While Lorenzo was communicating the latter part of the intelligence, there might have been discovered a slight falter in his voice, and some embarrassment in his manner. He seemed to tremble at the consequence which such a short sentence would produce, while he himself was under the sad obligation of pronouncing the words which would bring about the fatal results that he seemed to dread so much. He, however, had managed to inform the captain of the poor man’s crime, and he still hoped that the circumstance of his being already at the point of death, from the wound which he had received, would suspend the punishment which he but too well knew would follow that which, in the Black Schooner, was accounted the highest guilt.
Lorenzo, therefore, anxiously watched the countenance of his cold and stern commander, in the hopes of being able to read in the expression which his report would produce, something that would lead him to believe that the unhappy culprit should be spared the horrors of an execution, when the hand of death seemed to be already laid so heavily upon him. But the features of the captain changed not: it is true, the minutest scrutiny may have detected a transitory alteration in the eyes, but that was more terrible than assuring. It lasted but for a moment, the face wore its own cold severity when the fatal “let the punishment be executed upon him” was pronounced.
Lorenzo silently rose, bowed, and retired. No man ever pretended to advise the chief; he seemed one who held counsel but with himself, he carried his discipline and his doctrine of expediency so far, that he never permitted either the suggestions of his officers, nor heard the prayers of mercy when once his commands were issued. Lorenzo knew that: more tender than his pursuit should have made him, he felt deeply for the wretched man who was doomed, that hour, to die for the satisfaction of the rigid laws of the schooner.
When Lorenzo left the cabin of the captain, he went on deck, where he gathered the men about him. These had continued in their places during the duel and the scene which ensued, apparently unaffected and unmoved by what was passing before them. During the most animated part of the combat, they had become as silent as if they were dumb, while their eyes were rivetted on the two who were fighting. But as soon as the duel was over, they fell again into the strain of mirth and revelry, which had been for a short time suspended, and the stabs and passes of the late combatants became the subjects of an animated conversation and of criticism.
But as soon as the wounded man had made known his crime, a general indignation seemed to seize the pirates.
They talked low and sullenly, and appeared to expect every moment something whose anticipation already had the effect of damping their hilarity.
Lorenzo repeated to them, for the sake of form, that which they already knew, and then repeated the sentence of the captain. The pirates spoke not a word, but a deep silence reigned among them. The officer of the watch was then requested to cast lots among his men for two who should execute the sentence. The two on whom the lot fell, preceded by the officer, shortly came up to the wounded man. They seemed very much dissatisfied with the duty that had devolved upon them.
The officer bent over the wounded man and reminded him that he had violated the most binding of their laws, and, at the same time, had exposed the life of a comrade to his own poniard, when he knew all the while that he had no right to contend for the portion which had been bequeathed by one dead comrade to another. He repeated the usual sentence passed in that case, and stated that the captain had also ordered its execution, and told him that within a few moments he should no longer live.
“Have you,” he asked, in conclusion, “any request to make?”
“No,” answered the wounded man, with the same sullenness as before.