The Corsair King

Drops of cold perspiration stood on Barthelemy's brow, his eyes stared fixedly into vacancy, his fingers clenched the paper convulsively; then, starting up, he flung the Creole aside and dealt the table such a blow with his clenched fist that the pirates, to a man, instantly became silent and stared at him in wonder.

"The carouse is over!" thundered their leader in a terrible voice. "Hence to the ship, drop toying, and seize your weapons."

The buccaneers could not yet recover from their bewilderment. The Creole beauty, with sparkling eyes, pressed nearer to Barthelemy and raised his hand to her glowing lips.

Barthelemy's eyes sought Moody. The old pirate had drunk heavily, but was perfectly sober.

"You told me to drain the cup of joy to the dregs and then shatter it," cried the young chief. "I will shatter it ere my lips have touched it."

Even while speaking, he wrenched his hand from the Creole's clasp, and drawing his sword, cried:

"Forward to the coast of Hispaniola."

Carried away by their leader's passion, the buccaneers joined in a terrible cheer, and throwing down their glasses, pressed after him with drunken enthusiasm from the joys of the banquet to wrestle with the fury of the tempests.

The ship reached the shore of Hispaniola. Barthelemy promised his men the treasures of a whole people, reserving for himself only their blood.

He did not find a single ship in the harbor; there were only a few fisher-boats tossing on the waves, from whose owners he learned that the insurgent slaves, after ravaging the coast, had retired in large numbers to the interior of the island.

Barthelemy went on shore and rushed like a madman toward the cottage.

He soon neared the hill which concealed the little valley, and continued his way slowly, with a throbbing heart, as if fearing to behold with his eyes what he already witnessed in his soul. The hill afforded a view of the cottage. Here he had parted for the last time with his betrothed bride; here she had sobbed, "Take me with you"; here she had predicted, "Some day you will return and ask, 'Where is Julietta? Why doesn't she come to meet me?'"

His very heart shrank. One step more, and he would reach the hill-top—a weeping-willow obstructed the view and, bending the boughs apart, he gazed down into the valley.

It was empty. Bare yellow fields lay dry and withered in the place of the green plantation, and the site of the cottage was marked by a black spot.

Barthelemy stood motionless, with fixed eyes. No sigh escaped his lips, but he suddenly fell as if lifeless, with his face pressed against the grass. Perhaps he might have passed into the eternal slumber, had not sad dreams come and forced him to witness the horrible bloody scenes enacted when the Satanic band burst into the quiet, lonely cottage, where the three girls and their grandmother knelt in prayer; he saw the rabble rush in through door and windows, seizing their victims by the hair, the thin, gray locks of the poor old grandmother, the luxuriant raven ones, which he had so often kissed, of his worshipped Julietta. If he had been lying in his grave, such a dream must have roused him.

"Ah!" shrieked the pirate struggling back to consciousness, like a person throwing off a deadly burden from his heart, and gazing around him, gasping for breath as he wiped the perspiration from his eyes and brow. "It is well that it was only a dream," he faltered. Then a glance into the valley proved that it was no delusion, but reality. Springing to his feet he rushed wildly down into the valley to the ruins of the hut, called the names of his dear ones, stirred the ashes as if he might find them there, examined the footprints in the mire to see if he could discover among them any traces of those of the objects of his love. But he found nothing except the marks of clumsy negro feet, nowhere the imprint of the dear, fairy-like ones. They were lost. Not a vestige of the cottage remained except the charred threshold. Barthelemy embraced and kissed it, his eyes growing dim with tears.

"Ah!" he shouted, dashing them from his eyes, "Not water, but oil on the flames! This is not the time to weep, but to avenge. A pirate's tears are drops of blood! I will avenge you, my murdered family, on mankind, on the whole world. Earth, grant me no more rest. Change the wine-cup to wormwood ere it reaches my lips, and every throb of my heart to hate. I had a single joy, my soul a single steadfast idea, which came to my remembrance whenever any one sued to me for mercy, and I granted it. That was joy. But it is forever torn from my heart, henceforward I will give quarter to no one. Hear my vow, ye powers of Hell, and tremble—I will send you as many black fiends as there are grains of dust in this handful of ashes which I scatter on my head."

With a terrible imprecation, Barthelemy flung into the air a handful of ashes which he had clutched and, as they floated slowly down upon his head, he sank on his knees and, sobbing convulsively, kissed the threshold.

