I must have slept for at least three hours, and probably much longer,
for when I awoke, with a start, I discovered that night had fallen, the
cabin lamps were lighted, and a man whom I at once recognised as the
pirate captain was leaning over me and gazing at my face with an
intentness that was doubtless the cause of my abrupt awakening. As I
opened my eyes he started back as though detected in some act of which
he felt ashamed; then, recovering himself, he again bent over me, and,
to my astonishment, said, in perfect English:
"Well, young gentleman, I hope you are feeling all the better for your
long sleep?"
"Thanks, yes," I said. "At least the intolerable headache from which I
was suffering a few hours ago has almost entirely passed away, but this
wound in my breast is still exceedingly painful, more so, I think, than
when your surgeon patched me up."
"Ah," he said, "I am sorry to hear that! Fonseca must come and look at
you again. He told me that it was likely to prove troublesome, but if
we can avoid gangrene until the ship gets in, I think we shall pull you
through all right."
"It is very kind of you to concern yourself as to my welfare, and also
somewhat inexplicable that you should do so," said I. "You are the
captain of this ship, are you not?"
"Yes, for the present," he answered. "For how long I may be permitted
to retain that position is quite another affair. I am given to
understand that the men are extremely dissatisfied that I should have
spared your life--our motto, you must know, is: `Dead men tell no
tales', and we have acted in strict accordance with it thus far, which
doubtless accounts for the immunity that we have so long enjoyed. Yours
is the first life that I have ever spared."
"Thank you!" I said. "I suppose I ought to feel very much obliged to
you, but somehow I do not. This disaster has absolutely ruined my
prospects in the service, so you might just as well have killed me
outright. And, by the way, why have you spared me? Your surgeon
informed me that you spare only those who join you. I hope you don't
anticipate the possibility that I shall join you?"
My companion laughed heartily, yet there was a slight ring of bitterness
methought in his laugh. "No," he said, "I have not spared you in the
hope that you will join us; we have managed thus far to do fairly well
without your assistance, and I am sanguine enough to believe that, even
should you decline to throw in your lot with us, we shall continue to
rub along after a fashion without it. No, that was not my reason for
sparing you. By the by, what is your name, if I may presume to ask? It
is rather awkward to be entertaining a guest whose name, even, one does
not know."
"My name," I answered, "is Grenvile--Richard Grenvile, and I am a
lieutenant in his Britannic Majesty's navy."
"Quite so!" remarked my companion caustically, "I guessed as much from
your uniform. You bear a good name, young sir, a very good name. Are
you one of the Devon Grenviles?"
"Yes," I answered, "I am Devon all through, on both sides. My mother
was a Carew, which is another good old Devonshire family."
"Ah!" ejaculated Ricardo, as he called himself, with a quick indrawing
of his breath, as though what I had said had hurt him, though how it
should have done so was quite inexplicable. "I could have sworn it!
Lucy Carew! Boy, you are the living image of your mother! I recognised
the likeness the moment that we came face to face, when you boarded us;
and I have three times spared your life on that account--twice while the
fight was in progress, and again when my people would have heaved your
still breathing body to the sharks!"
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "is it possible that you can ever have
known my mother?"
"Ay," answered Ricardo, "extraordinary as it may appear to you, I once
knew your mother well. However," he broke off hurriedly, "this is not
the moment in which to become reminiscent; your wound is troubling you,
I can see. I will call Fonseca to dress it afresh; meanwhile, be under
no apprehension as to your safety. I will protect you with my own life,
if necessary, although I do not think it will quite come to that."
And, so saying, he left the cabin, to return a few minutes later,
accompanied by the surgeon and his assistant, Francois, the mulatto boy.
