There were about one hundred men left; some twenty stepped forward; the rest stood firm and unyielding. Some of their faces were pale; a few of them were wounded; some had wives and children in far-off Spain, who would watch for their coming in vain. The suns would wax and wane; the hair of the watchers would fade slowly into the white of the winter snows; their children would grow up, live their little day, and lie down in the arms of the great angel, "Death"—but still they would not come. Not for them was a grave beneath the sunny skies of Spain, with the mourners to weep about their lifeless clay—theirs was a watery grave, lonely and deep, beneath the ocean's brine.
"I will give you one more chance," the pirate said. "Step forward, and your lives are saved—if not, overboard you go."
I have never admired the Spaniard as a race; but at this moment I felt a thrill of admiration and respect for those men, most of them bronzed and battered veterans, who could look into the face of death and meet him unafraid and undismayed.
The captain raised his hand; but I could not see them go down without one effort to save them. I sprang forward, as did also Steele.
"Count," I cried, "thou canst not mean to throw them overboard?—thou dost not mean to do that?"
"Why not?" he said coolly. "They are of no use to me, if they will not join me. I cannot keep them as captives. What other course is open to me?"
"Unbind them," I said; "give them the ship and let them go. Better starvation upon the seas, than such a death as this."
"What? And let them bring down a swarm about my ears? Hardly!" he sneered. "I was not born yesterday, brave sir." Then raising his voice he shouted, "Herrick, seize them!"
The sturdy Herrick and a score of others rushed upon us. The struggle was brief; we were unarmed, and two against a score, for many others of the pirates had rushed to the assistance of their companions.