"My God, my God, if it was Thy will to punish me, why didst Thou not dash me against a cliff during the raging of a tempest, why didst Thou not let me perish by arms, by hunger? Why didst Thou not make me mount the scaffold? Why didst Thou permit Thy angels to atone for my crimes?"

He sobbed bitterly, while the ashes he had scattered to bear witness to his vow, drifted slowly down upon his head.

A traveller, driving his mule before him, came through the path leading from the forest. Barthelemy barred his way. The man started at sight of the fierce-looking stranger and began to appeal to his patron saint.

"Whence do you come?" asked the pirate.

"From La Vega. I bring good news. The insurgents are conquered and already hang along the coast."

"Bad news for me! Have none of them escaped?"

"A few hundred took refuge in a captured ship and fled to Africa."

"I thank you. You can go on."

The messenger continued his journey, shaking his head; he could not understand why any one should regret that the rebels were conquered, or rejoice because a number of them had escaped.

"What has happened to you, captain?" asked Moody, when Barthelemy returned to the ship. "You are as pale as a corpse."

"Nothing," replied his commander in a hollow tone. "Only my heart has died in my breast."

The pirates asked no further questions. They knew all. Whenever any one of them left the band, the others kept watch from a distance. They had seen Barthelemy sitting despairingly beside the ruins of the hut, and all shrank in timid silence from the pallid man.

Barthelemy shut himself up in his cabin and, taking a chart, began to study the course to Africa. His face was gloomy, but ever and anon his eyes flashed fiercely. Suddenly he heard a knock at the door and angrily opened it.

"Who is disturbing me, now?"

"I, captain," replied Scudamore. "We need your judgment."

"Go until to-morrow. I will grant no favors to-day."

"I want no favors from you, only the execution of the law. Three members of the band took advantage of the time during which we were on shore to desert and take refuge in the interior of the island. But I sleep with my eyes open and, though I have but two of them, can watch the whole hundred men."

"And me also?"

"There can be no discrimination, captain, we need one another, whoever seeks to leave us is a traitor. We want no path for retreat, only for advance. Whoever has once sworn faith, is ours forever, belongs to hell, no power can free him, and if he will not live with us he must die."

"Have you captured the fugitives?"

"All three, they were only a mile from La Vega when we overtook them."

"Bring them before me singly."

Scudamore went in search of the prisoners, with fiendish delight, and returned dragging the first one by the ear.

He was a cowardly fellow whom the pirates had forced to join their band.

"Oh, captain!" he cried falling on his knees before Barthelemy, "if you believe in God and the angels, let me leave this accursed place. You are all doomed to hell, permit me to save my soul from the flames of purgatory. Oh! all you saints of Heaven, have mercy on my sinful head."

A horrible roar of laughter from the pirates greeted these imploring words.

"You shall die," said Barthelemy coldly, motioning to the men to lead him away.

"Captain! For heaven's sake, you won't let me die thus, without the sacrament or extreme unction, to the ruin and eternal perdition of my soul?"

"Wait, I'll confess you," said Scudamore with a diabolical laugh, putting the rope around the doomed man's neck.

"Oh God, my Creator, is there no one to say a prayer for me? Alas, I once knew so many and have forgotten them all."

The pirates, laughing loudly, dragged to the mast the unhappy man, who began to roar the air of a song whose words he had long since forgotten. A minute later the song ceased, the man was hanging above.

The second prisoner was now brought forward. He, too, was only a common sailor. His companions were forced to bind him hand and foot in order to drag him before the captain, and he kept up a constant torrent of oaths.

"Yes, I ran away from you because I loathed this vile, roystering life, toiling and fighting every day and when, at the risk of death, one gained a little money, a man had to throw it away. I'll run from you a hundred times more."

"Not once," replied Scudamore grinning. He apparently had far more taste for the hangman's trade than for the physician's. Barthelemy silently waved his hand, and the pirate hung.

The third prisoner now appeared, and Barthelemy exclaimed in surprise, "That is Henry Glasby."

The former captain of the Fortuna was the third captive.

Glasby was a handsome young man, with a noble face, whom the pirates kept among them by force on account of his superior knowledge of seamanship; his gentle nature and kind heart were known to the whole band, for he protected all who fell into their hands, as far as lay in his power, frequently paying their ransom out of his own pocket; his entreaties had saved many a ship from burning, and he had always kept aloof from the bacchanalian orgies of his companions, for which reason they did not hold him in special regard, and always watched him with suspicious eyes. He had already made one attempt to escape, which had been pardoned, now he was certainly doomed. After the first expression of surprise, Barthelemy's face had regained its cold, unmoved composure. Scudamore awaited the verdict with greedy impatience.