With the utmost care on the part of Fonseca, and to the accompaniment
of sundry maledictions in Spanish, muttered under his breath by Ricardo
as I involuntarily winced now and then during the process, my wound was
laid bare and carefully examined. It was by this time terribly inflamed
and horribly painful, and I seemed to gather, from the grave and anxious
look on Fonseca's face, that he regarded it as somewhat serious. He
said nothing, however, but gave it a very thorough fomentation, dressed
it, and carefully bound it up again. This done he administered a
sleeping draught, and left me in charge of Francois, to whom he gave
certain whispered instructions which I could not catch. When he
presently retired, Ricardo followed him out of the cabin, and I saw him
no more that night, for the sleeping draught, though somewhat long in
operating, had its effect at last, and I sank into a feverish, troubled
sleep, in which I was vexed by all sorts of fantastic fancies, in some
of which my mother and the man Ricardo seemed to be associated together
most incongruously. Then there were moments when I seemed to awake to
find Ricardo and Fonseca bending over me anxiously, and others in which
I appeared to be sitting up in my cot and talking the veriest nonsense
to Francois, who, on such occasions, seemed to be entreating me, with
tears in his eyes, to lie down again and remain quiet. Then ensued
further phantasmagoria of the most extravagant description, of which I
subsequently remembered little or nothing save that I seemed to be
consumed with fever, that liquid fire was rushing through my veins
instead of blood, and that I was continually tormented by an
unquenchable thirst.
This state of discomfort endured for ages--apparently; in reality,
however, it lasted only a week, at the end of which period I emerged
from my delirium to find myself comfortably, nay, luxuriously, disposed
upon a large bed in a spacious room overlooking an extensive garden,
gorgeous with strange and brilliant-hued flowers and fragrant with their
mingled perfumes, which sloped very gently down to a sandy beach, beyond
which was visible, through the wide-open casements of the apartment, a
wide stretch of landlocked water, in the centre of which floated the
hull of a vessel that I had no difficulty in identifying as the
_Barracouta_. The room which I occupied was elegantly furnished. Its
walls were decorated with several oil paintings that, to my uneducated
eye at least, appeared to be exceedingly good, and dotted about the room
here and there were little tables upon each of which stood a vase of
magnificent flowers. This was the scene upon which my eyes opened as I
awoke from the first natural sleep that had visited me since that
disastrous day when I had been struck down upon the deck of the pirate
brig, and I lay for some minutes motionless, drinking in the beauty and
the delight of it all, and revelling lazily in the sensation of relief
from pain and fever that I was now enjoying.
Then, as I unconsciously sighed with excess of pleasure, I became aware
of a slight movement beside the bed, and, glancing round, I perceived a
middle-aged negress bending over me and looking anxiously into my eyes.
"_Bueno_! The senor is himself again at last!" she exclaimed in accents
of great satisfaction as she placed her cool hand upon my brow for a
moment, and then proceeded to smooth my rebellious locks with a
tenderness that was almost caressing. "Yes," she continued, "the fever
has quite gone, and now the senor has nought to do save to get well and
strong again as soon as possible." She spoke in Spanish, and her accent
and manner were those of one who had been accustomed all her life to
associate with cultured people.
"Who are you, pray?" I demanded in the same language, "and where am I?"
"I am Mammy," she answered, "the old nurse of the senorita, and Senor
Ricardo's housekeeper. And you are now in Senor Ricardo's own house--
ay, and in his own room, too! What is the young English senor to Senor
Ricardo, I wonder, that he should be cared for thus?"
I scarcely knew whether this last remark was in the nature of a
soliloquy, or whether I was to take it as a question addressed to me,
but I treated it as the latter, and replied:
"I really do not know, Mammy, but--stop a moment; let me think--yes--I
seem to remember--or did I dream it?--that Captain Ricardo said he--
had--once known my mother! But, no, that cannot be possible, I must
have dreamed it--and yet--no--that part of it scarcely seems to be a
dream!"
"No matter, no matter," answered Mammy musingly; "we shall doubtless
know the truth sooner or later. Now, senor, it is past the time when
you ought to have taken your medicine, but you were sleeping so
peacefully that I could not bring myself to wake you. Take it now; it
is a sovereign remedy for all kinds of fever; I never yet knew it to
fail; and then, if you are thirsty, you may have just one glass of
sangaree!"
