This vessel they left, when paid off in the London Docks, and, to the misfortune of all concerned, were shipped on board the Hermione by Captain Phillips, who could little foresee the mischief they had in store for him and his friends.
CHAPTER XVIII.
COMMITTED TO THE DEEP.
The Diaria de Valparaiso, El Mercurio del Vapor, and other papers, but chiefly documents of a private nature belonging to the late Don Salvador de Moreno (for the poor man did not long survive that terrible 8th of December), have assisted us in the compilation of the foregoing narrative of the two brothers, which forms a singular sequel to their father's secret history; but until the fact fell from the baked and faltering lips of Pedro Barradas, in no way were Morley Ashton, Bartelot, Heriot, and others who listened, prepared to hear that he was concerned in bringing about a catastrophe so terrible as that which closes our preceding chapter.
"So that was the great crime of Pedro—the awful deed which he has so frequently referred to in his ravings," said Morley.
"An awful deed truly," added Captain Phillips. "Who would live, even if he could, haunted by such memories? A precious logbook of crime his life presents?"
Death, however, came on Pedro fast. One of his last acts was to examine his wretched pallet for the watch and ring which, as detailed in a previous chapter, he had forcibly taken from Hawkshaw.
His half-fatuous intention was now, probably, to bestow them on some one; but a groan of pity and disgust escaped him on finding that one of his worthless compatriots had already abstracted them, and now, perhaps, would gladly give them both for one drop of water to cool his parched tongue in the drifting quarter-boat.
"The past, the past!" he moaned; "misericordia! misericordia! My life—my lost life! Oh! that with my present bitter experience I could live it over once again—even a year of it—how different it should be! How many have been misspent, frittered away and blackened? Oh! for a month—a week—to repent. One day—mother of God—only one day; but it may not be—cannot be! Oh that I might warn Zuares, ere it be too late also for him—no absolution, no hope."
As the life of Pedro ebbed—easily, however, complete mortification having set in—and his senses passed away, he muttered something again and again; and Morley, who was in the forecastle, held the lamp near—for night had come on—and stooped over him to listen.