CHAPTER VII
AN OLD SALT
“Among the pirates, Capt. Grandiere? Roland Bayard among the pirates?” exclaimed Mr. Force, while Mrs. Force closed her lips with a sudden motion and grew a shade paler. Rosemary began to tremble, and the other young girls to look anxious.
“Come aft! Let us find seats somewhere where we will not be spied or overhauled, and I will tell you all about it,” said the old skipper, moving down toward the stern, where the deck was almost deserted by the other passengers, who were all gathered forward, leaning over the bulwarks and taking a last look at the receding shores of England.
They found seats on the wooden benches, and sat down.
The old skipper took off his cap and wiped his large, red face and close-cropped gray head, and then said:
“I didn’t expect to see you here. I should as soon have thought of seeing Oldfield farmhouse standing up before me, right in my path, as a group of old neighbors, with my little niece in the midst of them. Heavens and earth—how a civil war shakes people up! I dare say, now, you all left on account of the war.”
“No,” said Mr. Force, “we left before the war to visit my brother-in-law here, and to give our young people some advantage in foreign travel. My own ill health has detained us abroad for more than two years. We return now on account of the war.”
“Good Lord! Abel Force, you are not thinking of going into the army in your crippled condition!”
“No, not exactly. But we can all be useful in the hospitals—even my wife and daughters—in caring for the sick and wounded soldiers, and for the widows and orphans of the dead, so far as our strength and means will go.”
“Ah! that is something else! When did you hear from the folks at home? I have not heard from them for years.”