Of such who were picked up at last, there were only three--one, a young man, who swam towards the Mignonne's boats with all the vigour of despair; the others being two middle-aged men. As for the privateer herself, she was gone for ever, leaving behind her no traces except a flag tossed on the water, some floating barrels, and a few coops full of drowned fowls.
"Bring brandy," cried Sir Geoffrey, as these men were carried over the side of the Mignonne, more dead than alive, and with one alone, the sturdy swimmer, still conscious. "Bring brandy, and pour it down their throats. They must not die. They can tell much, and tell they shall."
Then, to his astonishment, the mam who had swam so stoutly--the youngest of the three--opened his eyes and looked up at him, saying in English--
"What is it you would have us tell?"
"First," said Sir Geoffrey, "what was the name of that privateer? Next, how you, an Englishman; came in her? You, an Englishman, in a French ship at such a time! Man, do you know what may be your fate?"
"The privateer was La Baleine, of Dunkirk. As for myself and scores of others, we were not there willingly. We were bound for the colonies, and taken out of a schooner called the Amarynth some months ago, and kept----"
"The Amarynth," said a voice--deep and low as ever--in Sir Geoffrey's ear, "was the right name of the Nederland."
"Great heaven!" said Sir Geoffrey, turning round suddenly on Granger, and himself speaking in a whisper now, so that the officers and men who were about should not hear him. "Great heaven! The Nederland! The ship that carried that scoundrel who, had he had his will, would have placed Ariadne and Anne in her."
"Ay," replied Granger, "if he had had his will. He who would have kidnapped them and me."
"Speak," said Sir Geoffrey now, "speak and tell all. How has this thing happened?"