"You would fain fill my station, would you, sir?"
"I would not descend to the station of a pirate, a robber, a murderer, a——"
"S'death, silence!" roared Morgan furiously. "The ship is ours! I've a message for the King. Wilt carry it?"
"I would not insult my royal master by carrying a message from such as you."
"You will have it!" shouted Morgan, white with rage, lunging forward at him.
Their blades crossed in an instant, and at the same moment the old master, reckless of what happened, flung himself between the two. There was a roar from Carib's pistol, and the old man fell. As Kempthorne relaxed his guard slightly in the confusion Morgan ran him through. The admiral fell so suddenly that he jerked the blade, buried in his breast, out of the buccaneer's hand.
"God—" he gasped, as he lay upon the body of the old sailor, "God—save the—King."
"Would'st sit in my place, eh?" cried Morgan, laughing truculently as he turned on his heel and left the cabin.
Beneath the hatches, the platoon of soldiers and the men there imprisoned were yelling and making a tremendous racket. They were helpless, however, and could do nothing. The men of the boarding parties were clustered in groups forward and aft and around the closed passageways into the interior of the ship, waiting for the next order.
The noise and confusion which had followed the sentry's bold shot had awakened the attention of the people of the town. Lights twinkled on the ramparts of the fort, and the long roll of a drum could be heard coming faintly up the harbor against the wind. Lord Carlingford had just entered his boat to board the ship. There was not a moment to lose.