Glasby stood before Barthelemy with unquailing resolution.

"You have already pronounced sentence upon two," he said fearlessly. "There is no reason why you should make me an exception. I have but one request; send this valueless locket containing my portrait to my mother,—she lives in Norfolk. It also has a curl of hair belonging to my betrothed bride, whom I longed to see, and for whom I die."

Barthelemy trembled and gazed intently at Glasby's face.

"You have a betrothed bride whom you longed to see?" he said in a stifled voice, loosing the ropes from his wrists—"go back to her, I release you—"

"Captain! Two are hanging already," shouted Scudamore, furious as he saw the escape of the man whose death he most desired. "The third rope is waiting for its ornament."

"It will pull up the man who dares to contradict my judgment!" answered Barthelemy, gazing fiercely at the defiant faces, and closed the door of his cabin behind him.

The whole band remained silent.

From that moment Barthelemy was completely transformed. His heart was stone, nothing touched it except a woman's sobs; then he fled, it was more than he could bear.

To his men he was stern to the point of injustice, the most trivial offence did not escape his punishment, every evening he held a court of justice by which he had those who were accused imprisoned in the ship's hold, flogged, or shot. Yet there was one person whom he never attacked, Glasby. He spent whole nights in questioning him about his family life, his mother, and his betrothed bride, listening with eager attention to all the details for the hundredth time. He showed mercy to no one, burning or sinking the captured ships, unmoved by submission or entreaties, but if a vessel chanced to have a woman on board, and he heard her voice he would take nothing from the ship and let her pursue her way uninjured.

One day he assembled the crews of both pirate cruisers on the deck of the Commodore.

"My lads," he said, "life here is beginning to grow wearisome. Fortune offers her favors in vain, there is no one on this side of the world whom we fear; we have plenty of booty, but no fame, for we encounter no foemen worthy of us. Let us go farther. These Dutch and Portuguese merchantmen already fear us to such a degree that they almost love us. Let us go where we are not known, among the English and French, whose troops sleep secure in their fortresses along the coast, where Fortune is still a coy maiden who permits her favors to be grasped only by strong hands. Let us win honor and fame in the places where the wise law-makers have written a hundred paragraphs against us in their code of laws, let us tear out the page, and place in its stead the words that there are no laws for the brave."

Barthelemy wished to fire his comrades' hearts as he had done in former days, but he was unsuccessful, the tones which had once thrilled them were dead; the fire in his soul, one spark of which had sufficed to kindle theirs, was extinct. Now he could influence them only by his coldness.

"Pirates," he went on, folding his arms, "I promised you treasures, you promised me blood. Let us both keep our word. Our work here is beggarly. To plunder the ships of peaceful merchants, who surrender their goods without defence! And of what use are they? We merely give them away. I will take you to the home of treasures, the coasts of Africa, where ships laden with gold-dust plough the sea, where the negro kings sleep on golden sand and the negro warriors fight with golden weapons. We will plunder these ships, dig the golden sand from under the sleeping kings, and bury them in it, wrench the precious weapons from the negroes' hands and give them cheaper ones of iron in their hearts."

This pleased the pirates who made up the Commodore's crew, and they responded with murmurs of approval, but the Fortuna's men remained silent, with sullen, defiant faces.

Barthelemy noted the different effect he had produced, and wrapping himself deliberately in his ample cloak, whose folds concealed his hands, he added: "Perhaps there is some one who does not approve this plan, let him state what he has against it. He can speak freely, I will listen."

The crew of the Fortuna began to gather into groups and whisper together; at last two men came forward, hitching their trousers, and stood with resolute faces before the captain.

"Yes, we don't approve of your plan, captain," said one, and the other nodded assent, while their comrades murmured approval.

"You don't approve of it, my children?" asked Barthelemy in his sweetest tones, "and why?"

"Because we are not tired of having things go well with us and finding booty everywhere without danger," said one.

"Because we don't want to seek unknown risks in unknown gold regions," added the other.

"Where there are laws against us."

"And where royal men-of-war protect commerce."

"We don't care for fame, but prizes."

"And we would rather stay here, where people fear us, than go where we must fear others."

"If you want blood, we can shed as much here for you as you desire."

"But we won't go a thousand miles and seek danger merely to avenge you on the negroes who killed your sweetheart."

Robert Barthelemy's face blanched to a ghastly pallor.

"You wish to stay here, my dear children," he replied in a tone of childlike blandness. "You like it here, and are afraid to go elsewhere. Why, my dear children, just think it over a moment."

