‘But, Captain, how is it that we see you here, or indeed anywhere else, in the flesh? We heard that——’
‘Yes, I know—been dead nearly three years. Knocked on the head and thrown overboard by a rascally cook’s mate. Dead, of course. Blue shark’s meat, and so on.’
‘That part is true, then?’
‘Yes, I was stunned and thrown overboard by that scoundrel and the boatswain together. But I was not drowned—far from it. The water brought me to, and I struck out for an island that I knew in that latitude; and, fortunately, before I got near enough to the reef for the sharks to sample me, I was picked up by a canoe, with natives, crossing from one island to another.
‘They took me to their village, where I lived for six months. Reported dead, of course. So I concluded to stay dead. It’s not a bad thing, now and then. I was taken off by a whaler, and landed at Valparaiso to begin life afresh as Captain Bucklaw, and got a new ship when this Russo-Jap War broke out; and now stand a chance of dying an Admiral of the Japanese Fleet. But say—isn’t that my passenger of the Leonora from Molokai to Ponapé and ports? Don Carlos Alvarez? Suppose we fire a gun across his bows, and bring him to? Who’s the handsome woman he’s talking to?’
‘His wife—the celebrated Nurse Lilburne, of [295] ]Pilot Mount, Kalgoorlie, West Australia, who saved more lives in the typhoid fever epidemic than all the doctors on the field.’
‘Is that so? Then I’m proud of having been the means of bringing her best patient back to her. Hope he’ll stay put. The buccaneer has more than one good deed to his account; maybe the recording angel won’t forget to post that one up!’
‘Oh, Captain, is that you? We heard you were dead—how grieved Alister and I were after parting with you.’
‘I was reported missing for six months, señora!’ said he, with a low bow, and the fascinating smile, half melancholy, half remorseful, which had proved so irresistible in his path through life. ‘It is nearly the same thing—sometimes worse indeed—meaning slavery, tortures, indignities; but occasionally, though rarely, one escapes, through the mediation of his Patron Saint, let us say, and has once more the honour to salute his friends—and passengers!’
By this time Mrs. Banneret had moved closer to the romantic personage, to whom she was made known in due form; and the younger members of the family having come up, lured by the report that the tall stranger was a pirate of the Spanish main—or some such dark and terrible adventurer analogous to fascinating outlawry, they were presented severally, but kept gazing as if spellbound, congratulating themselves upon having seen—even if it were for but once in their lives—a real-life accredited delightful pirate!