The young midshipman had no sooner laid his foot on the deck of the disguised schooner, before he was strongly grasped by the powerful arm of a man who had been carefully concealed behind the false bulwarks of the skeleton barque, while the voice of Jim Splice—it was the man—whispered in his ear,—
“Don’t resist, young countryman, all right.”
But as soon as the first impulse of the young officer had passed away, and he discovered that he was left on board a vessel which presented an unmistakable appearance of being engaged in some forbidden trade, and when he saw before him numbers of fierce-looking, armed men, he struggled for a moment, and succeeded in drawing his sword. But Lorenzo, the formerly solitary man on the deck of the distressed vessel, calmly stepped up to him, and said,—
“Young gentleman, be not alarmed, no violence will be done to you: sheath your sword,” and casting his eyes around on the men, continued, “you see, it will not be of much service to you against such odds.”
“Who are you?” peevishly inquired the young officer, “what do you intend to do with me?”
“I shall soon tell you,” replied Lorenzo, “if you will be good enough to accompany me to my cabin.”
“What cabin? and what to do? You may cut my throat here,” said the midshipman, angrily.
“Perhaps you would not be so unreasonable,” remarked Lorenzo, softly, “if you were to hear the little that I have to inquire of you: pray, come with me.”
“I shall not go with you,” angrily rejoined the midshipman, “I am in the hands of pirates, I know. You may murder me, where I am, but I shall not go down with you to any cabin.”
“Then stay where you are,” coolly answered Lorenzo, and he walked away to the after part of the schooner, and ordered Jim Splice to let go the young man.