‘Not a bad conception, I admit,’ said Ernest, ‘though, doubtless, violently untrue to nature. In all ages poets and romance writers, who are humbugs to a man, have laboured to unite personal beauty and winning gentleness of manner with the capacity for remorseless crime. I think, perhaps, that the young Spaniard in Tom Cringle’s Log is as good a specimen of the thoroughbred upstanding pirate as any of those gentry whose acquaintance I have made, like you, in print.’
‘I saw eight-and-thirty of the ruffians strung up in one day, at a Spanish West Indian port, once,’ said Paul. ‘They said their prayers, kissed their crucifixes, and died in the coolest and most edifying way.’
‘And were they very bad men, papa?’
‘Awful scoundrels,’ said her father, with a certain relish, as he recalled the reminiscence. ‘We only escaped them by a miracle; so I felt no compunction in seeing them elevated.’
‘And what became of the ship they did capture?’ inquired Antonia.
‘They took everything of value from the vessel, including a few prisoners they meant to ransom, and then scuttled her, leaving the crew and passengers to perish.’
‘How fiendish! and they were nearly catching my darling old father,’ exclaimed the girl. ‘I must reconsider the question of pirates. But were they all as bad as that, papa?’
‘Worse, if possible,’ said Mr. Frankston uncompromisingly. ‘They knew that there was a rope ready for each man’s neck when he was caught, and this knowledge did not incline them to mercy, you may be sure. Chinamen are perhaps as dangerous rascals, in that line, as you can meet. They are no great sailors; but if you get becalmed in their waters, and a few crowded prahus come round you, your chance is a bad one.’
‘And will they fight?’ inquired Ernest. ‘I thought one jack-tar was worth a dozen of them.’
‘So they are in one way—in a fair fight, or in a case of boarding, or in bad weather. But these vagabonds are very careless of life. They never give quarter and don’t care much about taking it, not being used to it, so you may imagine how they fight. I have seen a fellow fairly cut to pieces before he left off fighting, and I really believed—I was a boy then—that the kriss moved in his clenched hand after the arm was cut off.’