But, alas! still more swiftly, as it seemed to those terrified eyes, came the Moorish boat—­longer, narrower, more favoured by currents and winds, flying like a falcon towards its prey.  It was a fearful race.  Arthur’s head began to swim, his breath to labour, his arms to move stiffly as a thresher’s flail; but, just as power was failing him, an English cheer came over the waters, and restored strength for a few more resolute strokes.

Then came some puffs of smoke from the pirate’s boat, a report, a jerk to their own, a fresh dash forward, even as Fareek fired, giving a moment’s check to the enemy.  There was a louder cheer, several shots from the English boat, a cloud from the ship’s side.  Then Arthur was sensible of a relaxation of effort, and that the chase was over, then that the British boat was alongside, friendly voices ringing in his ears, ‘How now, mates?  Runaways, eh?  Where d’ye hail from?’

‘Scottish!  British!’ panted out Arthur, unable to utter more, faint, giddy, and astounded by the cheers around him, and the hands stretched out in welcome.  He scarcely saw or understood.

’Queer customers here!  What! a child!  Who are you, my little man?  And what’s this?  A Moor!  He’s hit—­pretty hard too.’

This brought back Arthur’s reeling senses in one flash of horror, at the sight of Tam, bleeding fast in the bottom of the boat.

‘O Tam!  Tam!  He saved me!  He is Scottish too,’ cried Arthur.  ’Sir, is he alive?’

‘I think so,’ said the officer, who had bent over Tam.  ’We’ll have him aboard in a minute, and see what the doctor can do with him.  You seem to have had a narrow escape.’

Arthur was too busy endeavouring to staunch the blood which flowed fast from poor Tam’s side to make much reply, but Ulysse, perched on the officer’s knee, was answering for him in mixed English and French.  ’Moi, je suis le Chevalier de Bourke!  My papa is ambassador to Sweden.  This gentleman is his secretary.  We were shipwrecked—­and M. Arture and I swam away together.  The Moors were good to us, and wanted to make us Moors; but M. Arture said it would be wicked.  And Yusuf bought him for a slave; but that was only from faire la comedie.  He is bon Chretien after all, and so is poor Fareek, only he is dumb.  Yusuf—­ that is, Tam—­made me all black, and changed me for his little negro boy; and we got into the boat, and it was very hot, and oh!  I am so thirsty.  And now M. Arture will take me to Monsieur mon Pere, and get me some nice clothes again,’ concluded the young gentleman, who, in this moment of return to civilised society, had become perfectly aware of his own rank and importance.

Arthur only looked up to verify the child’s statements, which had much struck the lieutenant.  Their boat had by this time been towed alongside of the frigate, and poor Tam was hoisted on board, and the surgeon was instantly at hand; but he said at once that the poor fellow was fast dying, and that it would be useless torture to carry him below for examination.