Revenge
The time of the monsoons had come. News of shipwrecks arrived daily. The
elements of the air and sea were ceaselessly contending in a strife
before which the petty quarrels of men were ended. Nothing was heard at
present of Barthelemy. The English and Dutch agencies were perfectly
aware that his ships were anchored in the harbor of Cape Corso. Who
would venture to tempt Providence by putting to sea in such weather? The
heart of the boldest pirate trembles when he sees sky and water
transformed into darkness, illumined only by flashes of lightning. It
would be a devil and not a man who, amid this illumination, would risk a
battle in the midst of peals of thunder and the howling of the gale.
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:
We, the Knights of Fortune, hereby inform all whom it
may concern, that we have received from Captain ---- of
the ship ---- eight pounds of gold dust as ransom
money, for which we released the said ship. Given under
our hand and seal in the harbor of Mydaw, on the 13th
of January, 1722.
ROBERT BARTHELEMY (HENRY GLASBY).
* * * * *
The storm was subsiding. A calm night followed. The moon rose, shedding
a magical lustre upon the sea. Barthelemy stood on the deck of his ship
with folded arms, gazing at the stars.
How much wine and blood he had poured to intoxicate himself, but all in
vain. Neither wine nor blood gave him peace and forgetfulness. Ah, he
could win no forgetfulness, that sweet unconsciousness of the soul, but
instead came memory, the anguish of recalling the past.
The stars exert a magical power over the soul; whoever gazes at them
long has it drawn whither it does not desire, whither it fears to go.
What did Barthelemy behold in those stars? He saw the years of his
youth, painted in sweet, glimmering pictures, as unlike those of the
present as if either the one or the other must be a dream.
There were the three girlish figures sporting around him, weaving
garlands for his head, fastening them on with kisses, amid merry
laughter. How softly the palms were whispering!
They sat together in the little house, the grandmother, in her armchair,
telling marvelous, terrible tales of famous warriors; the young girls
casting timid glances at the windows, where the darkness of the
gathering night appeared, and the fire on the hearth died slowly, while
William's heart began to swell with eager desire to battle with these
unknown perils, and win for himself a name like those of the heroes
glorified by tradition. How softly the palms were whispering!
The moon shone brilliantly. The moonlight nights of the South are
brighter than the days of the North. His Julietta, clinging to him,
murmured tenderly: "How I love you; we will live and die together."
William's head sank on his breast, and he fancied he clasped in his arms
the whole kingdom of heaven. How softly the palms were whispering!
The young girl sat on the green shore; her white kerchief fluttered in
the wind as she waited every evening for the ship on which her lover had
sailed, waited with yearning and prayers. How her heart leaped when, on
the distant horizon, she fancied she recognized the slender masts that
appeared before her, and measured in her imagination, a hundred times
over, the space which yawned between them. Her bosom heaved, her soul
burned with joy and, as it came nearer and nearer, she threw kisses--
* * * * *
"What ship is that?" shouted Moody's harsh, strident tones close beside
Barthelemy.
Roused from his waking dream, he cast a half startled, half angry glance
at the speaker.
"What ship do you mean?"
"The one at which you have been looking steadily for half an hour, the
sail appearing yonder on the horizon."
Barthelemy now, for the first time, noticed a vessel whose outlines had
blended with the ship seen in his dream, and which seemed to be swiftly
approaching.
"Oho! Off with the Fox-Hound!" he cried. "Forward, my lads!"
"Not to-night," shouted one of the crew from the other ship, "the Royal
Fortune ought to go. You have drunk enough, we are sober; and even my
grandfather's spook wouldn't fight sober."
"What talk is this?"
"The talk that came to us to-night from the rum and sugar, when even the
fish got punch from the Royal Fortune."
"You rascals, do I manufacture sugar and brandy that you ask me for it?
When the supply is exhausted, get more. Wherever a Portuguese galleon
appears on the horizon, you can find all the sugar you want. Follow her
and drink your fill."
Meanwhile the vessel had come so near that they could count all her
sails in the bright moonbeams; then she tacked and began to recede.
