"Faith, and begorra, I think that he was layin' of a snare for us, Captain," answered my captor, a middle-aged Irishman.
"Another!" The Admiral craned his short neck forward. "And where did you come from, sir?"
"You must have seen my boat as you landed. It was on the beach a quarter of a mile below the cove."
"How did you get here? Been paying a visit to Christophe, perhaps, or have been trying to discover our——"
"I am a shipwrecked sailor, sir," I answered. "My companions perished——"
"Ah! Was yours the ship we fired? By George! it was a jolly blow up, though not as successful as I could wish." The Admiral chuckled and shook with glee. "Of what nation are you?" said he, as he turned suddenly on me.
"I am an American, Admiral," said I, not, I confess, without some slight tremors.
He squeezed his eyes together and scrutinized me searchingly.
"And how, pray you, do you know my title so well?"
I pulled myself together.