"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 G.o.d 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. .h.i.t, for his own men had struck up the weapon and would not let him aim at the a.s.sailants 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 doc.u.ments 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-gla.s.s 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 a.s.sembled 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 baccha.n.a.lian 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 gla.s.s 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 doc.u.ments 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 l.u.s.tre 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!