“Oh, well! and it is in your power to inform the captain of this frigate, and probably he will treat me in the same way.”
“No, indeed! Englishmen never treat their prisoners as you treated me,” answered O’Carroll; “Monsieur knows that well enough. I did not come here to insult you; I did not come to triumph over you. You had inspired me with a horror I could not get over. I came here to be cured. I am so, thoroughly. You have done much injury to the commerce of my country, and the only ill I wish you is that you may be kept a close prisoner till the termination of the war, and never again be able to do an injury to Englishmen.”
La Roche shrugged his shoulders at this address, and smiled. “Well, you Irishmen are indeed curious. I should have thought that you would have liked to see me hung up to the yard-arm,” he observed, in the same cool tone as before. “However, your moderate wishes may be gratified, or I may make my escape; and if I do, and ever capture you again, I promise you that I will remember your moderation, and treat you to the best of everything I have on board.”
We soon after this brought our interview with the famous privateer captain to an end, and O’Carroll assured me that all his unpleasant monomaniacal feelings with regard to him had been, as he hoped, completely dissipated. As we were about to leave the ship Captain Young politely invited us to remain and dine with him. He showed much interest in O’Carroll’s account of his misfortunes, and finally arranged that he should take the command of one of the vessels in the harbour to convey the emigrants to New South Wales. I, of course, received no direct communication from Captain Hassall, but from the information Captain Young gave me I had great hopes that the Barbara, instead of sailing immediately for the east, had gone to the coast of Madagascar, in which direction the Phoebe herself was bound. Captain Young offered me a passage should I wish to rejoin my ship. The Indiaman being refitted for sea by the united exertions of all the crews, we all sailed out of the harbour in succession, the Phoebe leading. The Mignonne, with her prize crew and some of the prisoners on board, was bound for the Mauritius, to give information of the capture of the island; the emigrant ship was bound for New South Wales, the Indiaman for Calcutta, we for Madagascar. I went on board the Argo, the ship commanded by O’Carroll. I found him well satisfied with his change of circumstances. There was only one thing about which he was concerned. La Roche, though still a captive, was alive, and might soon regain his liberty.
“If he does I’m sure that he will cause me trouble again,” he observed. “I don’t know what causes it, but I even now cannot think of the venomous little man without a feeling of dread—a creeping sensation, Braithwaite. Do you know what it is?”
“Not exactly,” said I. “But the remedy I suggest is not to think of him. Whenever his image appears banish him with a kick. Or, let me be serious, O’Carroll. Is it not our own fault if we go on living in fear of death all our life long! Put your trust in God, and fear not what man can do to you.”
“You are right! you are right!” exclaimed O’Carroll, warmly; “it is just the want of doing that has made me—no coward, as you know—constantly tremble at unseen dangers. Henceforward I will try to follow your advice.”
“Do,” said I; “and depend on it your dread of the little Frenchman will completely and for ever vanish.”
I parted from O’Carroll—as honest a man as ever broke a biscuit—with the sincere hope that we should meet again. The crews of our respective ships gave three hearty cheers as we separated on our respective courses. We accompanied the Mignonne for some distance towards the Mauritius, when several sails were reported in sight from the mast-head.
“I hope that they are enemies!” I heard Trundle thoughtlessly exclaim. “Glorious fun to have a fight. We, too, should soon give a good account of them.”