“You forget, sir,” meekly remarked his son, “that when I knew Appadocca he was not a pirate.”
“Well, well, that will do, let the man be brought before me.”
In a short time Appadocca, under the charge of two marines, was led into the presence of the commander.
Imprisonment and anxiety, if he was still capable of of feeling the latter, seemed to have had no effect upon him. His calmness, his cynicism was the same. Solitude, which to other men is at best but dreary, and is ordinarily but the provocative of reflections which may, perhaps, be embittered by the events and scenes which they recall—solitude which, to Appadocca in particular, one might suppose could have been only an encouragement to musings, which were likely to be attended if not with sorrow, at least with but little happiness, appeared to have had no effect on him. He seemed, if we can use the expression, but to enjoy his own misanthropic seclusion, and as for the circumstance that he was a prisoner, that made no change in him. He looked upon every position with the eye of fatalism, ay, and of that fatalism which does not arise from the obligation of any religious creed, but which is the tasteless fruit of a long series of disappointments and calamities—the fatalism of despondent resignation.
Such a feeling has influenced more than one mortal in his earthly career. Full many a warrior, whose praises are now chimed through an admiring world, has gone forth to achieve wonders, to conquer, and to be great, with such a sentiment rooted in his heart. Full many a conqueror has let loose the eaglet of his ambition, without seeing the rock or prominence on which the still young and strengthless master of the far skies could rest, save, indeed, the shadowy foot-hold that hope could fancy to discover in the sombre workings of inscrutable fate.
Such was the feeling of Emmanuel Appadocca, the pirate captain: such was the strengthening thought which buoyed and supported him in the unnatural career into which cruelty and unkindness had drawn him, and that idea imparted to him equanimity under all adversities, courage and valour in the fight, unscrupulousness in according judgment, boldness in working retribution, and stoicism in imprisonment.
“Tell me, sir,” said the commander, endeavouring to resume as much of his native dignity as his heated blood would permit him; “tell me, sir, in what bay those lawless men—the pirates who follow you—hide themselves, and where I can surprise them. I expect the truth from you, sir, although you may denounce your associates by speaking it.”
The lips of Appadocca curled a little.