I took the potion and swallowed it obediently; it had an intensely but
not altogether disagreeable bitter taste; and then I quaffed the
generous tumbler of sangaree that the old lady handed me. Oh, that
sangaree! I had never tasted it before, and though I have often since
then drunk the beverage I have never again enjoyed a draught so much as
I did that particular one; it was precisely my idea of nectar!
"Aha!" quoth the old woman as she watched the keen enjoyment with which
I emptied the tumbler, "the senor likes that? Good! he shall have some
more a little later. Now I must go and see to the making of some broth
for the senor; it is his strength that we must now build up."
And, so saying, the old nurse glided softly out of the room, leaving me
to enjoy the glorious scene that was framed by the wide-open window at
the foot of my bed.
I had lain thus for perhaps five minutes when the door of the room again
opened, and there entered a young girl of some sixteen years of age--
that was her actual age, I subsequently learned, but she looked quite
two years older,--who came to the side of the bed and stood looking down
upon me with large, lustrous eyes that beamed with pity and tenderness.
Then, as she laid her cool, soft hand very gently upon my forehead, she
said, in the softest, sweetest voice to which I have ever listened:
"Oh, Senor Grenvile, it is good to see you looking so very much better.
You will recover now; but there was a time--ah, how long ago it seems,
yet it was but yesterday!--when we all thought that you would never live
to see the light of another day. It was Mammy, and her wonderful
knowledge of medicine, that saved you. Had not the captain realised
your critical state, and driven the men to incredible exertions to get
the ship into harbour quickly, you could not have lived!"
"Senorita," said I, "how can I sufficiently thank you for the kind
interest you exhibit in an unfortunate prisoner--for that, I suppose, is
what I am--"
"No, senor, oh no; you are quite mistaken!" interjected my companion.
"At least," she corrected herself, "you are mistaken in the character of
your imprisonment. That you certainly are a prisoner, in a sense, is
quite true; but I hope--that is, I--do--not think--you will find your
imprisonment very intolerable."
"All imprisonment, whatever its character, must be intolerable, it seems
to me," I grumbled. Then, checking myself, I exclaimed: "But do not let
us talk about myself. Do you mind telling me who you are? Your face
seems familiar to me, somehow, yet I am certain that I have never before
seen you. Are you, by any chance, Captain Ricardo's daughter?"
The girl's face clouded somewhat as she answered: "No; oh no, I am not
Captain Ricardo's daughter! I am an orphan; I have never known what it
is to have either father or mother, and I am a prisoner--like yourself,
yet I do not find my state by any means intolerable. Captain Ricardo
has been kindness itself to me, indeed he could not have been more kind
to me had I really been his daughter."
"Ah," said I, "I am glad to hear it, for your sake! He seems a strange
man, a very curious commingling of good and evil traits of character--
kind and gentle to you--and, thus far, to me--yet relentlessly cruel and
bloodthirsty in the prosecution of his accursed calling. And your name,
senorita, will you not tell me that?"
"Oh, yes, certainly! Why should I not?" answered my companion. "I am
called Lotta--Carlotta Josefa Candelaria Dolores de Guzman. And your
name is Dick, is it not?"
"Why, certainly it is!" I exclaimed. "But how in the world did you
know that?"
"Because," she answered, "when you were brought ashore yesterday,
Captain Ricardo sent for me, and said: `This young fellow is Dick
Grenvile, the son of a once very dear friend of mine; and I want you,
Lotta, and Mammy, to do your utmost to nurse him back to health and
strength again.'"
"And you and Mammy have been doing so with marvellously satisfactory
results," said I. "And that, I suppose, accounts for the fact of your
face seeming familiar to me; I probably saw you once or twice during my
delirium?"
"Yes," she admitted, "you certainly did see me--once or twice."
"Well, Lotta--I suppose I may call you Lotta, may I not? Senorita
sounds so very formal, does it not?" I suggested.
"Oh, yes, certainly!" assented my companion. "And I may call you Dick,
may I not? Senor sounds so very formal, does it not?" Her quaint
mimicry of my earnestness of manner was irresistibly droll.
