“But we are armed,” replied Hughes, “and are double yonder schooner’s tonnage.”
“I know nothing of her armament; no one does,” replied the seaman. “The vessels she has boarded, whose crews could tell, have, I repeat, mysteriously disappeared from the face of the ocean. The captain of the ‘Dawn’ told that when off the island of Mayotte, away to the northward here, a brig was in his company. The two sailed about equally. One night pistol shots were heard, and when morning broke there was no brig, but where she should have been a low, rakish-looking schooner was seen.”
“But what had become of the other?” asked Hughes.
“The pirate had carried her, taken all that she wanted, and scuttled her, making the hull serve as a coffin for her crew.”
“And this you think is the fate the wretches in yonder craft reserve for us?”
“No, I think that they are quite aware of the value of my cargo, which consists of ivory, gold dust, and ostrich feathers. If they can get the brig, they will doubtless fit her out as a sister scourge of the ocean, selling her cargo.”
“And the crew?” asked Hughes.
“Will walk the plank one and all. For the lady, such a fate would be too great a mercy.”
The captain’s weather-beaten countenance looked pale and anxious; Hughes covered his face with his hands, and his strong frame shook as he thought of Isabel at that very moment quietly sleeping below. The missionary was explaining the situation to the Portuguese.
“And now, gentlemen, your advice. But this I must premise. Yonder piratical curs shall never have the brig. I have, several kegs of powder aboard for trading purposes, and so sure as my name is Andrew Weber, I blow her to pieces rather than she turns pirate.”