"Let no one stir or you are all dead men!" shouted the young pirate in bold, ringing tones, and the sailors, disheartened by the capture of their commander, laid down their arms before the savage forms thronging on deck.
The victory was Barthelemy's; and his comrades' first act was to lift him on their shoulders, declare him their captain and, with terrible oaths, swear eternal fealty by death, hell, and the devil.
A Herculean fellow raised him aloft like a child, and, pointing to the figures lying weltering in their blood, shouted in a voice of thunder:
"Who deserves to be your leader better than Robert Barthelemy?"
"No one! No one!" was the unanimous answer.
"Will you have him for your leader, captain, king?"
"Hurrah!" responded the crew.
"Stop!" cried Barthelemy from the Hercules' shoulder. "I heard some one shout 'No.'"
"Who was it?" roared the athlete; "does any one want to jest with death?"
"Don't rage, Skyrme, don't rage, my brave giant. Speech is free. Come forward, Lord Simpson, you oppose my election. Step forward, my valiant nobleman, and tell us your objection to me!"