"Your property must be recovered. My son must take the consequences of his acts. I know what it means, sir—the gibbet and chains—for thus they serve the pirate," exclaimed the poor old Admiral, grim and desperate.
"God forbid!" exclaimed Captain Acton, whose spirits, it could be seen, were suddenly and violently disordered by the Admiral's speech. "They hang no pirate without a prosecution. Who is to prosecute? Admiral Lawrence's old friend, Captain Acton? No, sir, by the holy name of that good God who has restored my child to me, not I!"
"Oh, Acton, Acton, you overwhelm me!" murmured the Admiral, turning his head away to sea, and speaking with a voice that trembled with the tears of a man's heart.
"What I meant was," said Captain Acton, tenderly pressing his friend's arm, "if your son returns to England he may be arrested for debt, in which case his actions of abduction and piracy may be brought to light, and if I was not compelled to prosecute, I should be held guilty of conniving at a crime. All this must be avoided, and can be avoided."
"It can be avoided, and still your property may be preserved to you," exclaimed the Admiral. "My unhappy son will throw him self upon your mercy——"
"It shall be extended sir, it shall be extended," broke in Captain Acton.
"And we can land him privately," continued the Admiral, "at an English port, where habited in the clothes of a common sailor he will seek a berth before the mast, and sail away—to be heard of no more."
Here this fine old seaman fairly broke down, and stepping to the bulwarks, hid his face in his hands, whilst convulsion after convulsion seemed to rend his sturdy figure.
Captain Acton waited until this unconquerable fit of grief should have abated. He then went to his friend's side, and, passing his arm round his neck, said: "My dear old friend, keep up your heart! We will pursue the Minorca and regain her if possible, and depend upon it, your son shall be made to suffer as little as can be helped. Meanwhile, let us wait until we hear Lucy's story."