“Air, air!” she murmured out, “Oh, my father! see to him.”
The old man had sunk on the deck of the cabin. The priest stooped down to raise him up, while Ronald helped to knock off the skylight, and then went to the assistance of the young lady. The stream of fresh air which came from above helped to restore both daughter and father. They were then got upon deck, and the pure atmosphere, with a sight of the British flag, and their late masters bound hand and foot, soon completely restored them. The old gentleman was a fine looking Don of the ancient regime; the daughter, a perfect Spanish beauty, with raven hair and flashing eyes, and dark clear complexion. The old Don was profuse in his expressions of gratitude towards those who had rescued him from the hands of the pirates. He and his daughter, with his father confessor, the priest now present, had been travelling in France, when they heard that Spain was about to throw off the yoke of Bonaparte; and fearing that they should be detained, they got on board a small vessel to return to their own country. On their passage they had been attacked and captured by the felucca.
“That we have escaped with our lives is a mercy, when we reflect what atrocious villains are those into whose hands we fell, and from whom you have so nobly rescued us. That captain—the sooner you hang him at your yard-arm the better. He cumbers the earth. It is a disgrace to humanity to allow him to live.”
“We do not execute people in England without a trial; if the captain of the felucca is found guilty, he will probably be hung,” answered Morton, to whom this remark was made in French, a language the old Don spoke very well. Ronald did not altogether like his manner, or the expression of his countenance.
The sweeps of the felucca had been got out, and the boats had also taken her in tow, and she was now rapidly approaching the frigate.
During the time, Morton endeavoured to ascertain what he could about his new companions. Thinking that he might very possibly gain the information he wished for most easily from the priest, he took the opportunity of addressing him when out of hearing of the rest.
“You and your friends must have suffered much while in the power of those ruffians,” he remarked. “That old gentleman has not yet recovered; he seems from his manner to be a man of rank.”
“Yes; he is one of the old grandees of Spain,” answered the priest.
“May I ask his name? for I wish to address him properly,” said Ronald.
“Certainly,” returned the priest. “He is known as the Marquis de Medea.”