"Heartless? 'Tis monstrous of us," cried Bill Saxby. "This greed for pirates' gold is like a poison."
They hastened to retrace their steps. The wounded seaman was breathing his last when they reached his side. They could not have prolonged his life had they remained with him. Jack Cockrell stroked his damp forehead and murmured:
"Farewell to ye, Jesse Strawn. Any message before you slip your cable?"
There was a faint whisper of:
"Scuppered, lad! Take warnin' and avast this cruel piratin' or you'll get it. A few words from the Bible 'ud ease me off."
To Jack's amazement, the veteran sinner of the lot, old Trimble Rogers, fumbled in his breeches and withdrew a small book carefully wrapped in canvas. Solemnly he hooked behind his ears a pair of huge, horn-rimmed spectacles and knelt beside the dying pirate. In the manner of a priest the buccaneer intoned a chapter of Holy Writ which he appeared to know by rote. Then he said a prayer in a powerful broken voice. Silence followed. The others waited with bared heads until Trimble said:
"His soul has passed. Shall we give the poor lad a decent burial?"
"His grave is ready. He helped dig it himself," said Bill Saxby. "And may his ghost be a torment to the fiend that slew him."
It seemed a fitting suggestion. In the freshly made treasure pit on the knoll they laid the dead pirate and used the spade to cover him. Jack Cockrell had a sheath knife with which he fashioned a rude cross and hacked on it:
JESSE STRAWN
A. D. 1718