He spoke loud, and Captain Staunton had apparently overheard the conversation, for he smiled and looked towards them. He had been offering up a prayer to the throne on high for mercy for the failings of the two honest fellows, whose ignorance it was now too late to enlighten. Antonio was a pious Catholic, and, villain as he was, he was unwilling not to give the chance of a quiet passage into the other world to his victims.
“What are you about there?” shouted Daggerfeldt; “is this work never to end?”
“The men are praying, señor, before they slip their cables for eternity,” answered Antonio.
“Is there an eternity?” muttered the pirate, and shuddered.
On Captain Staunton’s turning his head, on which the light from the lantern fell strongly, Antonio believed it was the signal that he was prepared,—“Hoist away!” he shouted, in Spanish; but at that instant a light female form rushed forth from the cabin, and seizing the whip, held it forcibly down with one hand while she disengaged the noose from the captain’s neck.
“Oh, Juan! have you not murders enough on your head already that you must commit another in cold blood?” she exclaimed, turning to Daggerfeldt, “and that other on one who saved your life at the risk of his own. I knew him—before all my misery began, and recognised him at once. If you persist, I leave you; you know me well, I fear not to die; Antonio, you dare not disobey me. Unreeve that rope, and leave me to settle with our captain regarding these men.”
The slaver’s crew stood sulky and with frowning aspect around her, yet they in no way interrupted her proceedings, while Daggerfeldt stood a silent spectator in the after-part of the vessel.
“Unreeve that rope! again I say,” she exclaimed, stamping on the deck with her foot. The order was obeyed without the captain’s interference. “Your lives are safe for the present,” she said, addressing the Englishmen. “I know that man’s humour, and he dares not now contradict me. I am the only thing who yet clings to him, the only one he thinks who loves him, the only being in whom he can place his trust; that explains my power.” She spoke hurriedly and low, so that Staunton alone could hear her, and there was scorn in her tone. “Cast those men loose,” she continued, turning to the crew, while with her own hands she undid the cords which lashed Staunton’s arms, and as she did so she whispered, “Keep together, and edge towards the arms-chest. There are those on board who will aid me if any attempt is made to injure you.”
Saying this she approached the captain of the slaver; she touched his arm: “Juan,” she said, in a softened tone, totally different from that in which she had hitherto spoken; “I am wayward, and have my fancies. I felt certain that your death would immediately follow that of those men. I was asleep in my cabin, and dreamed that you were struggling in the waves, and they, seizing hold of you, were about to drag you down with them.”