"We have already thought of it," they answered defiantly.

"Very well," said Barthelemy, suddenly throwing back his cloak, and the next instant he had sent a bullet through the heads of both.

For a moment the others stood petrified with horror, then they turned furiously upon Barthelemy, their eyes and knives flashing around him.

"What! You dare to oppose, when I command! Away with you, worthless rascals!" thundered their young leader in a voice which rose above the fray, and seizing a piece of stout rope he rushed among them, dealing blows right and left at the mutineers, who were so amazed by his daring that, forgetting their rage, they scattered.

"Put them all in irons. Keep them in confinement on bread and water for three days! If any one utters a word against me, throw him into the sea," shouted Barthelemy, and in a moment the Fortuna's crew were disarmed by the Commodore's men.

"You are taking a great risk," Glasby whispered to Barthelemy.

"Oh, I fear neither man nor devil," replied the pirate defiantly.

The ships sailed for Africa that very day. The time of punishment of the Fortuna's crew expired on the third, and Barthelemy, to prevent any attempt at flight, removed all the nautical instruments and all the men who had any knowledge of navigation to the Commodore.

Nevertheless the Fortuna vanished one night when they were still four hundred miles from the African coast.

As Barthelemy predicted the ship ran on a sandbank in the first storm which overtook her, and her crew all perished.

But the leader did not give up his plan; though his strength was diminished, his courage was unchanged.

One morning at dawn he saw a mountain peak on the horizon—it was Cape Corso. "We have reached our destination," said Barthelemy to the exulting pirates, and began to cruise up and down before the harbor.

At that time the French government had a monopoly of the india-rubber trade and, as the most venomous antidote of monopoly is smuggling, the coasts of Cayenne were constantly watched by French men-of-war.

Two of them instantly noticed the suspicious craft and, believing it to be a smuggler, gave chase. Barthelemy lured them too far from the shore for the battle to be seen, then, after a short conflict, conquered both, sank one and, keeping the other, manned it with part of his crew under the command of Skyrme, and called it the Fox-Hound.

From the French prisoners he learned that the two most formidable English war-ships, the Weymouth and Hirondelle had left the coast and would not return for several months, so they sailed boldly into the harbor.

The Onslow, the finest vessel of the Anglo-African Company was lying at anchor in the port.

Her captain and officers were on shore, where the governor was giving a ball in their honor. From the windows of his residence they could see the pirates assail their ship and, ere they could hasten back to it, the crew had surrendered.

The captain of the Onslow, Fennimore Gee, rowed alone to the pirate ship and, pistol in hand, demanded that Barthelemy should restore his ship and fight with him like an honest man, instead of attacking by stealth.

The novel proposition of returning a captured ship to its owner and then fighting for its possession so pleased Barthelemy that he declared his willingness to accept it.

His own men also accepted the challenge, but the Onslow's crew refused to fight against Barthelemy, and begged him to take them into his band.

Captain Gee despairingly fired his pistols among the rascally throng, and appealed to Barthelemy, if he had a drop of honorable blood in his body, not to stain his fame as a buccaneer by receiving into his band the worthless fellows who, in the hour of peril, had deserted their captain.

"I'll tell you, my worthy captain," said Robert gayly to his opponent, tossing in the little boat on the waves below. "You are so brave a man that I could not reconcile my conscience to leaving you without a ship. Come, I'll give you, in exchange for the Onslow, my own vessel, the Commodore here. I can vouch for its being a good sailer and valuable, though I got it very cheap. But from sheer philanthropy, I can't give up your crew, you would decimate it; the soldiers, however, you shall have, I don't care what becomes of the land rats."

So before the eyes of the whole harbor, he exchanged ships with the English captain, and after having the old name Onslow effaced and Royal Fortune painted over it in large gilt letters, he set sail with both his vessels for Calabar.

By way of pastime, part of the pirates, under Skyrme's command, made short expeditions on the Fox-Hound to search for any ships that might be crossing their path.

One day the Fox-Hound returned to the Royal Fortune, with all sail set, and reported having noticed on the horizon two suspicious vessels, which instantly gave chase; they were probably men-of-war, and the Fox-Hound had escaped only by crowding on all sail, but they were still pursuing.

"Let them come," said Barthelemy, sweeping the sea with his glass, and soon discovered on the horizon the two ships which, at that distance, resembled sea-gulls.

