Again the priest gave a piercing glance at him.
"May I inquire your name?"
"I am called Ronald Morton."
"You say you are called so. Will it appear impertinent if I ask if you
believe that you have the right to bear another?" said the priest.
"Why do you put the question?" was Ronald's very natural demand.
"You said that you were called Morton. I fancied, from your tone, that
you insinuated that you have a right to some other name," said the
priest.
"I may have some such idea; but at the same time I am perfectly
contented with the one I bear."
The priest appeared lost in thought.
"Do you remember your father!" he asked, abruptly.
"Certainly; he is, I trust, alive still. I hope to meet him shortly;"
surprised at the way in which the priest continued to cross-question
him. Some men would have been much annoyed, and refused to reply; but
Ronald saw that his interrogator had some good reasons for putting the
questions, and felt no inclination to disappoint him.
"May I ask if you were ever considered like the lady of Lunnasting
Castle? Donna Hilda, I think you called her," inquired the priest.
"I have not, that I am aware of, mentioned her name," answered Morton,
looking in his turn hard at the priest. "I will reply to your question,
though, before I ask one in return. I have heard that I was like her,
and that is not surprising; my mother was very like her--they were
cousins. Now I must inquire how comes it that you know anything of the
family of Lunnasting? Were you ever in Shetland?"
"There are few parts of the world where I have not been. The members of
my order go everywhere, and should know everything that takes place on
its surface," answered the priest, evasively.
"I do not recollect you in Shetland," said Ronald, "May I ask your
name?"
"I am called Father John," replied the priest, humbly. "I would yet
further ask you, what you know respecting the Marquis de Medea?"
Ronald considered whether he should reply.
"There can be no harm in speaking the truth, surely," he said to
himself. "I will tell you," he answered frankly. "The marquis is
believed, at Lunnasting, at all events, to have inherited the estates
which should rightly have belonged to the son of Don Hernan Escalante,
the husband of the Lady Hilda of Lunnasting, as she is called in
Shetland, the daughter of Sir Marcus Wardhill. Moreover, it is believed
that, instigated by the present marquis, a pirate crew attacked the
castle, and carried off the son of Donna Hilda, of whom I speak, the
rightful heir to the title and estates of Medea."
Never, probably, had the countenance of the priest exhibited so much
astonishment, or indeed, any sentiment, as it did at present.
"By what wonderful means have you become acquainted with what you have
told me?" he asked.
"By the simplest of all; by having been told by those who were
acquainted with the facts," answered Ronald.
"But how were they informed of those facts?" asked the priest, with
increased interest.
"They learned them from a Spanish naval officer, Pedro Alvarez by name,
who was the lieutenant of Don Hernan. He had promised to assist his
captain's widow and her infant son to the utmost of his power. He
returned to Shetland for that purpose, and when he heard that the boy
had been carried off, he sailed away in search of the pirate; he,
however, never returned to Shetland, and it is believed that he perished
before he accomplished his purpose. The young Escalante has never been
discovered, though the poor Lady Hilda lives on in expectation of
recovering her son."
"No wonder that sacrilegious wretch, Pedro Alvarez, never returned to
you. He was guilty of murdering one of the familiars of our most holy
Inquisition. Had he ever caught the pirate he could not have returned
to Spain, but must have been a wanderer on the face of the earth, with
the mark of Cain on his brow."
"I was a mere infant when he last came to Shetland, so that I have no
personal recollection of him, but from what I have heard, he was very
much liked by all with whom he associated," said Ronald.
"Your heretical countrymen would probably think that killing an officer
of the Inquisition was a very venial offence, and not look upon him with
any horror on that account; but depend on it, an avenging Nemesis
followed him to his grave, or will follow him, if he still lives,"
remarked the priest. "But we are now close to your ship. I would
advise you not to let the marquis know that you are acquainted with that
part of his history, which he would desire to keep secret. At first I
thought that you were the son of Don Hernan, but I see that I was
mistaken."
As soon as the felucca was towed alongside the frigate, the prisoners,
as well as the marquis and his daughter, and the priest, were removed on
board.
After inspecting the felucca, the captain resolved to keep her as a
tender to the frigate, believing that she might be made very useful in
capturing the enemy's merchantmen, as, from her rig, she might get close
to them without being suspected.
Lord Claymore highly commended Morton for the gallant way in which he
had taken the vessel.
