“That is easily done, señor,” answered the lad. “In the first place, the brigantine is named the Francesca after my mother; she hails from Havana; and is commanded by my father, Don Fernando de Mendouca; and you were brought here by him, when he found you lying apparently dead upon the deck of the Requin after your people had been driven off and compelled to beat a retreat.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Driven off? Compelled to retreat?”
“Certainly, señor,” the lad answered proudly. “You surely did not seriously expect to capture all four of us with that paltry schooner of yours, and so small a force as you brought against us, did you?”
“Well,” I admitted, “I must confess that when I saw what we had to contend with, I had my doubts as to the issue. But then, you see, I was not the captain.”
“Your captain must have been mad to have attacked us in broad daylight, as he did. And, indeed, he seemed to be mad by the desperation with which he fought. I never saw anything like it in my life.”
“You?” I exclaimed again. “Do you mean to say that you took part in the fight?”
“Certainly, señor; why not?” demanded Pedro haughtily. “True, I am very young; but I am strong. And I am bigger than the little officer who was fighting near you when the French sailor struck you down with the handspike.”
“Yes; that is very true,” I agreed, knowing, from the lad’s description, that he was referring to Freddy Pierrepoint. “So you were in the fight, and saw our captain, eh, Pedro? Can you tell me what became of him?”
“He was shot—by one of our men, I believe; and I think he was killed, but am not quite sure. He was carried back into his own schooner by two of his men; and after the fight had lasted about two minutes longer a very handsome, light-haired officer appeared to take the command, and seemed to order a retreat; for your men steadily retired to their own vessel, and, fighting to the very last, cast her adrift, set the sails, and retired, hotly pursued by the Requin.”
“Phew!” exclaimed I; “we seem to have made rather a mess of it this time. Poor Ryan! I am sorry for him; very sorry indeed. You are right, Pedro, our captain was mad; the poor fellow was badly wounded in the head not long ago, and he had by no means recovered from his injuries. And now he is wounded again, if not killed outright. I am very sorry for him. And now, Pedro, can you tell me how your father proposes to dispose of me?”