"Those are not men-of-war," cried Barthelemy, "they look more like pirates, and are coming toward us with every inch of canvas spread. They will fare badly."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Skyrme, "that's all we lack. We have conquered plenty of merchantmen and war-ships, now we must capture pirates to have the whole variety."

The entire crew watched the approaching ships with eager curiosity, saying to one another, "They think they are attacking a government ship, how amazed they will be when they reach us!"

Moody was shading his eyes first with one hand and then the other, straining them till they fairly started from their sockets. Suddenly he clapped his hands, threw up his hat, and throwing himself down on the deck laughed till he was red in the face.

"Moody! Have you gone crazy?" asked Barthelemy. "The man never laughed before in his whole life. What ails you, Moody?"

"Don't you know those ships?" he asked, half raising himself, then flung himself back in another fit of laughter so uncontrollable that the men were obliged to seize and hold him before he grew quiet.

"Speak, old lunatic, what ails you?"

"When I tell you, you'll all jump out of your skins. Don't you see those two ships? Don't you recognize them? They are the Sea Devil, and the Dutch ship which ran away from us, left us starving on the sea, and now are coming straight into the jaws of our guns! Isn't it enough to drive a man mad with joy?"

The awful shout of delight from the pirates drowned Moody's laughter; with bloodthirsty eagerness they rushed for their weapons, climbed on the yards to get a better view of the approaching vessels, and shook their fists at them.

They had found the traitors who had left their comrades to meet the most terrible death by starvation, and who now voluntarily came to encounter their revenge. This thought moved even Barthelemy so much that a burning flush crimsoned his pale face. His mute lips refused to give utterance to his feverish joy, but his countenance belied them.

"Calm yourselves!" he said to his men, "we'll let them come nearer; get behind the bulwarks, they must be an easy prey, and their hearts shall stop beating when they suddenly see our faces."

The buccaneers quietly drew back; their foes came toward them with every sail spread. Already they could see distinctly on the prow the hideous figure of the Sea Devil, and as the pirates recognized one man after another they whispered, gnashing their teeth: "There is so and so!"

"Keep your weapons ready," Barthelemy commanded in a low tone.

"We need no knives, we'll tear them to pieces with our nails," said Asphlant.

On arriving within gunshot range, the black flag suddenly fluttered from every masthead of the Sea Devil, and a bullet, hissing between the Royal Fortune's sails was the challenge to speak. The deepest silence reigned on Barthelemy's ship. The Sea Devil sailed close up to it, the Dutch consort remaining a little behind. "Oho! Where is your captain?" shouted some one on the Sea Devil.

"That's Kennedy's voice!" whispered Barthelemy giving the signal to raise the black flag.

At the moment when, to the horror of the men on the Sea Devil, the black flag floated from the Royal Fortune's mast, Barthelemy sprang on the bulwark, shouting in stentorian tones:

"I am here, you worthless traitors! Do you still know Robert Barthelemy?"

The assailants were instantly as silent as if death had stricken them; Kennedy, in his terror, leaped into a boat and, pushing off from the ship tried to reach the Dutch vessel, the others flung their weapons away like madmen and, in the insanity of terror, leaped into the waves.

They were soon released from their trouble; two volleys poured at the same moment from the guns of the Royal Fortune and the Fox Hound shattered the Sea Devil which, amid frightful shrieks of despair, sank with every man on board.

Meanwhile Kennedy and a few others had succeeded in reaching the Dutch ship, which instantly spread every sail in a desperate effort to reach the land.

Barthelemy pursued with both his ships.

The fugitive flung overboard all her ballast and finally even her guns, by which sacrifice she succeeded in reaching the shore before the other ships could interpose.

A throng of Calabrian negroes stood on the land watching the fight.

Kennedy hastily ordered his men into the boats and escaped to the shore. "Not even that will save you," said Barthelemy, ordering the largest boat to be lowered. He had eight guns placed in it, entered himself with forty of his men, and commanded them to row to the beach.

Kennedy saw that Barthelemy intended to land and began to tell the negroes, with loud cries, that he was a monster who had come to conquer their land and burn their dwellings. They must on no account permit him to come ashore.

The shouts of the negroes showed that the pirates had succeeded in exciting these savages against their former comrades, and the negroes soon began to greet the boat with a shower of arrows and stones.

"So much the better," murmured Barthelemy. "Two at one blow: traitors and negroes. To-day vengeance will reap a harvest, this is the festival of death. Fire among them."

The guns of the boat roared, scattering death among the blacks, in whose ranks the bombs tore wide openings, and, amid this thunder, forty men landed in the face of ten thousand negroes.

