“We will fight the Spaniards while they have a flag in the Indies, but our own people we will not touch!”

The clamor of shouts and oaths suddenly fell, and the wind in the rigging, the water at the keel, the surf on the shore, made themselves heard. In the silence, the terror of the fated ship became audible. Confused voices came to us, and the scream of a woman.

On the faces of a very few of the pirates there was a look of momentary doubt and wavering; it passed, and the most had never worn it. They began to press forward toward the poop, cursing and threatening, working themselves up into a rage that would not care for my sword, the minister’s cutlass, or Diccon’s pike. One who called himself a wit cried out something about Kirby and his methods, and two or three laughed.