As the baron and the captain approached the city, they saw the whirlwind
of flames more distinctly.
The bells continued to ring at random; a thousand cries, more or less
distinct, mingled with the bursts of musketry and the roar of artillery
from the galleys.
When they arrived behind the walls of the Ursuline convent, situated at
the extreme end of the city, Raimond V. said: “Captain, let us halt
here a moment to collect our people and agree upon operations. Manjour!
I feel young again; the blood thickens in my veins. I have not felt
that since the wars of Piedmont; it is because a pirate is worse than a
foreigner, and in the civil wars, a man’s heart is oppressed in
spite of himself. Silence!” said the baron to his troops as he turned
around. “Let us hear where the firing comes from.”
After listening closely for some minutes, he said to the captain:
“Will you listen to my counsel?”
“I will follow your orders, monseigneur, for I am not well acquainted
with La Ciotat.”
Then, addressing one of his men, Raimond V. said: “Do you conduct the
captain and his soldiers to the port, going around the city so as not
to be seen. When you are there, captain, if there are any more demons
to land, you will drive them back to their galleys; if they have all
disembarked, do you wait until they return, so as to cut off their
retreat; during that time, I will try to beat them up for you like a
herd of wild boars.”
“In what part of the city do you think they are, monseigneur?”
“As far as I can judge by the noise of the musketry, they are in
the town-hall square, occupied in plundering the houses of the richest
citizens. They will not dare venture farther in, as no doubt they are
in communication with the port by a little street which goes from that
place to the wharf. So, then, captain, to the port,--to the port! let us
rather throw these villains back into the sea, than into their vessels.
If God gives me life I will expect you at Maison-Forte after the affair,
for I do not forget that I am your prisoner. To the port, captain! to
the port!”
“Count on me, monseigneur,” said the captain, hastening his march in
the direction indicated.
“Now, my children,” said the baron, “keep silence, and let us
hurry to the town hall, and put all these brigands to the sword. Our
Lady! and forward!” Raimond V. then descended from his horse, and
entered the streets of La Ciotat at the head of a determined body of
men, full of confidence in their leader.
As Raimond V. approached the centre of action, he recognised, here
and there, women who uttered heartrending cries, as they ran in the
direction of the mountain, followed by their weeping children, and
carrying on their heads their most precious possessions.
In other places, priests and distracted monks, seized with the panic
of terror, had left their houses, where they were peaceably keeping
Christmas, and were running to throw themselves at the foot of the
church altar.
In many deserted streets, armed men stood at their windows, resolved
to defend their houses and their families to the utmost, and were
thoroughly prepared to give the pirates a vigorous reception.
Clouds of sparks and cinders were encountered by the resolute troops
as they steadily marched, and the whirling flames made the streets they
crossed as bright as broad day.
At last they reached the square, and, as the baron had foreseen, the
principal action was on that side of the town.
The pirates rarely ventured into the streets remote from the coast, for
fear of being cut off from their vessels.
It is impossible to paint the spectacle which struck Raimond V. with
horror. By the light of the dazzling flames, he saw a part of the
pirates engaged in a bloody combat with a number of fishermen and
citizens entrenched in the upper story of the town hall.
Other corsairs, thinking only of plunder,--these belonged to the galley
of Trimalcyon,--ran like so many demons across the conflagration they
had kindled, some laden with costly articles, and others bearing in
their robust arms women and young girls, who uttered shrieks of agony
and terror.
The ground was already strewn with bodies riddled with wounds,
unfortunate victims who at least bore testimony to a desperate
resistance on the part of the inhabitants.
Near the middle of the square, and not far from the little street which
conducted to the port, could be seen a confused mass of all sorts of
objects guarded by two Moors.
The pirates increased this pile of plunder every moment, by coming there
and throwing down additional booty, then returning to pillage and murder
with renewed ardour.
The number of brave sailors and citizens, who were defending themselves
in the town hall, began to diminish sensibly under the blows of the
spahis of Pog, who thirsted far more for blood than for pillage.
Armed with a hatchet, Pog attacked the door with fury, voluntarily
exposing his life. He wore neither helmet nor cuirass, and was only
clothed in his yellek of black velvet.
At the height of this attack Raimond V. arrived on the square.
His troops announced their presence by a general discharge of musketry
on the assailants of the town hall.
The pirates, attacked unawares, turned and threw themselves in a rage
against the soldiers of the baron. Each side then abandoned firearms.
A hand to hand struggle ensued; the conflict became bloody, terrible
beyond words to describe. The band of Trimalcyon, seeing this unexpected
reinforcement, left their pillage and rallied around Fog’s pirates,
surrounding the little company of Raimond V., who was performing
prodigies of valour.
The old gentleman seemed to recover the strength of the years of his
youth. Armed with a heavy boar-spear, which was provided with a sharp
and well-tempered bayonet, he employed this murderous weapon, both lance
and club, with tremendous power, and although his helmet was broken in
several places and his sword-belt covered with blood, Raimond V., in his
enthusiasm as a warrior, did not feel his wounds.
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.
They unchained the bodies and threw them into the sea, and replaced them
with five soldiers.
The wounded were more or less cared for by a Moor, who performed the
functions of surgeon.
Pog had two wounds; one in the head, the other in the arm.
The baron’s spear had given this last wound, which was very deep, but
the one in his head was comparatively insignificant.
The Moor who discharged the duties of surgeon had just completed the
first dressing of these wounds, when the chebec of Erebus, under full
sail, approached the galley of Pog, and ranged herself within reach of
his voice.