“It isn’t nonsense,” said Vince. “That man will do anything sooner than have it known where his hiding-place is; and he won’t kill us—he dares not on account of his men; but he’ll get us out of the way so that we shan’t be able to tell.”
“Oh, I won’t believe it!” cried Mike angrily. “Such a thing couldn’t be done.”
“But it has been done over and over again,” said Vince: “I’ve read of it. They used to sell men and boys to sea-captains to take out to the plantations; and once they were there, they had no chance given them of getting back for years and years.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Mike sharply. “It might have been in the past, but it couldn’t be done now.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to think,” said Vince sadly; “but this wouldn’t be done in England. This is a Frenchman, and the French have colonies abroad, the same as we have. How do we know where he’ll take us?” Mike started at this, and looked more disturbed. “I say,” he said at last, “you don’t really think that, do you, Vince?”
“I wish I didn’t,” replied the boy sadly; “but it’s what has seemed to come to me, since we’ve been on board here. I don’t know where this man comes from, but he’s a regular smuggler, and there’s no knowing where he’ll take us.”
“But my father—your father—you don’t suppose they’ll stand still and let us be taken off without trying to stop it. Father’s just like a magistrate in the island.”
“Of course they wouldn’t stand still and allow it to be done; but how will they know?”
Mike was silent, and his face now began to look haggard as he stared at his companion.
“Whoever knew that this Captain Jacques had a place in the island where he stored rich cargoes of foreign things? Why, he may have been doing it for years, and your father, though he is like a magistrate, hasn’t known anything about it.”