"I scarcely know what to do with the prisoners," he observed. "We must
not cut their throats, or hang them at the yard-arms, but that would be
the simplest way of disposing of them, and they probably will not come
to any better end."
Ronald also told his captain all he had heard of the Marquis of Medea.
"The old scoundrel!" was the answer. "However, he is our guest, and he
has a lovely daughter; we must treat him politely."
The most important information, however, was the statement made by the
marquis, that Spain had at length declared herself independent of
France, and formed a league with England.
"It may be true, but we must not trust to it till we have more certain
information," remarked Lord Claymore.
The calm lasted long enough to have the felucca over-hauled, somewhat
cleansed, and put in order. Glover was placed in command of her, with
two midshipmen and twenty men. The prisoners were secured below on
board the frigate, and sentries put over them, while Lord Claymore gave
up a cabin to the young lady, and accommodated the marquis and the
priest with cots in his own. It was very difficult to please the old
marquis, who, notwithstanding the trouble taken to attend to his
comfort, grumbled at everything--so much so, that Lord Claymore would
have sent him on board the felucca to shift for himself, had it not been
for his daughter, who showed herself contented and thankful for the
kindness she and her father were receiving, while her brilliant smiles
and joyous laughter proved that she was sincere in her expressions.
The breeze came at last, and the frigate, followed by the little
felucca, stood on towards the Spanish coast.
In the course of his duty, Morton was going the round of the decks, when
he heard a voice from among the prisoners calling to him in French: "A
poor dying wretch would speak to you. Have pity, brave Englishman, and
hear what he has to say!"
"Who are you?" asked Morton.
"I was captain of the felucca. I am now a criminal, expecting speedy
death," returned the speaker.
The master at arms held up the lantern he carried, and as its light fell
on the countenance of the person who had addressed him, Morton
recognised the old white-bearded captain who had made so desperate a
resistance when his vessel was attacked. He had been lying at his
length on some straw on the deck. He was now supporting himself on one
arm that he might have a better look at the lieutenant as he passed.
"What would you say to me?" asked Morton.
"Many things, if you will listen to me," answered the old pirate. "I
overheard part of your conversation with the priest. I know more about
you than you suppose."
"What can you know about me?" asked Morton, very much surprised. "Here
are two persons I fall in with unexpectedly and both assert they know
more about me than I do myself," he thought.
"If you will have me removed out of earshot of my comrades, I will tell
you," replied the old pirate. "We cannot speak in a language which some
of them do not understand."
Morton ordered the old man to be unshackled, and to be conducted to
another part of the deck. After he had gone his rounds, he returned and
took a seat on a bucket by his side.
"Thanks, sir, for this kindness," said the old pirate; though as he
spoke Ronald rather doubted his sincerity. "It is not thrown away. You
see before you a victim to circumstances. I have done many evil deeds--
many things of which I repent--but necessity drove me to commit them;
poverty, that stern task-master, urged me on--not inclination, believe
me. I say this that you may not look at me with the disgust that you
might otherwise do. However, I am not now going to give an account of
my life--I may some day, if you desire it; simply I will tell you who I
am. You know already who the old man is whom I took prisoner."
"I should like to know who you are," said Ronald.
"I am, then, the celebrated Don Annibal Tacon," said the old man, in a
tone of no little conceit. "I have made my name famous in most parts of
the world. For some reason or other, however, my enterprises have not
been as successful as they ought, and I have continued in the same state
of poverty in which I began life. I say this as an excuse for myself,
and to excite your compassion. It is not the matter on which I wish to
speak to you. I have, since my early days, been acquainted with the
Marquis de Medea. He, too, led a wild life in his youth; and there are
many things he did which he would not like mentioned. Many years ago,
when you were but a child, he encountered me in Cadiz. Promising me a
large reward, and giving me a handsome sum as an earnest of his
intentions, he engaged me on a hazardous and daring enterprise. It was
no less than to sail to the North of England--to the islands of
Shetland--and to carry off from a castle, situated on the shores of one
of them, a child, the son of a certain Captain Don Hernan Escalante. I
see you are interested in my account; you may well be so. I heard you
speaking of that castle. I accomplished my errand. I attacked the
castle, bore away the child, and purposed to return to Cadiz to receive
my reward, and to learn what the noble marquis wished as to the disposal
of the boy. I had some idea, indeed, of concealing him, and employing
him to wring from the marquis the gold which I might require. My plans
were, however, frustrated. I was driven by a gale nearly across the
Atlantic, and so many British cruisers swarmed in all directions, that I
was continually driven back whenever I attempted to approach the Spanish
coast. At length a Spanish vessel hove in sight. As she drew nearer, I
recognised her as a corvette commanded by an officer I knew, Pedro
Alvarez by name. I at first thought she was a friend, but, by the way
she approached, I suspected she had hostile intentions. I endeavoured
to make my escape, for I have always held that men should never fight if
they can help it. That is to say, if an enemy has a rich cargo on
board, a wise man may fight to capture it; but if he himself has
anything of value on board, he will fly to preserve it, and only fight
when he cannot preserve it by any other means.