Kennedy and his companions urged the Calabrians to a desperate defence, and they rushed with bloodthirsty fury at the buccaneers, hurling a cloud of arrows and lances.

Only two or three fell wounded by these missiles, the others moved forward in close ranks, aiming at the most prominent leaders in the negro ranks.

When the latter saw their strongest warriors, who in battle were equal to a hundred men, fall by invisible weapons sent from a distance before they could reach their assailants with their battle axes, they began to retreat in confusion, left their huts and, dragging Kennedy and his men with them, climbed a steep hill, up which they could not be followed, and from which no efforts availed to draw them. Barthelemy, with wild delight, walked over the battle-ground, counting the corpses. They had all been victims of his revenge for his murdered love.

"This was blessed work," he murmured. "Hell is blacker by eight hundred negroes."

"Captain," said Scudamore, rousing him from his reverie, "our bitterest enemies have escaped under our eyes. There is but one way to reach and destroy them in the place where they have sought refuge."

"What is it?"

"It would be idle for me to show you, you would not use it, but give me authority to do as I please for half an hour and I promise to bring you the heads of all these traitors without sacrificing one of our men."

"I should like to see that."

"You will hear it. You need not witness it; it is a stratagem of war which you could not learn from me. Go back to the ship and wait for my return."

This bold language surprised Barthelemy. A sort of intoxication arising from the bloodshed still held him in thrall, and he allowed himself to be persuaded to return to the Royal Fortune and let the doctor work his will. As soon as the captain was out of sight, Scudamore ordered the pirates to go to the deserted cabins and murder the families of the fugitives.

Shouting exultingly, the fierce crew, thirsting for revenge, obeyed; from the lofty cliff the blacks saw their wives killed, their children slaughtered, and when all were slain, their homes set on fire and destroyed amid clouds of smoke that rose to their eyrie.

Then Scudamore stepped forward and shouted:

"Now, you black scoundrels, you have seen how we served your families. The same fate awaits you, down to the last man, if you don't submit and surrender our friends, whom you dragged away with you."

Kennedy saw through the stratagem and protested violently.

"Don't believe a word he says, the whole thing is a fiendish plot, we are no friends of his, we don't know one another."

"Kennedy, don't be a coward," said Scudamore reproachfully, "why should you deny that you agreed to lead these people astray so that they would run into the mouths of our guns? Be bold, and with the help of your stout comrades throw them down on our knives; I, a pirate, am worth a hundred negroes; don't disown me."

The negroes, with threatening gestures began to surround Kennedy and his men, who in great terror, tried to defend themselves.

"Brave friends, don't believe the words of that devil, we never saw him; those men are our worst enemies."

"Oh, Kennedy, you disgrace us, how can you disown us when you, too, sail under the black flag? If we had never seen each other how should I know that you have, on your left shoulder, the mark of a gallows, branded there when you were in the pillory?"

The negroes instantly seized Kennedy, stripped his coat from his shoulders and, as soon as they had convinced themselves that Scudamore's words were true, they flung him down and one, raising his copper axe, set his foot upon his victim's neck.

"Don't hurt a hair of his head!" shouted Scudamore, feigning fury. The next instant the axe fell, and Kennedy's head was hurled over the cliff.

The others followed.

When the half hour expired, Scudamore returned to Barthelemy and, pointing to the boat, said: "There are the heads of the traitors!"

Chapter III

Barthelemy was resting on the coast; his men were drinking, carousing and giving banquets. What else could they do in such terrible weather when, each morning, the sea flung fresh wrecks upon the strand?

Meanwhile the governments were quietly gathering their ships against the bold pirates who dared, single-handed, to assail a whole quarter of the globe; in the harbor of Mydaw alone there were eleven ships waiting only for the King Solomon with its eighty guns, and the Swallow with its hundred and ten, to set sail in pursuit of Robert Barthelemy as soon as the monsoons were over.

The tempest was raging, the sea tossed wildly, the black clouds hung so low that it seemed as if they nearly touched the waves, and the surges tossed their white foam upward toward the clouds.

The horizon was a dark violet blue, through which darted flashes of lightning. A ship was visible far away tossing on the billows, its closely furled sails and erect masts looking like black crosses.

It was the King Solomon, a proud warship, with three tiers of decks supplied with windows, which resembled a three-story house with wings; but windows and portholes were now tightly closed.

The rain was pouring, black and white stormy petrels fluttered around the vessel, and ever and anon the waves tossed aloft one of the sharks swimming around the ship, which looked down greedily a moment, with its cold, fixed eyes, at the trembling sailors.