"Of course you may," I agreed eagerly. "Well, Lotta--now, let me
remember--what was it I was about to say? Oh, yes, of course--how came
you to be a prisoner in the power of this man Ricardo?"
"Very simply, yet in a manner that you would scarcely credit," was the
reply. "You must know that my mother died just after I was born, my
father when I was just two years old. Up to then Mammy had looked after
me, but when my father died his estates were taken in charge by some
people whom my father had appointed to look after them--what do you call
those people--?"
"Trustees, we call them in England," I suggested.
"Yes," assented Lotta, "they were my father's trustees, and my
guardians, empowered to look after my interests and manage the estates
until I should arrive at the age of eighteen. When I was seven years of
age the trustees decided to send me over to Old Spain to be educated,
and I accordingly went, in charge of the wife of one of them, with Mammy
to look after me. I was educated at the convent of Santa Clara, in
Seville, where I remained until my fourteenth birthday, when I was taken
out of the convent and placed on board a ship bound to Havana, my
guardians having decided that I had received as much education as was
necessary, and that the time had arrived when I ought to return to Cuba
and take my place as mistress of my household and owner of the vast
estate of which I was the heiress. Then a terrible misfortune befell
us: the ship on board which I was a passenger caught fire, and was
utterly destroyed, and everybody was obliged to take refuge in the
boats. Then, to add still further to our misery, a gale sprang up, and
the boats became separated. We suffered dreadfully during that gale,
and were several times in the greatest danger of being drowned. Then,
when the gale was over, the sailors in our boat knew not in which
direction to steer, and so we went drifting aimlessly hither and
thither, not knowing where we were going, but hoping, day after day,
that a ship would come in sight and pick us up. And very soon our food
and water became exhausted, and our sufferings intensified to such an
extent that some of the men went mad and threw themselves into the sea.
As for me, I became so weak at last that I lost consciousness, and did
not again revive until I found myself on board the _Barracouta_, with
Mammy looking after me. We arrived here before I was well enough to
walk, and here I have remained ever since, that is to say, nearly two
years."
"Well," I exclaimed, "that is a most extraordinary story, extraordinary
not only from the fact of your having been the heroine of such a
terrible adventure, but even more so from the circumstance that you were
rescued and have been taken care of ever since by Ricardo. One would
have thought that it would have been the most natural thing in the world
for him to have callously left you all to perish. How many of your
boat's crew were alive when he picked you up?"
"Only two sailors, and Mammy, and myself," answered Lotta; "and I
afterwards heard that the sailors had joined Ricardo."
"And have you never had any desire to escape and seek the protection of
your guardians?" demanded I.
"Only at very rare intervals, and even then the feeling was not very
strong," was the extraordinary answer. "You see," Lotta explained, "I
am perfectly happy where I am. This is a most lovely spot in which to
live, the most lovely that I have ever seen; and Ricardo is kindness
itself to me during the rare periods when he is `at home', as he calls
it. I have never expressed a wish that he has not gratified, I have
every possible comfort, and, what with my guitar, my garden, my morning
and evening swim, and making clothes for myself, I find so much
occupation that I do not know what it is to have a wearisome moment.
And, now that you have come to be a companion to me, I cannot think of
anything else to wish for."
The charming _naivete_ of this remark fairly took my breath away; but I
was careful that the girl should not be allowed to guess, from my
manner, that she had said anything in the least remarkable. Before I
could reply, the sound of approaching footsteps became audible, and
Lotta remarked:
"Now, here comes Fonseca, and I suppose I shall have to go. But I will
come back again when he leaves you."
As she rose to her feet the door opened, and the Spanish surgeon
entered.
"Good morning, senorita!" he exclaimed. "How is our patient? Vastly
better, Mammy tells me. I see she is busy preparing some broth for
Senor Grenvile, but he must not have it until I have thoroughly
satisfied myself that it would be good for him. Well, senor," as he
seated himself on the side of the bed and laid his fingers upon my
pulse, "you are looking rather more like a living being than you were
twenty-four hours ago. Mammy's medicines are simply marvellous, I will
say that for them, although the old witch will not tell me of what they
are composed. Um! yes; eyes bright--almost too bright--pulse strong but
decidedly too quick. You have been talking too much. That will not do.
