“I did tell you! He is among the pirates.”
“But in what capacity? Is he a prisoner or a volunteer?” persisted the girl.
“Oh! oh, Wynnette! Roland Bayard could never be a volunteer among the pirates. He would suffer himself to be killed first! Yes—to be tortured to death first! Yes—yes—to be slowly tortured to death first! Oh, Roland! Roland!” wailed Rosemary, too deeply distressed for her childhood’s friend to conceal her emotions.
Capt. Grandiere, touched by the trouble on the quaint little face, pulled himself together, patted her head, and said:
“Don’t cry, little girl! Roland is not a volunteer in the pirate crew. I never believed that for one minute, though Silver, the head devil, told me so. No, my child, he is a prisoner among the pirates—I am sure of that.”
“Oh, then that is some comfort! I would rather they should keep him a prisoner, or even kill him, than make him wicked! Indeed, I would, Uncle Gideon. But how comes he to be among the pirates and you here? He a captive, and you free? Tell me that, Uncle Gideon,” said the little creature, with a shade of reproach in her troubled tones.
And while Rosemary waited in suspense for the answer there was another who listened anxiously to catch its every word. This was Elfrida Force.
CHAPTER VIII
THE LOSS OF THE “KITTY”
“I will tell you, my girl, though I hate to talk of it. About a month ago I sailed from Havana, bound to London, with a cargo of rum, tobacco and sweetmeats. The weather was fine, and we had a good voyage until we came within four or five days’ sail of port. A sail had been following us all day long. We did not know she was following us, nor could we make out by our best glass what she was. She was the only sail in sight. As night closed in she gained on us. That was certain. But still we could not make her out. She did not come near enough for that, for the Kitty is a pretty fast clipper herself. As night darkened we lost sight of the strange sail, without any misgivings. But in the gray of the morning she was alongside of us! Hold on! The devil is getting into me again!” exclaimed the old sea dog, snatching Mr. Force’s hat from his head and flinging it with vehemence upon the deck.
“The fortunes of war, captain—the fortunes of war! Be patient!” said Abel Force.