Obedient to the commands of his chief, Lorenzo drafted a number of men from the crew, and sent them on board the prize ship. The Black Schooner was kept in the position ordered by the captain; the proper watches for the night were set, and those on board the vessel retired to rest.
At the dawn of the next day, a peculiar sound of the fife summoned forth the whole crew of the schooner. In the space of a few moments, above three hundred men lined the long deck.
With the habit of continual discipline, they fell into order so quietly, that the space afforded by the deck of that comparatively small vessel, did not for a moment seem filled by the multitude which gathered on it. The pirates stood accoutred in, what might be called, their holiday dress. Their red woollen shirts and caps were worn with some care; their sashes seemed more symmetrically folded round their waists, and the weapons which were stuck in them, seemed adjusted with more than ordinary attention; while their black beards, faces, and hands, presented that clean, sun-burnt, half-sea, half-land appearance, which we easily discover in the aspect of a sailor while on shore.
The appearance of the crew, as it gathered that morning, contrasted in a striking manner with that which it wore before the attack.
Before the action, the pirates stood like men who were too much engrossed with one idea—one passion—to be capable of any thought which was unconnected with that. Their red caps were drawn carelessly over their heads; their dress was that of men who could not afford a moment’s time to its adjustment, while the wildest ferocity sat on every line of their countenances. On that morning the absorption of mind had ceased; they seemed returned from the engrossing contemplation of the sanguinary and the terrible, to the softer feelings that lend to life those charms, which, empty though they be, still are sufficient to enliven its monotony, and sometimes even to smooth down its asperities. Their habitual fierceness, too, had yielded to the contentment by which they seemed animated, and their features were less rigid, and less ferocious.
The men had been assembled some time before the captain made his appearance: the change which was observed in their aspect, could not be read in his. He appeared the same, sternly collected, individual that he always was.
As soon as he appeared on deck, the officers respectfully bowed. The captain then seated himself on a deck-stool, which had been placed behind a small table for him. The boys, who always attended him, then deposited on the table several bags of money, and disappeared.
“My men,” he said, when he had been seated, “our booty in gold has been small, but we shall, no doubt, find a sufficient recompense for our toil in the purchase-money of the ship’s cargo, which it is my will to take to St. Thomas’ to sell. Six thousand and five hundred dollars is the amount of what we have got. This I shall divide among you, and forego my own share until a day of better fortune. Let the wounded approach.”
Those who had been but slightly wounded in the last engagement, and could bear the fatigue of walking, stepped forward. They received shares larger than those of their comrades in proportion to the injuries which they had sustained. Those who had lost a hand, an arm, a leg, or a foot, received four times the amount of booty; those who had lost an eye, a finger, or a toe, received twice the amount. When the wounded had duly been recompensed, the captain then addressed his men.
“Comrades,” he said, “it was our misfortune to lose some of our brave associates in the fight, let those who were the friends of the dead come forward, as I call over their names, and receive their share:—Diego—who is Diego’s friend?” One of the pirates stepped forward, and, raising his right hand, declared that he was Diego’s friend. The share which should have been that of the dead, was then delivered to his friend.