DeNortier, sword in hand, stood by the mast, two or three of his lieutenants around him. He gave us a dark look and said, "Gentlemen, you will accompany me to yonder ship."
I merely inclined my head in token of our assent.
The boats were gotten out, and crowded with the pirates, made their way to the stricken vessel. As we drew nearer, we saw that the slaughter was even worse than it had appeared from the deck of the ship.
Here lay the body of a fresh young girl; there that of a grizzled old sailor; here a soldier in his armor, musketoon in hand; there a young child, his chubby arm under his head, as if asleep and dreaming; there a negro, dark and scowling. It was a horrible sight.
We climbed on deck, and immediately DeNortier ordered a squad of sailors to throw the dead bodies overboard; another to divide the prisoners—the men into one group, the women and children into another.
Steele, who had been examining a culverin that stood near him, touched me on the sleeve. I turned and looked at the gun to which he pointed—it was spiked and useless. We looked at another—spiked too.
The culverins had all evidently been disabled by some trusty ally on the ship. This accounted for the fact that they were never fired. I turned sick at the thought of such treachery, which had cost so many human lives, and so much blood and carnage.
And now we noticed that the pirates had stood all the men, who were left alive, by the side of the rail, their hands bound behind them. DeNortier advanced in front of the silent line.
"My men," he cried in Spanish (most of the men were Spaniards), "who of you wish a merry life, plenty of wine, gold in abundance, and a good ship under you, to roam the wide blue seas? Any who prefer that to a watery grave, step forward."