“You know me, then?” said the captain of the slaver, bitterly; “it will avail you little, though. I had wished it had been another man; but no matter—you must take your chance.”
The slaver’s crew were now thronging aft.
“Well, meos amigos,” he continued, in a fierce tone, “what is to be done with these spies? You are the judges, and must decide the case.”
“Enforca-los—hang them, hang them—at least the officer. The other two may possibly enter, and they may be of service: we want good seamen to work the vessel, and these English generally are so.”
“You hear what your fate is to be,” said Daggerfeldt, turning to Captain Staunton. “You had better prepare for it. You may have some at home to regret your loss. If you have any messages, I will take care to transmit them. It is the only favour I can do you.”
While he spoke, a bitter sneer curled his lip, and his voice assumed a taunting tone, which he could not repress.
The gallant officer, proud in his consciousness of virtue, confronted the villain boldly.
“I would receive no favour, even my life, from one whose very name is a disgrace to humanity. Even if the message I were to send was conveyed correctly, it would be polluted by the bearer. It would be little satisfaction for my friends to know that I was murdered in an African creek by the hands of a rascally slaver.”
While Staunton was uttering these words, which he did in very bitterness of spirit, for, knowing the character of the wretch with whom he had to deal, he had not the remotest hope of saving either his own life or that of his people, the rage of Daggerfeldt was rising till it surpassed his control.
“Silence!” he thundered, “or I will brain you on the spot!”