The pirates gave him no chance to speak. "Don't wake him, don't you see how sweetly he is sleeping? You would better drink."
The herald was soon completely intoxicated and, seeing the governor's wife whispering tenderly to Barthelemy, in the bewilderment of a drunkard's ideas he carried the despatch to him.
The latter was about to throw it down when, glancing at the address, his eye caught the name "Hispaniola."
The young leader's face suddenly darkened; he tore open the despatch and with blanched face, read the following lines.
Sir: The slaves in San Domingo rebelled a few days ago, attacked the cotton plantations along the whole coast, burned and destroyed them, and pitilessly murdered the planters, sparing neither man, woman, nor child. There is not a single dwelling left standing on the northern coast of Hispaniola.
Drops of cold perspiration stood on Barthelemy's brow, his eyes stared fixedly into vacancy, his fingers clenched the paper convulsively; then, starting up, he flung the Creole aside and dealt the table such a blow with his clenched fist that the pirates, to a man, instantly became silent and stared at him in wonder.
"The carouse is over!" thundered their leader in a terrible voice. "Hence to the ship, drop toying, and seize your weapons."
The buccaneers could not yet recover from their bewilderment. The Creole beauty, with sparkling eyes, pressed nearer to Barthelemy and raised his hand to her glowing lips.
Barthelemy's eyes sought Moody. The old pirate had drunk heavily, but was perfectly sober.
"You told me to drain the cup of joy to the dregs and then shatter it," cried the young chief. "I will shatter it ere my lips have touched it."