"The corvette bore down upon us, and so well did she sail, that I found
escape impossible. She ran me aboard; and Pedro Alvarez and half his
crew, leaping down on my decks, drove my people before them; he fought
his way into the cabin--there was the infant, on the possession of whom
I rested the hopes of my future support. He seized it, and hurrying
back to his own vessel, called his people to follow him, and then,
casting my craft free, he stood away to the eastward, without firing a
shot at my vessel, seeming content with the mischief he had already done
me. Believing that he would at once go back to Spain, denounce the
marquis, and proclaim me as his tool, I dared not return to Cadiz. I
therefore sailed for the West Indies, and employed myself in an
occupation which I found tolerably lucrative, seeing that all the
transactions were for ready money, though it must be owned that it was
somewhat hazardous. Some people might call it piracy. It was not till
long afterwards, when I was paying a visit to Cadiz, that I learned that
Pedro Alvarez was himself an outlaw, that he had not returned to Cadiz,
and that neither he nor his ship had ever again been heard of.
"From the words which reached my ears while you were talking to that
wily priest, I have an idea that you are no other than the son of Don
Hernan and the lady of that northern castle. By whatever means you got
back there, my evidence will be of value to prove that you are the child
I carried off. I have no doubt about it; I would swear to the fact.
Let us be friends, then. You assist to preserve my life; I will help
you to obtain your rights as the Marquis de Medea, and to become the
master of the immense estates belonging to the family."
The old villain looked up into the young officer's face, expecting a
favourable reply. Ronald was almost inclined to laugh at his outrageous
audacity and cunning. "You are entirely mistaken as to whom I am," he
answered. "The child you carried off from Lunnasting was never brought
back. I cannot even tell you if he is still alive; but whether or not,
I have no power to make any bargain with you. You must abide by the
consequences of your misdeeds."
"I have always done that," answered the pirate, with an humble look.
"From my youth up till now I have been an unfortunate man. I hope some
day the tide will turn; but there is not much time left for that."
Ronald made no reply. He resolved to tell the captain all he had heard;
and on going aft he left directions that the old prisoner should be
strictly watched, and not allowed to communicate with any one.
As Ronald could not speak to Lord Claymore in the cabin lest he should
be overheard, he waited till he came on deck.
"A pretty set of scoundrels!" was Lord Claymore's remark. "That cunning
priest, too, depend on it, has a finger in the pie. A curious
coincidence there is, too, in your own history, and in that of the story
you have just told me. You want to find out to what family you belong,
and here is a title, estates, and fortune, waiting to be filled by the
rightful heir, if he can be found."
Though the captain entertained a considerable amount of contempt for the
marquis, for the sake of his daughter he treated him with his usual
courtesy. He felt that he should be very glad to get him out of the
ship; still, by keeping him on board, he might possibly gain some
information which might prove useful in establishing the claims of Hilda
Wardhill's son to the property of his father. The most important object
was to discover if that son was alive, and where he was, and what had
become of Pedro Alvarez.
Lord Claymore and Ronald talked the subject over with such intense
eagerness, that the latter almost forgot his own interests in the desire
he felt to be of service to one whom he justly looked on as his
patroness and the protectress of his youth. The homicide of the
familiar of the Inquisition fully accounted for Pedro's not returning to
Spain; while as that country had been for so many years at war with
England, he might have found it impossible to send him back to Shetland.
He might have written, to be sure, but the letters might have
miscarried. Nothing was more probable. It was too likely, however,
that both he and the boy were lost. Still Lord Claymore hoped the
contrary, and, perhaps, his anxiety was not a little increased by the
satisfaction he anticipated in ousting the rascally old marquis from his
estates and rank.
The coast of Spain was soon after made, and the active operations in
which the ship was engaged allowed the captain or Morton very little
time to think of that or any other subject.