“Hi, dat de pirate cappen,” he exclaimed; and Owen prepared himself for an interview with O’Harrall.
Before long the pirate came up the ladder. A dark scowl was on his brow. Owen rose to receive him. O’Harrall advanced and threw himself into a chair, scarcely glancing at the men as he passed them.
“I am glad to see you, Captain O’Harrall, for I hope that you will allow me and my companions to quit this place, and we shall be ready to enter into any arrangement you may dictate not to betray its position,” said Owen.
“I am not in the habit of placing myself in the power of others when I can help it,” answered O’Harrall. “Your word may be as good as your bond, but both may be broken. I tell you plainly I intend to keep you prisoners as long as I remain in these seas. Circumstances may induce me to return to Europe, and if so, I may either carry you with me or land you at some island, from whence you may find your way to Jamaica. When that may be I cannot say. In the mean time, you must make up your mind to be content with your lot.”
“You might land me, when you next sail from this, at some such place as you speak of without any detriment to yourself,” said Owen; and, bethinking him that he would appeal to the pirate’s better feelings, he added, “You have deprived me of my vessel and ruined my prospects of advancement. I was engaged to marry a young lady who is sincerely attached to me, and for her sake I plead for my liberty, that I may be able to return to her, or at all events inform her that I am still alive.”
“Who is she?” asked O’Harrall, “although I need scarcely put the question.”
“Captain Tracy’s daughter—you have often seen her,” answered Owen.
“I thought so,” exclaimed O’Harrall. “You have counted too much on my generosity. I have not only seen her, as you say, but admire her more than any woman I have met, and should I ever wed I intend to make her my wife. Is it likely, then, that I should allow you to return home and forestall me?”
Owen’s heart sank: he could not reply.
“You have but ill pleaded your cause,” continued O’Harrall in the cold sarcastic tone in which he often spoke. “You saved my life, and I have preserved yours; more you cannot expect from me. Those men there behaved well to me on board the Ouzel Galley, and I therefore could not allow them to be killed. My sense of justice does not go further than that. You and they must make up your minds to remain where you are for an indefinite period. I came to see how you had acted, and if you behave as wisely as you have hitherto done you need not fear being subjected to any further restraint. I will, by-the-by, send you some books for your amusement. You will see by this that I do not wish to treat you with greater severity than is necessary. Now, good evening.”