'My word as a brother,' said Simon, using the term by which pirates called each other when they were in a good temper.

Nat knew that even Simon would not break his oath, but he said the morning would be more convenient for Etta's examination; so that the poor girl fell asleep without dreaming what was in store for her the next day.

Once again Etta was to go down into the great hall, where now only Sieur Simon was sitting, and she was to be tried in a far harder way even than by hunger. When the man called Nat Salt came to fetch her, Felipa seemed to guess that something was the matter, for she clung to her friend, crying out:

'Don't take Etta away. Catalina, Aunt Elena, don't let the wicked man take her. Why is she to go?'

'Prithee, young madam, don't take it to heart; this English girl is but wanted to answer a few questions.' But Etta, though pale, would not show any fear even while her heart sank within her.

'I will follow you an you touch me not,' she said, raising her fair head loftily.

'In truth I'll not touch thee, young one,' said Nat Salt, who had a curiously soft heart, considering what he had seen and done. 'Come then, it will not be ten minutes' work. But mind! don't go acting the dumb dog before that Frenchman; I'f.e.c.ks, he's as hard as a millstone on man, woman, or child--Morgan's an angel to him.'

As they pa.s.sed out the two soldiers guarding the door stared hard at the girl, who walked by Nat's side as if she were a princess.

'There's a bit of sunshine in the wench's hair,' said one of them, 'but it will go hard with her if she is to get into the hands of the dragon.'

Poor Etta! it was to go hard with her.

'Come, child, make haste and tell me what I ask, and then you can go back to your friends,' said Simon. 'Where did the Marquis hide his gold before Morgan landed? He must surely have been busy over that work.'

Etta lifted her pretty head, and gazed at the Frenchman with indignant blue eyes.

'As if I should tell the secrets of the Marquis to you!' she said quickly.

'Ah! so you are not going to tell--for of course you know?' and he laughed softly.

'English girls don't tell tales,' said Etta.

'Well, we'll see. Come, Nat, where's the rope? A little pressure on the wrists acts to the tongue like oil to rusty hinges.'

Etta saw the rope, and some of her courage forsook her. She tried to run past Nat, but with one stride he caught her, and, twisting the rope round both her wrists in a peculiar fashion, he began pulling the noose tight, then tighter. Etta shut her eyes and thought of Carlo and of Harry. She knew the Marquis had hidden some of the gold in an old well, under the flags of the inner courtyard, but she did not mean to tell.

G.o.d helping her, she would not be a traitor.

'Now,' said Simon, 'draw it tight, Nat, and see if that won't make her speak. Where is the gold, girl? Quick, and you shall be released.

One, two--where? Pull tighter, Nat.'

Etta, in spite of herself, uttered a scream, shrill and piercing, which made Simon laugh.

'I thought the bird would pipe to some tune. Come, Nat, a little tighter. Where is the gold?'

'It is not mine: how can I tell? I won't! no, I won't! It's Carlo's money if his father is dead. Oh!' She struggled to get away, but this only increased her agony.

'One, two, three; it will hurt more yet if you don't speak.'

'Come, tell Sieur Simon, wench. You'll not see the Marquis till Martinmas, if then, so you needn't be afraid of him.'

Another pull, another sharp agony, and Etta felt that she could bear no more, when suddenly there was a rush into the hall of some half-dozen men, all shouting and tumbling over each other, and looking scared out of their lives.

Nat immediately let go Etta in sheer astonishment, whilst Simon seized hold of the foremost man and asked him roughly what was the matter.

'I'faith, Captain, you may well ask; there's not a minute to spare.

There's a great man-of-war flying the English colours bearing down on us and on the two ships in the bay, which have but some half-dozen men in them.'

'Where's the powder?' cried another; 'the look-out man must have deserted. Gramercy! let's get out of this gruesome hole, for the walls have never been rebuilt, and we handful of men can't hold it.'

'Then we'll put you idle fellows to stop the breach,' cried Simon, angrily. 'Here, Nat, haste and warn the rest of the garrison. We must get down to the beach and prevent their landing. The forts are useless, and that c.o.xcomb Morgan dropped the guns into the sea before he left.'

In another moment all was confusion, and the men had scattered hither and thither. Etta had suddenly recovered her presence of mind as soon as her great pain had ceased; in a moment she understood the situation.

She now ran as quickly as she could up another pa.s.sage towards the sitting-room. On the way she met the two guards, who, having just heard the news, were running helter-skelter over each other to get down to the courtyard and join their companions.

'There's a man-o'-war bearing down on us! Marry! there'll not be a man Jack of us left alive!'

Etta found that the confusion had spread everywhere; for as she rushed into the dwelling-room no one prevented her.

'Catalina! Felipa! free me; prithee cut this dreadful rope. There's an English man-of-war in sight; and if only it will put in we are saved.'

'My poor child!' said Dona Elena, with tears in her eyes; for, the rope being cut, the deep red gashes round Etta's wrists told plainly what she had suffered. But Etta was now too much excited to feel any pain. She knew that immediate action was necessary; if only she could find Andreas perhaps he would put off to the ship in his canoe. But where was he?

She went to the balcony, as no one was guarding it now, and whistled the Indian's tune; but there was no answer.

Catalina and Dona Elena, on their side, went to the window that commanded the bay; and there, sure enough, could be seen the big man-of-war slowly approaching, and so great was the panic among the pirates, who were only expecting Captain Morgan, that there was a furious rush for the boats; believing, as they did, that the Marquis was on board, and that on his landing not one of them would be spared.

In the meanwhile Santa Teresa was almost deserted, except by the slaves; and to one of these Etta addressed herself as to where she could find Andreas, and was led to the black-hole, where the poor fellow lay only just conscious.

'Andreas! dear Andreas!' sobbed Etta. 'Those cruel men--what have they done to you? But we are saved now. Catalina shall come and nurse you.

Say you are not suffering! Lack-a-day!'

Old Pedro, who had managed successfully to trim his sails, now ran up, exclaiming:

'Thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d! Senora, the pirates are running off as if a thousand devils were at their heels. They say the Marquis is on board the man-of-war, but I know not; anyhow, let's secure our own gates. Ah!

poor Andreas had better have told all he knew; I did, and managed to keep a whole skin.'

'Then, Pedro, take a boat and go and tell the Captain that he must come and take us away, and that I know where Senor Carlo and the English lad are hidden. Andreas, look up; tell me, are you in pain?'

But before Catalina or any one else could come, Andreas smiled happily, tried to speak; then, with a gentle sigh, he died. He had understood that those he had died for were saved, and that reward was enough for him.

Before long St. Catherine was rid of the pirates, for the man-of-war had brought with it, not Don Estevan del Campo, but the new Governor of Jamaica, who came to dispossess the former Governor who had abetted the pirates; for King Charles of England was now sending strict orders that no buccaneer was to be allowed to set forth from Jamaica to commit any hostility upon the Spanish nation or any of the people of these islands, and on his way to Jamaica the new Governor wished to sweep clean of its pirates the little island of St. Catherine.

CHAPTER XXI.

A BAG OF GOLD.

The Pitsea Manor Farm was a dull place enough now, even though the beautiful sunshine made Nature look at her best on this September afternoon; but Mr. Fenn and his wife seemed to have no longer any heart left for joy, and they had settled that there was to be no harvest-home on the farm, for ever since the disappearance of their son the worthy couple could do nothing but mourn. They had indeed gone through terrible sorrow, and their only comfort had been the long talks Mr.

Aylett had had with them, and his firm belief that Harry had not run away, as the lad said he had once thought of doing, but that he had in truth been kidnapped.