FullReads

‘I little thought,’ said Rowland, as Blackbeard finished speaking, ‘that I was training you up to outvie myself in villany. Are you sure she is dead?’

‘I hope she is,’ replied Blackbeard, ironically.

‘Beware then!’ exclaimed Blackbeard; ‘for if she has gone, if her pure spirit has departed, you shall soon follow her.’

‘If I follow her I shall be sure of Heaven, then, which would by no means be the case if I followed you in your exit from the world,’ muttered Blackbeard.

‘Why, Herbert,’ exclaimed Rowland, ‘you will soon arrive to be the very prince of bucaniers, if your career is not cut short by a–‘

‘Halter,’ interrupted Blackbeard. ‘Well, if it is, I shall not have to swing alone–there is some consolation in that–there is nothing like plenty of company, whichever road we may be travelling.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed Rowland. ‘You’re a sad dog, Herbert, and well worthy the lineage from which you have descended. Now you will go and order the men to get their arms in readiness for a desperate fight, and despatch two of them to the brig with orders for her crew to hasten to our assistance.’

‘But what shall be done with the passengers and crew of the Indiaman,’ asked Blackbeard.

‘There are none there of any great consequence to us,’ answered Rowland, ‘and as there is no room for us to be cumbered with them here, we shall be obliged to let them run a chance of escape. You can also tell Pepper to bring the prisoners now in the cavern immediately into my presence.’

Having received the above orders, Blackbeard departed upon his errand, and soon after, Pepper entered Rowland’s presence, followed by Henry Huntington and his faithful servant, Mr. Patrick O’Leary.

After surveying the two prisoners for some moments in silence, Rowland spoke to Huntingdon in the following manner:

‘You are undoubtedly much surprised at meeting me in this place, are you not, Mr. Huntington?’

‘Since the mysterious events of this morning I have ceased to be surprised at anything,’ answered Henry.

This reply was apparently unheeded by Rowland, who thus continued:

‘I have sent for you here in order to inform you that to-morrow will be the last day of your existence. You have forfeited your life in two several and different ways to the laws of the free sons of the ocean.’

Here Rowland paused for a reply; but as Henry did not choose to make any, he continued:

‘When you considered me to be nothing but the master of a paltry Indiaman, you treated me with haughtiness, contempt, and scorn that I never did forgive, and never shall.’

‘You was treated by me, as in my estimation, you deserved to be,’ replied Henry, boldly.

‘Very well,’ answered Rowland, as a sardonic grin illuminated his flexible countenance, ‘as you are self-condemned on that charge, there is no occasion for me to bring forward the others, so to-morrow morning you die!’

‘Oh! say not so, but recall your cruel words!’ exclaimed Mary Hamilton, as she rushed into Rowland’s presence from the inner apartment.

‘Ha! who have we here?’ exclaimed Rowland, as the wild tones of Mary’s voice fell upon his ear.

‘You see before you, sir,’ replied Miss Hamilton, ‘a poor unfortunate girl who only claims from you the boon of her friend’s life.’

‘You plead in vain, Miss Hamilton,’ answered Rowland, coldly, ‘his life has been twice forfeited, and were an angel from Heaven to ask it, it would avail nothing–he must and shall die.’

‘Then will I die with him!’

‘Ha! sits the wind in that quarter,’ muttered Rowland in a low tone, then raising his voice, and addressing Mary, he said:

‘I suppose then, I am to infer that you are in love with this Mr. Huntington.’

‘You must infer what you please, sir,’ replied Mary, ‘I shall say no more.’

‘I must speak myself, then,’ replied Rowland. ‘Now Miss Hamilton, hear me. Some ten years have elapsed since I first become acquainted with your father in Rio, where I had landed to dispose of a cargo of negroes. I also soon became acquainted with the vast extent of his wealth, with the fact that, upon the event of his death, it would fall into your hands, and from that hour I resolved that you should marry my son. To bring about this result I have practised every art which my inventive genius could suggest in order to get you in my power, and after finding out where and with whom you resided, I have watched day and night for an opportunity to secure your person, and at last success crowned my efforts, as I obtained the command of the vessel in which, as I was well assured beforehand, you took passage for the purpose of joining your father. Now my son is here, and you, his destined bride, we have a regularly educated Roman priest here also, who can legally solemnize the marriage rites; therefore consent to wed my son, Herbert Rowland, and the life of Henry Huntington is saved.’