"Follow her!" shouted Barthelemy; "See, she has discovered us and wants
to escape. Skyrme, quick, don't let her elude us. Up, up, to the chase
my lads!"
The Fox-Hound instantly unfurled every sail; the crew of the larger
ship, greedy for prey, rushed on her deck and, aided by a favorable
wind, the pursuit of the unknown ship began, which, overhauled more and
more by the Fox-Hound, soon disappeared with it below the horizon.
* * * * *
The fugitive was the Swallow, the formidable English man-of-war,
commanded by two of the bravest captains, David Oyle and--Rolls.
When Barthelemy had captured all the ships that had been sent against
him, the Swallow sailed out alone to seek and conquer him.
On reaching the harbor, they saw in the distance the pirate ships, which
were easily recognized, and wanted to attack them at once, but were
obliged first to sail around a large shoal known as the "French
Sand-bank," and the pirates, mistaking this circuit for flight, rushed
in pursuit.
The Swallow merely sailed far enough out to sea to lure the Fox-Hound to
a point where the cannonading could not be heard on land, and then
allowed herself to be overtaken.
Suddenly the pirates, with loud shouts, ran up the black flag and dashed
with the speed of an arrow toward the Swallow. Skyrme stood in the bow,
holding his grappling iron ready.
"Barthelemy and death!" roared the whole band.
At the same moment the cannon of the British ship, with a terrible
thunder, sent a devastating volley upon the deck of the Fox-Hound,
veiling her in a cloud of smoke.
As soon as it lifted, the pirates were seen standing as if dazed by the
thunderbolt which had fallen upon them. The deck was strewn with mangled
corpses, the black flag was shot from the mast. Skyrme alone had
retained his presence of mind.
"Forward, you knaves!" he roared furiously, "what are you staring at? Up
with the flag again, and throw your grappling irons."
The pirates quickly hauled up the flag, and Skyrme's stentorian voice
shouted: "Forward!"
A second volley thundered down upon them from the British cannon. The
flag fell a second time, and with it Skyrme, whose legs were torn off by
a cannon ball. The pirates lost their self-control, and rushing to the
man at the helm, forced him to turn and spread their sails for flight.
"Do not yield," roared Skyrme, clinging to the mast. "Shame and disgrace
upon you! Stick to the ship, and rush upon her decks. Die the death of
heroes!"
The pirates, with a last outburst of daring, began to urge the
Fox-Hound toward the Swallow, and had almost succeeded in reaching it
with their grappling irons, when a third volley echoed on the air. The
main-mast was shattered and fell with all the rigging, into the sea.
They were lost. They could fight no longer.
"Throw the flag into the water that it may not fall into the hands of
the enemy!" gasped Skyrme, only half of whose gigantic body remained.
"Go to the powder room and fire among the kegs!"
Five pirates, with loaded pistols, instantly leaped below, and at the
end of a minute, with a roar like thunder, a cloud of smoke rose into
the air; otherwise there was no harm done. There was not powder enough
to shatter the ship. The five pirates lay in the hold, burnt and
swearing, as black as if they had been transformed into devils in
advance. The explosion threw the helmsman flat on the deck and, as if
he had no other care on his mind, he screamed for his hat, which had
gone overboard.
The Englishmen instantly took possession of the wreck, whose deck was
strewn with the dead and wounded.
The latter were raised and cared for.
"Don't touch me!" shrieked Skyrme in a frenzy of rage, and seizing a
sabre in each hand he began a desperate struggle. The bravest soldiers
could scarcely succeed in disarming the mangled giant, who, when his
huge hands were chained in order to bind up his wounds, tore off the
bandages with his fetters and, by a last tremendous exertion of
strength, burst them and--died.
Meanwhile, in order not to waste time, Barthelemy captured a ship coming
from India. Her captain, Jonathan Hill, was a jovial fellow who,
accepting the pirate's invitation, sat down to breakfast with him,
became very friendly after his first glass of wine, and when the second
was emptied, asked the company to drink for a wager, in which contest he
vowed to land them all under the table.
