“Get out, you sentimental dog!” said the other. “It’s treason to remind a pirate of his mother. Good God, I never dare to think of mine.”
“Is she living?” said Brusque.
“Is she living? How dare you speak to me of my mother? Is she living? Good God, I know too well that she is living. Tell me, Tom, and tell me truly!—suppose your mother was in that ship, what would you do? Nay, more,—suppose your sister were there, pure as an angel from heaven, and as beautiful too? Yes, and suppose your aged father, bowed with toil and care and sorrow, and gray with years, were also in that ship? And suppose you were the pirate that had aided in their capture? What would you do?”
“Tell me, in the name of Heaven, tell me your name!” said Brusque, in great agitation.
“You know my name is François——” The man hesitated.
“Yes, indeed, I do know your name; you are François Bonfils. You are the brother of Emilie—and here before you is Philip Brusque!”
The pirate started at this, and drawing a pistol from his belt, stood in an attitude of defiance. At the same time he said, “Am I betrayed? What means this? Are you not Tom Garson, of our ship?” Brusque hastened to explain, and in few words told his story to François. It was a scene of mutual agitation and explanation. Each had many questions to ask, but these were deferred that they might consider what was to be done. For the sake of conversing freely, they retired to Brusque’s cave, where they both agreed to attempt the rescue of the people on board the ship. Piquet soon arrived, and he joined heartily in the enterprise. Several plans were discussed, but none seemed feasible. At length, François spoke as follows:
“I am afraid that we are too sanguine. There are two hundred men belonging to the pirate. They are desperate freebooters, and armed to the teeth. Like all rogues, they are suspicious and watchful. We cannot hope to surprise or deceive them. The captured vessel is a trading ship, from St. Domingo. She is filled with people that have fled from an insurrection of the negroes there. There are about thirty females, several children, and thirty or forty men. They are guarded by ten of our marines, and are kept under the hatches. We must convey instructions to them to be on the lookout for relief, that they may exert themselves if any opportunity should offer. We must blow up the pirate ship, and I will do it, and share the fate of the rest, if need be.”
“Nay,” said Brusque, “this is a mad and desperate scheme. Let us think of something more feasible.”
“It is time,” said François, “for me to return to the captain. I shall be missed and suspected. I will take care to be in the watch of the merchant ship to-morrow night. You, Brusque, are a good swimmer. The vessel is not more than two miles out. You must come at twelve o’clock, and I will see that a rope is over the stem. You must climb up, and enter the dead-lights, which shall be prepared. You must then wait till Heaven send you some opportunity for exertion. Mention me not to my parents or Emilie, if I perish. It will be better for them to mourn over an uncertainty, than the memory of a pirate son or brother. Farewell!” Saying this, and wringing Brusque’s hand convulsively, the pirate departed.