"Be a king on the high seas."
In spite of everything I felt a liking for the captain. There was a fascinating power about him, and I wanted to know about him. My eight years on the wave had hardened me, and my hatred had dulled my higher feelings.
"Look you," he went on, "we are not wholly bad. We have freed hundreds of slaves, and while we live by plunder we only take from the strong and the rich. Only last week we set at liberty two hundred slaves who would have been sold to a living death."
He went on speaking in this strain until I was less bitter towards him, but I said:
"All this does not prove that you are not cold-blooded villains. The officers of my ship are now dead through you. Your robbery is bad. Your murder is worse."
Again the men clamoured; but again the captain went on:
"What, are we worse than your English man-of-war vessels? You go to war with a country, you take her vessels, you kill her men, and your crews divide the booty. What, are we worse? Nay, we are better!"
I did not attempt to argue further with him, being maddened at the thought of my captain being killed, and of the wife and children who would have to bewail his loss. So instead of answering him I burst into a torrent of abuse.
"Tie his hands and blindfold him," cried the captain savagely.
In a few seconds this was done!