The senorita"--she had slipped out of the room by this time--"must
either stay away, or not talk to you. Now, let me look at your wound."
And he proceeded very carefully to remove the dressings.
This, it appeared, was progressing very satisfactorily, so he re-dressed
it--my broken pate had healed itself, and needed no further looking
after,--administered a sleeping draught, and then retired, after
informing me that I could have Mammy's broth later, but that, in the
meantime, sleep was of more value and importance to me than food. He
had not been gone ten minutes before I was fast asleep.
Several days elapsed, and I never saw Ricardo, although I was told by
Lotta and Mammy that he had frequently looked in upon me while I slept.
Thanks to good nursing, I was making very satisfactory progress,
although still far too weak and ill to be able to rise from my bed.
Meanwhile I was able to see, by simply looking out of my bedroom window,
that the _Barracouta_ was being rapidly refitted--so rapidly, indeed,
that I conjectured Ricardo must have made a point of always keeping an
entire spare set of masts, spars, rigging, and sails on hand, in
readiness for any such emergency as that which had arisen in connection
with his fight with the _Francesca_.
At length, when I had been ashore nearly a fortnight, I noticed that the
brig was once more all ataunto and apparently ready for sea. That same
night Ricardo entered my room, and, having made exhaustive enquiries as
to the state of my health, took a seat by my bedside, with the air of a
man who purposed to indulge in a long chat.
"This last fortnight has done wonders for you," he said. "Thanks to the
unremitting care of Lotta and Mammy, I think you will now be able to
pull round without any further attention from Fonseca. And that reminds
me to tell you that we go to sea at dawn to-morrow, and of course
Fonseca goes with us. But he assures me that you now need nothing but
good nursing and good feeding to restore you completely, and those Lotta
and Mammy will be able to give you. You will not mind my leaving you in
their charge, I hope?"
"Oh, no," I said, "not at all! Indeed, I have to thank you for quite an
extraordinary amount of kindness. You could scarcely have done more for
me had you been my father."
"You think so?" he said. "Good! I am glad to hear you say that,
because--ah, well, it is useless to think of that now! By the way, is
your mother still living?"
"She was when I last heard from home," said I, "and I hope she will live
for many long years to come."
"I say amen to that," answered this extraordinary man. "When next you
see her, say that Dick Courtenay saved your life--for her sweet sake.
And tell her also that, despite everything that was said against me, I
was innocent. She will understand what I mean and will believe me,
perhaps, after all these years. Ah," he continued, springing to his
feet and striding up and down the room, "if she had but believed me at
the time, I should never have become what I now am! Had she had faith
in me, I could have borne everything else--shame, disgrace, dishonour,
ruin--I could have borne them all. But when to the loss of those was
added the loss of her esteem, her respect, her love, it was too much; I
had nothing left to live for--save revenge; and by heaven I have had my
fill of that!"
"Do you actually mean to say that you were once my mother's lover?" I
gasped.
"Ay," he answered bitterly, "her accepted lover. And I should have been
her husband but for the accursed villainy of one who--but why speak of
it? The mischief is done, and is irremediable."
"Surely you do not pretend to suggest that my father--?" I ejaculated.
