“I have already told you, Master Salkeld. Somewhere in the West Indies.”
“But you do not mean to carry me to the West Indies?” I cried. “Why, ’tis a journey of many thousands of miles!”
“Precisely. Nevertheless, you must undertake it. We touch no land until we make Barbadoes or Martinique.”
I said no more; it was useless. I was in the man’s power. Nothing that I could say or do would alter his purpose. There had been villainy and treachery—and my cousin, Jasper Stapleton, had worked it. I comprehended everything at that moment. I had been lured on board the Spanish vessel and subsequently drugged, in order that Jasper might rid himself of my presence. That was plainly to be seen. But what of the future? The West Indies, I knew, were thousands of miles away. They were in the hands of our hereditary enemies, the Spaniards. From them I should receive scant mercy or consideration. I was penniless—for my money had disappeared—and even if I had possessed money, what would it have benefited me in a savage land like that to which I was being carried? I might wait there many a long year without meeting with an English ship. I turned to the Spaniard.
“So I am a prisoner, Senor,—your prisoner?”
“My ship and my goods are at your disposal, Senor,” he replied.
“So long as I do not make any demands upon them, eh?”
“Say unreasonable demands, Master Salkeld. As a matter of fact you are free to walk or stand, sit or lie, wake or sleep as you please. I entertain you as I best can until we touch land—and then you go your own way. You have made a contract with me, you have paid your money, and now I have nothing to do but carry out my share of the bargain.”
“And that is——?”
“To take you to the West Indies.”