I must acknowledge that I felt very much like going into the lion’s den, when the next morning, on his ringing the cabin bell, I presented myself to the captain; but so far from being in an ill-humour, he was very kind to me.
After breakfast, as I was going out, he said to me, “You must have a name: I shall call you Cato—recollect that; and now I have a question to ask you—What is that which you carry round your neck on a ribbon?”
“A letter, sir,” replied I.
“A letter! and why do you carry a letter?”
“Because it is of the greatest importance to me.”
“Indeed! Now, Cato, sit down on the other sofa, and let me know your history.”
I felt that I could not do better than to make this man at once my confidant. He might take a strong interest in me, and it was not likely to go farther. I therefore told him everything connected with my birth and parentage, what my suspicions had been, and how the letter had confirmed them. I unsewed the seal-skin, and gave him the letter to read—without being aware that he could read: he took it and read it aloud.
“Yes,” said he, “that’s proof under his own hand; and now, Cato, never be afraid of me, for, however I may wreak my vengeance upon others, I swear by my colour that I never will hurt you, or permit others to do so. I am a tiger—I know it; but you have often seen a little spaniel caressed by the tiger, whose fangs are turned against every other living thing. You are quite safe.”
“I feel I am, since you say so,” replied I; “and since I am to be your pet, I shall take liberties, and ask you, in return, to tell me your history.”
“I am glad that you have asked it, as I wish you to know it. I will begin at once—