscreants, wishes to make some terms with you. M. Commander, must I welcome him with a shot from my swivel-gun, or send him on deck?”

“Send him on deck.”

“Where shall I conduct him?”

“Here.”

Pierre des Anbiez thought he understood the nature of the desired interview. The pirates, holding Reine des Anbiez as a hostage, wished, no doubt, to make terms for her ransom.

The artillery officer returned with the Bohemian.

“What do you want?” said the commander to him.

“Order this man to retire, monseigneur; your ears alone should hear what my lips will say.”

“You are very impudent,” replied Pierre de Anbiez, looking at Hadji, sharply.

Then he added, addressing Captain Hugues: “Leave us—go away.”

“Alone wit............