During this noble rivalry every man was called upon for his favorite
song. Hill had two or three.
"Now let us have _your_ favorite, Barthelemy!" he said at last, turning
to the pirate chief.
"I cannot sing," replied Barthelemy.
"Oho! But you ought at least to learn the one which is being sung
everywhere about you; for instance this:
"Far, far away the white dove flies,
In fierce pursuit the black hawk hies;
The dove is my lover so dear,
The hawk is the pirate I fear."
Barthelemy shuddered.
"Where did you hear that song?"
"Ha! ha! my friend, from a wonderfully beautiful girl, of whom your
soul must not even dream; it's a pity that she was in love with someone
else."
"Speak! when? where?"
"Well, it was a romantic adventure. I had just anchored off the coast of
Hispaniola when the negroes in San Domingo rose against their masters. I
had gone on shore with twenty men to get some fresh water, when I heard
a shriek in the distance. 'Let's go there!' I said to my companions,
'we'll help if there is need'; and seizing our guns we rushed toward the
sound. Three young girls came from behind the hill, pursued by three
hundred negroes. The black rascals, shouting and yelling, were fast
gaining upon them. The girls could not run fast enough, for they were
dragging a large armchair in which sat an old woman. 'Fire!' I shouted,
and we sent a volley among the black devils. They scattered, and before
they could gather again, we had seized the poor hunted women and rushed
to our boats with them. The beautiful girl was as light as a bird, I can
tell you. I could have carried her in my arms to the ends of the earth."
"Go on," whispered Barthelemy in an almost unintelligible tone.
"Aha, you are interested in hearing of a beautiful girl? And she thought
of you, too, but how? She wrote the song about you, which is not
particularly flattering. It seems she had a lover, who had gone on a
long voyage and, as she was constantly afraid you would do the poor
fellow some mischief, she added whenever she prayed for him the entreaty
that God would sink Robert Barthelemy in the depths of the sea. Poor
girl, how she loved that man! She asked every sailor we met if he had
seen the ship on which William went. My heart ached for her. I left her
in Dublin. I don't know whether she has found her lover."
Barthelemy's face had gradually blanched to a corpse-like pallor, his
eyes were fixed on vacancy and a strange smile rested on his ghastly
face.
"See how the captain is smiling, he has gone crazy!" whispered the
pirates, starting up in alarm.
"What has happened to you?" exclaimed Hill, striking Barthelemy on the
shoulder. The latter started at the touch, and a look of profound,
unutterable sadness drove the smile from his face.
Rising from the table, he grasped Hill by the hand, drew him aside,
slipped his arm into his, and walking forward to the bow of the ship,
said in a stifled voice:
"Captain, this is the last day of my life! I feel, I know it. You must
not ask why. That is my own affair. The pirate has his superstitions as
well as the rest of the world. The sailor knows that he is doomed when
he meets the spectre of the sea. My soul has such a spectre, and I
encountered it to-day. I know not how or where, but I shall fall. In the
hold of the captured King Solomon there are ten thousand pounds sterling
in gold dust; if I fall, take it--as compensation for your stolen
property."
Hill gazed at him from head to foot, and then returned to the others.
"Your captain is so drunk that he doesn't know what he is talking
about."
An hour later most of the pirates lay intoxicated under the tables, only
two or three remaining erect, disputing the wager with Jonathan Hill,
when the man at the helm shouted:
"Sail in sight!"
The cry sobered some of the pirates and, staggering forward, they
recognized in the approaching vessel the ship seen the night before.
A strange dread took possession of them all. They hastily shook their
drunken messmates from their dreams, pointed to the ship, and hurried to
Barthelemy with the tidings. The latter noticed the terror in their
faces, and said coldly:
"That is certainly the Portuguese sugar maker which fled from the
Fox-Hound yesterday and, in trying to escape into some harbor, has now
run between two fires."
"That's no Portuguese trader, sir," said one of the pirates in a
trembling voice. "Before I deserted to you, I served on that ship and
know her well. It is the Swallow."
