CHAPTER VIIAN OLD SALT
“Among the pirates, Capt. Grandiere? Roland Bayard among the pirates?” exclaimed Mr. Force, while Mrs. Force closed her lips with a sudden motion and grew a shade paler. Rosemary began to tremble, and the other young girls to look anxious.
“Come aft! Let us find seats somewhere where we will not be spied or overhauled, and I will tell you all about it,” said the old skipper, moving down toward the stern, where the deck was almost deserted by the other passengers, who were all gathered forward, leaning over the bulwarks and taking a last look at the receding shores of England.
They found seats on the wooden benches, and sat down.
The old skipper took off his cap and wiped his large, red face and close-cropped gray head, and then said:
“I didn’t expect to see you here. I should as soon have thought of seeing Oldfield farmhouse standing up before me, right in my path, as a group of old neighbors, with my little niece in the midst of them. Heavens and earth—how a civil war shakes people up! I dare say, now, you all left on account of the war.”
“No,” said Mr. Force, “we left before the war to visit my brother-in-law here, and to give our young people some advantage in foreign travel. My own ill health has detained us abroad for more than two years. We return now on account of the war.”
“Good Lord! Abel Force, you are not thinking of going into the army in your crippled condition!”
“No, not exactly. But we can all be useful in the hospitals—even my wife and daughters—in caring for the sick and wounded soldiers, and for the widows and orphans of the dead, so far as our strength and means will go.”
“Ah! that is something else! When did you hear from the folks at home? I have not heard from them for years.”
“I got a letter a week ago from your niece, Miss Grandiere. Your nephew, William Elk, is in Richmond, on Gen. Lee’s staff; your nephew, Thomas Grandiere, is in New Orleans, with Gen. Butler, and your grandnephew, Edward Grandiere, is with Farragut, in Mobile Bay. Sam has elected to stay at home, follow the plow, and take care of the women.”
“Sam has the only solid head in the family, except my own! Look at that, now! Brothers and kinsmen shooting each other down, running each other through the body, blowing each other up, as if they were at warwith a foreign enemy! Oh, Lord! Lord!” groaned the old skipper, flinging down his cap with force upon the deck, and furiously wiping his perspiring face.
“It is grievous enough; but it is human nature, and we cannot change it. The strangest part of it all is that the men composing the rank and file of each army have no personal ill will toward their antagonists. Each fights from a sense of duty. Each invoke the blessing of God upon their arms. There was a time, Grandiere, in our lives, when peace reigned so long that we all began to believe that war belonged only to history, and barbaric history at that, and had passed away forever, as one of the last relics of barbarism. It was the Mexican War that woke us up from our dream of the millennium. And, since that, there has been in one part of the civilized world or another almost incessant and most ruinous war. So when we call ourselves a Christian, civilized and enlightened people——”
“We tell a lot of bragging lies! Out with it, papa, in plain English!” put in Wynnette, who had held her tongue until it ached.
“Who is this girl?” inquired the old skipper.
“My second daughter, Wynnette. Surely, I introduced her to you,” said the squire.
“So you did! But there are so many of them, you know! I used to dandle this one on my knee when she was a baby; but she has grown out of my knowledge!” said the old skipper. Then turning to Wynnette, he grasped her hand, and said:
“Right you are, my dear! We are a lot of braggarts and ignoramuses! So far from being Christians, civilized and enlightened, we do not even know what these terms imply. We are heathen, barbarians, and we live in the twilight. Right you are, my dear, as to your opinions, but wrong in your way of putting them. Interrupting your father. Discipline should be maintained,my dear. Remember that!” said the old skipper, not unkindly.
Before the astonished Wynnette could reply, Rosemary put in her piteous little plaint, and said:
“Oh, Uncle Gideon! dear Uncle Gideon! Tell us about—about——” She meant to say “Roland Bayard,” but she reddened, and substituted: “The pirates!”
“Of course! That is what I brought you here for. You have heard about the pirate Silver, and his ship, theArgente?”
“I have seen notices of depredations made by theArgente. It is a privateer in the Confederate service, is it not?” inquired Mr. Force.
“Privateer? Yes, and worse! It is a pirate! In the Confederate service? No; no further than running the blockade, to carry in merchandise to sell at ruinous prices, would go! TheArgenteis a privateer, a blockade runner, a slaver, and a pirate. Just as, a few years ago, we thought war had passed away from the face of the earth forever, so we thought that piracy had been swept from the sea. But we were mistaken in both cases. Our Civil War, the blockading of our Southern ports, the emancipation, and consequent stampede of the negroes, have brought into action a fleet of sea robbers who call themselves privateers, and pretend to be in the service of this or that faction, but who are really pirates and slavers. They are armed to the teeth and are manned by the most reckless desperadoes gathered from all nations—mostly jail birds, convicts, criminals. They take our merchant ships, they steal slaves from the West Indies, run the blockade and sell them in our Southern ports; or, with equal impartiality, when opportunity is given, they decoy slaves from the Southern plantations by the promise of a free passage to the North, and they carry them to the West Indies, where they sell them to the planters. The most notorious of these brigands ofthe sea is theArgente. I have never yet heard of any of them being taken.”
The old sailor having talked himself out of breath, stopped, wiped his forehead, and flung his rolled handkerchief with force upon the deck.
“But, Uncle Gideon—dear Uncle Gideon—tell us about—about the pirates,” pleaded Rosemary, pale with sorrow.
“My pet, I have told you about the pirates,” grunted the skipper.
“But—but—about—about—the loss of theKitty,” pleaded Rosemary.
The old skipper snatched up his cap from the deck and flung it down again with violence. Then he said:
“Yes! Devil fly away with them! They took theKitty! I can’t talk about it, girl! The devil takes possession of me every time I think of it! They took theKitty! That is all that is in it! Maybe some time or other, when the devil forsakes me, I will tell you all about it, but not now—not now!”
“Tell us something at least of Roland Bayard,” said Wynnette.
“I did tell you! He is among the pirates.”
“But in what capacity? Is he a prisoner or a volunteer?” persisted the girl.
“Oh! oh, Wynnette! Roland Bayard could never be a volunteer among the pirates. He would suffer himself to be killed first! Yes—to be tortured to death first! Yes—yes—to be slowly tortured to death first! Oh, Roland! Roland!” wailed Rosemary, too deeply distressed for her childhood’s friend to conceal her emotions.
Capt. Grandiere, touched by the trouble on the quaint little face, pulled himself together, patted her head, and said:
“Don’t cry, little girl! Roland is not a volunteer inthe pirate crew. I never believed that for one minute, though Silver, the head devil, told me so. No, my child, he is a prisoner among the pirates—I am sure of that.”
“Oh, then that is some comfort! I would rather they should keep him a prisoner, or even kill him, than make him wicked! Indeed, I would, Uncle Gideon. But how comes he to be among the pirates and you here? He a captive, and you free? Tell me that, Uncle Gideon,” said the little creature, with a shade of reproach in her troubled tones.
And while Rosemary waited in suspense for the answer there was another who listened anxiously to catch its every word. This was Elfrida Force.