“Yes, I will confess to you, my friends,” he added, addressing them: “I am not a Frenchman by birth, but a Spaniard—Pedro Alvarez by name, as Father Mendez called me. With your wife’s family, as I told you, Colonel Armytage, I am well acquainted. For many months I have resided in Shetland.”
The marquis started, and cast an inquiring look at the captain’s countenance.
“Circumstances occurred there of which Father Mendez is cognisant. We will speak of them by-and-by. My ship was wrecked, and my captain and all his crew perished. I was the only officer saved. On my return to Spain I was accused of heresy, and an officer of the Inquisition was sent to apprehend me. Perhaps the Marquis de Medea may know something about that. In self-defence I was compelled to slay the alguizal. I knew that the vengeance of the Inquisitors would follow me, and I escaped on board a ship-of-war which I had been appointed to command. I at length left her, and so managed that my officers believed me to be dead, and on their return home reported accordingly that such was the case. I wandered about in many parts of the world till the French Republic was established, and then I entered the naval service of France, and for convenience’ sake changed my name. For long I continued in it and served France faithfully, but an event occurred which compelled me for a time to quit it. I went to India, and for several years I remained in the eastern seas in command of a privateer, and having made some money in her, I returned to Europe, when I received the command of this frigate. Such has been my career. There is no great mystery in it, but it was necessary that I should give an account of it, lest any present should consider me a monster in human shape, and guilty of all the crimes of which the father accuses me.”
The marquis, who had been anxiously watching the captain’s countenance, breathed more freely when he ceased speaking. “Certainly, my friend, I think that you have every excuse for your conduct,” he exclaimed, offering his hand to the captain, who did not seem very anxious to accept it. “I for one shall be happy to welcome you back to Spain when peace is restored, and as the Inquisition has been abolished you need have no fear on that account. My friend, Father Mendez, will, I am sure, also retract his disparaging expressions he has applied to you. He must acknowledge that they are unjust—not such as you deserve. Come, father, say that you regret having spoken so harshly of the worthy officer.”
But the father shook his head without speaking.
“It matters little,” said the captain. “He laughs who wins. Perhaps when all the details are filled up, some of my very worthy friends may not be so well pleased.”
He looked significantly at the marquis. At that moment Alfonse Gerardin crossed the quarter-deck. The marquis looked at him and started.
“Who is that young man?” he asked, in an agitated tone.
“One of the officers of my ship, as you see by his uniform,” answered the captain, carelessly.
“A sail on the larboard beam!” sung out a man from the mast-head. Soon afterwards the cry was heard that there were three, four, five sail—a whole fleet of ships in sight. The captain went aloft, and so did several of the officers, to examine the strangers with their glasses. On their return on deck, they pronounced them to be English, but the greater number of the ships were well on the frigate’s quarter.