"Well?" said Barthelemy, smiling scornfully, "and suppose she is, would
my men be too cowardly to meet her?"
"She has one hundred and ten guns and is one of the best sailers in the
navy."
"That makes no difference. Who are her captains?"
"One is named David Oyle--the other Rolls."
"Rolls!" repeated Barthelemy starting. "So my presentiment was true. Up,
my men! Beat the drums, show the flags, spread every inch of canvas,
prepare for the battle! Fear nothing, the god of war is on our side."
The buccaneers seized their weapons, the gunners went to their stations,
and Barthelemy withdrew for a few moments to his cabin.
He soon reappeared, wearing on his head a broad-brimmed hat, with a long
scarlet plume fastened with a ruby buckle; his costume, studded with
gems, was girdled with a Persian shawl; around his neck hung a broad
gold chain, sustaining a glittering diamond cross, and in his belt were
thrust pistols whose handles were set with pearls. So he came forth,
haughty in bearing and magnificently clad, like a bridegroom going to
his marriage banquet.
The eyes of all the pirates were fixed upon him. Every one had the
firmest belief that nothing was impossible for Barthelemy.
The latter beckoned to Moody and whispered in his ear:
"Old comrade, I need not tell you that this will be the hour of greatest
peril which we have ever experienced. We must hold by each other. I have
decided to approach the enemy with all sail set, receiving and returning
his fire. If he dismasts us, we will try to escape to land; if that
fails, we will grapple the enemy and blow both ships into the air."
"Very well," muttered the old pirate, clenching his pipe between his
teeth.
"One thing more, Moody. If I should fall, throw my body into the sea. I
want to rest on the bottom of the ocean."
The pirate bent his head and growled: "Very well."
Then each man went to his post. Barthelemy drew his sword and, raising
his head proudly, cried: "Raise the anchors."
The order was obeyed, the wind filled the sails, and the two ships, with
their flags fluttering in the breeze, rapidly approached each other.
On arriving within a certain distance, both turned suddenly. The Swallow
fired first, sixty guns thundering at the same instant. The Royal
Fortune reserving her fire, did not lose a single sail, and only three
of her men fell.
"Up and at them!" shouted Barthelemy, "the advantage is ours"; and as he
spoke his forty guns returned the volley of the Swallow, which rocked
heavily under the shock.
Just at that moment the report of a pistol echoed from the Swallow's
deck and Barthelemy sank lifeless on a cannon. The bullet had pierced
his heart.
The man at the helm, Stephenson, saw him fall and, not perceiving the
wound, shouted:
"Don't lie down, captain, but look the danger boldly in the face and
fight as beseems a man."
Even as he spoke a jet of blood gushed from Barthelemy's breast.
Stephenson, seeing it, leaped from his post in despair, leaving his
place at the helm, and throwing himself on Barthelemy's body shouted,
sobbing aloud: "He is dead!"
The cry fairly paralyzed the pirates just at the critical moment;
nameless terror filled their hearts, and all rushed to their captain's
corpse.
Moody thrust them aside right and left till he reached the body, and
hastily seizing it, he threw it over the bulwark into the sea.
With Barthelemy, the moving spirit of the pirates fled. Throwing down
their weapons, they surrendered. No man knew exactly what he was doing;
they sank like a headless body.
Scudamore was the only one who thought of anything. He recognized Rolls
on the other ship and, seizing a lighted slow-match, rushed to the
powder magazine, but met Henry Glasby standing with a drawn sword at the
door.
"What are you doing here?" he shrieked.
"Keeping you back," replied Glasby, wrenching the match from his hand
and stamping out the light.
"Oho! Asphlant, Moody, here!" shouted Scudamore. "Here is a traitor.
Help me break into the powder magazine."
An uproar followed. Some of the pirates wanted to blow up the ship,
others opposed it, and while the two parties were contending Glasby
poured water into the kegs, so that the powder was useless.
An hour after the whole crew were prisoners.