Every man had his hands full; in the midst stood Captain Trahern; the boldest of the crew were in the rigging, trying to secure the sails; others were attempting to rig a jury mast in place of one which had been carried away. Another group toiled at the pumps, and four men were at the helm, straining every muscle whenever a wave stronger than usual dashed against the bow of the ship. In the intervals of rest the sailors at the helm talked with one another.

"What a gale! It's impossible for us ever to reach port again."

"We came near sticking fast in the clouds just now, the waves flung us up so high."

"Lord help us! The thunderbolts are falling like ripe pears, one of us will be hit presently."

"Hush, don't you see the St. Elmo's fire yonder at the mast-head?" asked Philip, the helmsman.

"St. George preserve us!" whispered the others in horror. "That means evil. The St. Elmo's fire usually appears only on ships devoted to destruction. See how it dances!"

"Mind your helm!" shouted the captain, but it was too late; while the men were staring at the electrical phenomena hovering around the mast-head, a huge wave approached the ship, a wave which resembled a transparent mountain-chain in motion. Every effort to put the ship about proved futile, the vast surge, higher than the highest mast-head, rolled nearer, its top crested with foam. The men clung to the rigging and bulwarks. Suddenly the King Solomon rose more rapidly, tossed upward on the towering wave, and the next moment lay on her side with her masts in the water and wave after wave sweeping over her decks. In a few minutes the ship righted again, the water rolling from her as it drips from the plumage of a swan, and the crew, drenched to the skin, returned to their tasks.

"See! The St. Elmo's fire is still shining at the mast-head!" cried Philip, "if it were not kindled by the devil, that flood of water would have put it out."

"Those stormy petrels suspect something wrong, too, they follow us everywhere."

"Jack says he saw the spectre ship last night."

"Is that true, Jack?"

"Why should I say so, if I hadn't seen it? You were all asleep, I stood alone at the helm. Suddenly, from the distance, the form of a ship moved toward us. It seemed scarcely to touch the water, and was sailing against the wind. Shadows that looked like men were moving about her deck as if pulling on the ropes, and a misty shape, like the captain, glided to and fro. Terrified, I hailed the apparition, and suddenly the whole vision vanished, but I heard distinctly, above the whistling of the wind and the plashing of the waves, the flapping of the ropes against the mast of the spectre ship."

"That means mischief."

The sailors gazed timidly at the cloud-veiled horizon, as they usually do when ghost stories are told in their presence.

"Look, look yonder!" said Philip, suddenly pointing into the gray mist, "I swear by St. George, I see the spectre ship!"

His messmates, panting for breath, followed the direction of his finger. The lightning flashed and they all made the sign of the cross.

"There it is."

"What do you see there?" called the captain, noticing the surprise of his men.

"The spectre ship, sir," one of them answered at last, trembling.

Trahern began to scan the vessel through his spy-glass.

"That's no spectre ship," he said after a short pause.

"What else could she be, sir? Would any mortal man carry sail in such a tempest? See how fast she approaches us! She does not heed the shock of the waves, but flies like a bird."

"That is no spectre ship," the captain repeated, "they are pirates."

"Living devils," muttered Philip.

"It must be Barthelemy," said Trahern. "What a pity that we cannot approach him, we would capture him at once. But who could fight in such a storm?"

The pirate swiftly approached the King Solomon. From time to time the waves concealed it, but the next instant it rose on their crests, still advancing.

"Those crazy fellows actually seem to be trying to meet us," said Trahern.

"Those are not men," replied Philip. "If men tried to cut through the waves in that fashion their ship would be battered to pieces."

The vessel really seemed to be pursuing the King Solomon; approaching it on one tack, it made every effort to come alongside, but was constantly baffled by the force of the waves which, like a stronger power, constantly tossed the two ships apart, and if they were within gunshot of each other at one moment, separated them the next by half a mile.

"Honest men pray to God at such times," cried Philip. "These do not even fear the gale. Ha! How that lightning blazed between the ships. The very fires of Heaven forbid approach."

The pirate suddenly furled her sails, and the next instant the crew of the King Solomon saw the large boat lowered. Twenty pirates sprang in and rowed toward the King Solomon.

The man-of-war had two hundred men and eighty guns; Trahern could not imagine what the object of these few people could be.

The waves tossed the boat to and fro but, spite of wind and water, the oarstrokes of the twenty men gradually brought it nearer. Then a gigantic figure stood erect, spite of the terrible tossing of the waves, and, raising a speaking trumpet to his lips, shouted in deep, ringing tones, "Captain Trahern, Robert Barthelemy hereby summons you to surrender at discretion the King Solomon and her crew."