"No, certainly not!" he replied quickly. "Do not misunderstand me. It
was not your father who was my enemy, oh no! He was my rival for a
time, it is true, but he was also my friend, and the very soul of
honour. Oh no! the loss of your mother's love was merely one of many
results of a piece of as consummate villainy as ever dragged the honour
of a British naval officer in the mire. But, pshaw! let us speak of
other things. I suppose you have wondered what are my ultimate
intentions toward you, have you not? Well, I will tell you. You once
reproached me with having ruined your professional career. My dear boy,
have no fear of anything of the kind. It was your misfortune, not your
fault, that we were too strong for you, and if Sir Timothy Tompion--oh
yes," in answer to my look of surprise, "I know Sir Timothy quite well,
and he knows me, or thinks he does!--if Sir Timothy had only known that
he was sending you out to fight the _Barracouta_, he would have given
you, if not a bigger ship, at least twice as heavy an armament, and
twice as strong a crew. So, when he comes to hear your story, he will
not blame you for failing to take me; have no fear of that. Therefore,
because I feel convinced that your ill-success in your fight with me
will in nowise prejudice your professional prospects, it is my
intention, all being well, to take you to sea with me next trip, and
either put you ashore somewhere whence you can easily make your way to
Port Royal, or else to put you aboard the first ship bound for Kingston
that we may chance to fall in with.
"But to provide against any possibility of your fortunes going awry, I
have decided to make you my heir; therefore--stop a moment, please; I
think I can guess what you would say--that you positively refuse to have
anything whatever to do with wealth acquired by robbery and murder.
Quite right, my dear boy, it is precisely what I should expect--ay, and
wish--you to say. But when I was an Englishman I sometimes used to hear
people say that `circumstances alter cases'; and this is one of them.
The wealth that I propose to bequeath to you has not been acquired by me
through any objectionable practices, it came to me through the merest
accident, and nobody is aware of its existence save Lotta and myself.
If it is indeed a pirate hoard, as is not at all unlikely, there is
nothing to prove that such is the case; nor, assuming for the moment
that it is so, is there anything to tell us either the name of the
pirate who got it together, or the names of those from whom he took it.
And, in any case, if it is the spoils of a pirate gang, they must have
operated about a hundred years ago; and since they are now all
undoubtedly dead and gone, as also are those from whom it was taken, you
have as much right to it as anybody, and may as well have it. Lotta
will show you where it lies concealed; and, since I shall never make use
of it, you are at liberty to help yourself to the whole of it as soon as
you please.
"There is one thing more that I wish to say to you. It is about Lotta.
By the way, what do you think of Lotta?" he interrupted himself to
enquire.
"I think she is the sweetest, most charming, and most lovely girl that
has ever lived!" I exclaimed enthusiastically, for I had fully availed
myself of my opportunities for making her acquaintance, and had fallen
over head and ears in love with her, although I have hitherto refrained
from saying so, because this is not a love story, but one of adventure.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ricardo grimly; "yes, I see the inevitable has happened!
Well, well, I have nothing to say against it, nor will your mother,
unless she has greatly altered since I knew her. However, to revert to
Lotta, I am afraid that, without in the least intending it, I have done
that poor girl a very serious wrong. We fell in with the boat in which
she, Mammy, and two Spanish sailors were starving, just as a light air
of wind had dropped to a dead calm; as a matter of fact we drifted right
up alongside the boat, so that it became impossible to avoid taking
those who were living out of her. Even pirates have their gentle
moments occasionally, and the sight of those four, perishing of hunger
and of thirst, in a craft that had literally drifted alongside us, was
more than we could endure; therefore we hauled them up out of the boat,
brought them round, cared for them--and they have been inmates of my
house ever since. Lotta seemed quite content to remain; she never
murmured, never expressed the slightest desire for a life different from
that which she was living ashore here. And where Lotta was content,
Mammy was supremely happy; therefore--well, I got fond of the child, and
resolutely refused to allow my thoughts to turn in the direction of
sending her away from me. But your coming has altered everything, I can
see that. When you go, she will have to go too; she would never be
happy here again without you, that is certain. Moreover, my eyes have
been opened of late to the great wrong that I have been doing her. She
is a rich heiress, and ought now to be in possession of her property.
Therefore, when I return--by which time you will doubtless be quite well
again--I will give you the charge of Lotta and Mammy, and ask you to see
that the former is safely placed in the care of her guardians. While I
am away this time I will arrange a plan by which these matters can be
brought about, and will explain everything to you upon my return. And
now I think I have said everything that I had to say, and will therefore
bid you good-night, and good-bye, since we shall sail at daybreak, and
all hands, myself included, will sleep aboard to-night. I hope that
when I return, which will probably be in about a month from now, I shall
find you quite well and strong again."
