Jim told him, not without a certain curious sinking sensation about his heart.
“So young as that? Dear me, dear me! it certainly does seem a pity, but it cannot be helped,” said the captain. “Your name does not sound like a Chilian one, however. Of what nationality are you, if I may ask?”
“I am an Englishman,” replied Jim, “and proud of the fact,” he immediately added.
Villavicencio appeared to be sunk in thought for a few seconds, during which he ejaculated “Caramba!” and “Carrajo!” several times. The last item of information seemed to be both unexpected and unpleasant. Presently, however, he muttered to himself, “Well, I don’t suppose it matters very much. People are liable to accidents here as well as elsewhere, and if inquiries should be made I can easily plead ignorance. Only, I shall have to alter the method of it. My first idea might possibly attract too much attention. However—I shall see.” Aloud, he went on, “Have you any relations in this part of the world, Señor Douglas?”
Inconsequent as the question appeared to be, Jim felt an uncanny, creepy sensation about the roots of his hair, but his voice did not shake as he replied, “No, I have no relations either in Chili or in any other part of the world. I am absolutely alone.”
Villavicencio’s face at once brightened, and he rubbed his hands, remarking, “Ah! then so much the better, Señor Douglas, for in that case they will not miss you.” Then his whole appearance changed, and his voice dropped to a harsh, hissing note as he resumed, “It is a great pity, though, that you are an Englishman, and so well known in the Chilian navy, for that fact prevents me from dealing as I had intended with the miscreant who destroyed two of our ships and seriously damaged a third. But though I cannot punish you as I should have liked, I can and will have you shot, and that immediately, on the deck of my ship, the Union, the vessel which, you so pleasantly remarked just now, ran away from your cruiser and her consort in the Straits.”
“But,” exclaimed Douglas, in astonishment, “I am a prisoner of war, and I demand to be treated as such. I have done nothing but my duty, nothing to merit death at your hands; and even if I had, I have yet to learn that one man only, even though he be the captain of a corvette, can sit in judgment upon a prisoner and sentence him to death. I am at least entitled to a proper court-martial, if I am to be tried for my life.”
Villavicencio laughed. “What you say, my dear young man, is no doubt technically correct; but here might is right, and I will deal with you as I please, as you shall very soon see. Sentry!” he called, suddenly raising his voice and smiling evilly into Jim’s face.
For a brief moment Douglas was on the point of leaping across the table and endeavouring to strangle the Peruvian where he sat, and neither the man’s sword at his side nor his huge proportions would have intimidated him, but there was that curious look in Villavicencio’s eyes which seemed to hypnotise and chain poor Jim to the spot on which he stood. The next second the sentry entered, and it was too late to think about resistance.
“Sentry,” said the skipper, “take the prisoner back to his cell, and see that he does not attempt to escape on the way; he looks desperate. When you have locked him up in safety, send Lieutenant Rodriguez to me at once.”