“Then, up he goes,” said the men, for the halter had been round his neck and run out to the yard-arm for some time, and the men had manned the rope, only awaiting my return on deck. In a second, the captain of the Transcendant was swinging in the air, and certainly if ever a scoundrel merited his fate, it was that man. Shortly afterwards I turned round, and there was the young hopeful looking at his father’s body swinging to and fro with the motion of the vessel.
I looked in vain for a tear in his eye; there was not a symptom of emotion. Seeing me look sternly at him, he hastened down below again.
“My lads,” said I to the men, who were all on deck, “I have received intelligence of that importance that I recommend that we should cut that vessel adrift, and make sail without a moment’s loss of time.”
“What, not plunder?” cried the men, looking at the Transcendant.
“No, not think of it, if you are wise.”
At this reply all of the men exclaimed that “that would not do”—“that plunder they would”—that “I was not the captain of the vessel,” and many more expressions showing how soon a man may lose popularity on board of a pirate vessel.
“I gave my opinion, my men, and if you will hear why I said so—”
“No, no, out boats,” cried they all, and simultaneously ran to lower down the boats, for it was now calm, that they might tow the schooner alongside of the Transcendant.
“You might as well talk to the wind as talk to them when there is plunder to be obtained,” said Toplift to me in a low tone.
“Come down with me,” said I, “and I will tell you what I have heard.”