“Many years after, at a time when the plague was raging through Edinburgh, a Barbary corsair sailed boldly up the Firth of Forth and sent a message ashore to the Lord Provost, demanding twenty thousand pounds ransom, and on a threat, if it were not paid within twenty-four hours, to burn all the shipping in the firth and along the quays.  He required, meanwhile, a score of hostages for payment, and among them the Lord Provost’s own son.

“The Lord Provost ran about like a man demented; since, to begin with, audacious as the terms were, the plague had spared him scarcely a hundred men capable of resistance.  Moreover, he had no son, but an only daughter, and she was lying sick almost to death with the distemper.  So he made answer, promising the ransom, but explaining that he for his part could send no hostage.  To this the Sallee captain replied politely—­that he had some experience of the plague, and possessed an elixir which (he made sure) would cure the maiden if the Lord Provost would do him the honour to receive a visit; nay, that if he failed to cure her, he would remit the city’s ransom.

“You may guess with what delight the father consented.  The pirate came ashore in state, and was made welcome.  The elixir was given; the damsel recovered; and in due course she married her Paynim foe, who now revealed himself as the escaped prisoner, Andrew Gray.  He had risen high in the service of the Emperor of Morocco, and had fitted out his ship expressly to be revenged upon the city which had once condemned him to death.  The story concludes that he settled down, and lived the rest of his life as one of its most reputable citizens.”

“But what was the elixir?” inquired Mr. Badcock.

“T’cht!” answered my father testily.

“I agree with you, sir,” said Mr. Fett.  “Mr. Badcock’s question was a foolish one.  Speaking, however, as a mere man of business, and without thought of rounding off the story artistically, I am curious to know how they settled the ransom?”

Captain Pomery had taken in all canvas, to be as little conspicuous as possible; and all that day we lay becalmed under bare poles.  Not content with this, he ordered out the boat, and the two seamen (Mike Halliday and Roger Wearne their names were) took turns with Nat and me in towing the Gauntlet off the coast.  It was back-breaking work under a broiling sun, but before evening we had the satisfaction to lose all sight of land.  Still we persevered and tugged until close upon midnight, when the captain called us aboard, and we tumbled asleep on deck, too weary even to seek our hammocks.

At daybreak next morning (Sunday) my father roused me.  A light wind had sprung up from the shore, and with all canvas spread we were slipping through the water gaily; yet not so gaily (doubted Captain Pomery) as a lateen-sailed craft some four or five miles astern of us—­a craft which he announced to be a Moorish xebec.