And as Ricardo pronounced the last words he rose, with the evident
intention of going.
"One moment, please," I said hastily; "pray do not go just yet. You
have been doing all the talking thus far, now I wish to say a word or
two."
"By all means," he answered with a laugh, as he resumed his seat. "Say
on. I promise you my very best attention."
But, now that it came to the point, I suddenly found myself hesitating;
I had spoken upon the spur of the moment, with a very definite purpose
in my mind, but quite unexpectedly I found myself entirely at a loss for
words. At length, seeing Ricardo's look of surprise at my hesitation, I
plunged desperately _in medias res_.
"Look here," I stammered, "I--that is to say--oh, hang it, I find it
very difficult to know how to begin! I want very particularly to say
something to you, and I want to say it, if I can, without hurting your
feelings--"
Ricardo laughed grimly. "Say on, without fear," he remarked; "don't
stop to pick and choose your words. In my time I have been compelled to
listen to words that have seared my very soul, words that drove me
desperate, and made me what I am. You can scarcely have anything to say
that will hurt me more keenly than I have been hurt already; moreover, I
have now grown callous, so say on without fear."
The intense and concentrated bitterness with which he uttered those last
few words gave me courage; moreover, I felt certain that my companion
would recognise the kindly feeling which actuated me, so without more
ado I proceeded:
"What I wish to say is this. You have somehow contrived to convey to my
mind the impression that you are a very deeply injured man, that you
have been driven to the adoption of your present mode of life by some
great and terrible wrong; moreover, you have been kind to Lotta, and
especially kind to me; and, lastly, your references to your former
friendship with my mother have been such that it has been impossible for
me to avoid feeling very deeply interested in you. Now, why should you
not abandon your present mode of life? You say that you possess
treasure which has come into your possession by perfectly honest means,
and to which, to use your own words, you have as much right as anybody.
Why not take that treasure then, and go away to some part of the world
where you are not known, and there begin life afresh?"
"Ah!" said Ricardo, "I have asked myself that question more than once
without obtaining a satisfactory answer to it. I should like to do so,
were it possible, for I am very heartily sick of the life that I am now
leading. There was a time when, soured and embittered by as cruel a
wrong as man could inflict upon his fellow man, I believed that I could
find consolation, if not actual happiness, in the wreaking of my
vengeance upon every Englishman whom I could get into my power, or whose
wealth I could take from him by force; but that time has long passed,
the revenge which I believed would be so sweet has turned to dust and
ashes in my mouth, and now I am so weary of life that the bullet or
steel that should rid me of it would be more welcome than any other
earthly thing. When it is too late, I have begun to realise the full
depth of my villainy, and to see what a contemptibly cowardly creature I
have been in permitting myself to seek such an ignoble method of revenge
as piracy. But, as I said, it is now too late, yes, too late--"
"Surely not," I broke in. "Have you forgotten the homely old adage that
`It's never too late to mend'? What you have done can never be undone,
it is true, but it can be repented of, and reparation can be made, if
not directly to the persons injured, yet by doing good to others where
you have the opportunity. Will you not think the matter over again, and
this time with the determination to arrive at a right decision?"
"I will think it over, certainly," he said. "As to arriving at `a right
decision', that is as may be. If I can see my way to such a decision it
may be that I shall take it. I will consider the matter while I am at
sea, and I promise you that no wrong shall be done during the progress
of this cruise if I can possibly help it, and I think I can. For I
always make a point of confining the navigation of the ship strictly to
myself; nobody aboard ever knows where we are until I choose to tell
them, and it will therefore be easy for me to take the brig to some spot
where there is little or no chance of our falling in with other craft.
Then, perhaps, if we can cruise for a month or six weeks without taking
a prize, the men may be content to accept their share of the booty, and
disband, especially as I should tell them that they may divide my own
share between them. And now, good-bye, with many thanks for your
sympathy!"