The two men now raised the culprit on the bulwarks of the schooner. One of them supported him there, while the other proceeded to attach to his legs two cannon-balls, which were strongly tied up in pieces of old canvass. The culprit watched these preparations with the most unmoved indifference and most sullen cynicism. By this time he had lost a great quantity of blood, and his face was horribly pale and haggard, and wore under the shade of his malignant eyes an expression of deep malice, accompanied with a spiteful feeling against all men on account of the disappointment he had met, and the discomfiture which he had experienced in the fight. He spoke not a word; not a tender feeling seemed to warm his heart at that moment. The many years which he had, no doubt, passed among those from whom he was on the point of being cast away for ever, seemed not to recall to his gloomy recollection one single happy, or convivial moment which he might fondly contemplate; nor did the remembrance of some distant friend, of mother, or sister, or of wife, appear to force itself upon the man, whose moments were now numbered; but stolid, cold, and sullen, he lay on the bulwarks—on the brink of his existence.
The chest and other effects belonging to him were now brought and placed also on the rails. To them were also attached cannon-balls, and they were supported in that position by one of the men who seemed to await the orders of the officer.
They had not to wait long: the officer made a sign, and the wretched man, with his effects, was precipitated into the deep. A few bubbles arose to the surface, and the ocean rolled on over the executed pirate. Not an eye followed the splash, not a pirate looked where the waters had settled for ever over their victim, but the crew seemed to erase, at once, from their recollection the existence of their late dishonest comrade. They still sat at their cans, but the elasticity of the revelry was broken, to those grim men themselves such a death was solemn: the recent execution damped their spirits, and their pleasure was no longer like pleasure. The men and the officer returned to the duties of their watch. The sun sank in the horizon, night came, silence resumed its wonted reign, and the Black Schooner rode in the stillness of the deep over the long lazy billows of the Caribean Sea.
CHAPTER VII.
“I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?”
Merchant of Venice.
As soon as the sun had risen the next morning, the crew was again summoned to the main deck. They appeared, as on the day before, in their best costume, and fell into the same order.
The seamen, who belonged to the prize-ship, together with the master fisherman and his men, were placed by themselves, while the priest and the young lady were, as a mark of distinction, accommodated with deck-stools apart.
As soon as the men had assembled, the captain made his appearance on deck. He was appareled in the uniform, which it would appear he always wore when he was out of his cabin: the deep red cap, with the skull and cross bones, also covered his head. The expression of his features, if possible, was that of even more gravity than usual, and the melancholy cast which stamped that gravity was, perhaps, somewhat more deepened. He seated himself immediately on a chair, which was ready there for him, and ordered the prisoner who, the day before, had been dragged away to close confinement, to be brought forward.