The speaker was Skyrme.

Trahern, indignant at the audacity of the pirates, which bordered on insolence, ordered his men to fire on them. His gunners replied that the cannon were wet.

"That is a lie," shouted Trahern, "they are under cover. Take your weapons and crush these bold dogs."

"What?" shrieked Philip, "are these mortal men whom we can fight and kill? Did any one ever see a devil die? I'll fight with no fiends."

He flung down his arms as he spoke.

"Nor I, nor I!" shouted the rest of the crew, firing their weapons in the air and then throwing them down. Trahern found himself abandoned.

"And you will disgrace yourselves by surrendering to a force ten times smaller! Men! Come to your senses, these are no ghosts."

But no power on earth could have induced them to attack the corsairs, who were already fastening their grappling irons to the ship.

"Then I will defend the vessel alone," said the captain despairingly and, seizing a carbine, he discharged it among the buccaneers.

No one was hit, for his own men had struck up the weapon and would not let him aim at the assailants the second time.

A moment later the pirates were masters of the King Solomon.

The crew dared not resist them; their reputation for being able to accomplish whatever they desired had spread so far that the trembling seamen fairly lost their senses when they found themselves in the presence of people whom they regarded as beings from another world, and, even when they outstripped them tenfold in numbers, did not venture to offer any resistance.

If it were not for the existence of documents which prove it, no one would believe that twenty pirates, in a boat, amid the raging of a furious tempest, captured a man-of-war which had eighty guns, two hundred armed men, and a brave commander.

The eleven ships in the harbor of Mydaw were only awaiting the cessation of the monsoons and the arrival of the King Solomon to sail against Barthelemy.

The monsoons were still raging with the utmost fury when Robert Barthelemy entered the port, bringing the King Solomon in tow.

Black flags fluttered from every mast of the Royal Fortune and between her sails was stretched a square banner, on which was a hideous picture, a skeleton transfixed by a lance, holding an hour-glass in one hand, with its legs crossed and a bleeding heart at its feet. The Fox-Hound's standard, on the contrary, bore a man in a scarlet coat of mail, holding in his hand a flaming sword on whose point was a skull. The flag of St. George floated at her mast-head.

Amid the howling of the gale echoed the diabolical beating of drums and blare of trumpets of the captured band of the King Solomon, to whose accompaniment the pirates roared an ear-splitting song. So they sailed into the harbor.

The eleven ships all surrendered at the first shot. Barthelemy assembled all the captains on the Royal Fortune and gave them a magnificent banquet, to which, after some little hesitation, they sat down, with the exception of one man, Fletcher, who positively declared that he would not sit at the pirates' table to eat and carouse with them. Barthelemy permitted him to do as he pleased, and he turned his back upon them.

Toward the end of the entertainment, when the wine began to excite them, Barthelemy became kindly disposed, and told the captains that they could redeem their ships by paying a ransom of eight pounds of gold dust.

They instantly consented, with the exception of Fletcher who again refused, saying that he would accept no favors from pirates, and would not purchase his ship at the cost of his honor; they might do with him whatever they chose. He spoke like a true Englishman.

Barthelemy instantly gave orders to fire Fletcher's ship and burn her with her whole cargo.

Asphlant undertook to execute the command, but soon returned to report that the ship's cargo consisted of eighty negro slaves and, as he did not know whether one could kindle negroes, he had come to ask what to do with them.

Barthelemy's eyes flashed with a fiendish delight.

"Negroes?" he asked, grinding his teeth, "Throw them into the sea, they must learn to swim."

Asphlant did not utter a syllable in reply, but went to execute the order. The revellers continued their carouse.

From time to time their conversation was interrupted by a blood-curdling death shriek, which silenced the bacchanalian songs for a moment and stopped the wine-cup on its way to their lips, but the next instant the talk was resumed.

The orgy was closed by an illumination furnished by the flames consuming Fletcher's ship, which lighted the whole harbor.

The negroes were chained together in couples, and the harbor swarmed with sharks. Whenever a pair was thrown into the sea the waves around were reddened; at each death shriek Barthelemy drained a glass of wine, muttering: "That is for the cottage in Hispaniola." The negroes were all murdered, but Barthelemy was not yet drunk.

The captains left him at a late hour, hoping that they might meet again. Barthelemy gave each a receipt for the ransom money which, preserved among other documents in the government archives, ran as follows: