"Which, when we have taken it from you, will be of no use to us," said the giant Skyrme, laughing. "What do you say to that, Moody?"
The man addressed was a sullen, taciturn fellow, who was sitting on the bulwark, holding a short pipe between his teeth. The silver whistle hanging from his button-hole indicated that he was the pirate's boatswain.
"What's the use of so much talk?" he rejoined. "Bore a hole in the bottom of the ark and let the whole crew go under water with her."
"For heaven's sake, gentlemen!" shrieked a voice among the captured sailors, and a man, with his hands tied behind his back, threw himself at Barthelemy's feet and tried to kiss his boots, while his eyes rested despairingly on the face of the pirate chief.
"For heaven's sake, you brave, valiant, worthy men! You heroes, you demi-gods! By heaven, hell, and all that is sacred to you, I beseech you not to murder me. Kill all my comrades, the scoundrels deserve it for resisting you; but I have given you no offence, I never held a weapon in my hand; I was imprisoned during the whole fight and have just been brought out by these brave, excellent men."
Some of the pirates stared, others laughed.
"Gentleman, renowned heroes, worshipped sovereigns of our age, hear me, I entreat you, by all you hold sacred. I am Dr. Scudamore, a persecuted man; persecuted as you are; I have nothing to do with these people; I am the mortal enemy of Captain Rolls. I implore you to distinguish between me and these people, not to condemn me with them. Oh, I beg you to be merciful and permit me, kissing the dust off your feet, to consider myself the humblest of your servants."
Skyrme averted his face with an expression of loathing, while Moody kicked at the writhing figure, whom every one was eyeing with the deepest scorn.
"Captain Rolls," said Barthelemy, "it appears that you have condemned this fellow?"
"Only accused, not condemned. The judgment lies with the English courts."