"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 G.o.d 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 superst.i.tions 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 G.o.d 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.

Chapter IV

Retribution