This language came the more readily from the young officer, inasmuch as he felt a prejudice in favor of the captain.
Free, frank, generous, and noble, as those of the order to which he belonged generally are, he could not but feel a certain interest in his prisoner, and he began to speculate on the extraordinary circumstance that a man, such as he seemed to be, should have found himself in a position of so equivocal a nature, as the one in which he was then placed. It appeared strange to him that one who seemed well educated, and who at the same time possessed such gracefulness of demeanour, and elegance of expression, could have freely chosen to herd with the wretched outcasts that usually crown their other numerous crimes with the horrible outrages of piracy: and should thus expose himself, not only to the danger of the horrid death with which such a crime was punished, but to run the risk of entailing upon himself the ignominy which the world, with one accord, unanimously casts upon the pirate. He justly imagined, that to drive an individual, such as he seemed to be, to such a life, there required very great causes, or, at any rate, unusual ones, which may have acted in a more than ordinary manner on a naturally too sensitive mind; and as great afflictions always call forth sympathy from the generous, the imagined misfortunes of the prisoner turned, in an instant, the heart of the officer in his favor. This was the impulsive judgment of the young man.
The noble and fresh-hearted, young officer, that feared not the prejudiced frown of any man, could afford, independently, to take the man as he found him.
“You will go with me,” said he to the captain, “I trust you will see the absolute uselessness of any attempt to escape,” and he significantly pointed to his men. “I shall not put you under restraint if you promise to walk with us.”
“If you will take the word of a pirate,” said the captain, bowing, “I promise to accompany you. If otherwise, I am willing to allow myself to be put under any constraint that you may think proper. I trust, however, that I am incapable of showing myself insensible to the indulgence of any gentleman, and least of all, to a British officer.”
“That is sufficient,” quickly replied the officer.
The party now left the room, and soon reached the boat that was waiting at the beach. They embarked: and, in a short time, arrived alongside the huge man of war, whose sides looked gloomy with the frowning guns as they peeped through the port-holes. As soon as the party gained the deck, the captain was immediately conducted before the commander of the vessel.
He was one of those venerable looking old gentlemen, who are now and then to be casually seen in the walks—of the world, and who when once seen, forcibly draw from us respect and honor,—with locks whose colour had long been worn away by the wind and washed away by the brine, and with one of those faces which tell by their rosey hue and frank openness, in the evening of existence, of a life so spent in duty and honour that not one single repentant wrinkle dared ruffle the brow where loyalty and truth had always sat. He was sitting in an elegant state cabin when the officer brought the prisoner before him. He raised his eyes from off the book which he was then reading, and began to examine him. He said nothing, but could not conceal the surprise which he seemed to feel at the appearance of the individual whom he was examining.
“You seem young to be engaged in such a lawless pursuit, prisoner,” he said after a minute or two.
The captain bowed haughtily.