“‘Although the governor and his troops fought most heroically, the pirates, literally with halters round their necks, fought with even greater ferocity. At last the huge fort was taken, and every soldier put to the sword, and the city itself was captured. Many of the inhabitants fled to the woods, but enough were driven into the castle—nuns, mothers, maidens—to enable these awful fiends to hold such a wild carousal that even to think of makes one’s blood run cold.’
“And now, my friend,” said Captain Reeves, “let us close the narrative for a time, and return home. You shall dine with me to-morrow night, for young Miguel himself is coming, and we will have merriment and music enough to drive the memory of these terrible crimes from our minds.”
“Besides,” he added, “the strange story takes a new turn, and this it is I want your advice concerning.”
We soon after said good-bye, and Dash and I went back to the manse.
CHAPTER V.
FIGHTING ON LAND AND AT SEA.
“Ay, at set of sun
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
Sling on thy bugle; see that free from rust
My carbine-look springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
And give the guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the armourer with speed dispose;
Last time it more fatigued my arm than foes.”
Byron.
I HAD read books about Morgan before making Captain Reeves’s acquaintance, but somehow, hearing the dreadful story told first-hand, as it were, from the log of one who had seen the many fearful tragedies, it seemed all the more realistic and awful.
It was some time before I fell asleep that night, for from thinking of the atrocities committed by pirates my mind turned to the fearful and indescribable cruelties perpetrated upon British women and children in the inhuman Indian Mutiny.
Naturally enough there arose a question that did not tend towards inducing
“Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep”—