Carried away by their leader's pa.s.sion, the buccaneers joined in a terrible cheer, and throwing down their gla.s.ses, pressed after him with drunken enthusiasm from the joys of the banquet to wrestle with the fury of the tempests.

The ship reached the sh.o.r.e of Hispaniola. Barthelemy promised his men the treasures of a whole people, reserving for himself only their blood.

He did not find a single ship in the harbor; there were only a few fisher-boats tossing on the waves, from whose owners he learned that the insurgent slaves, after ravaging the coast, had retired in large numbers to the interior of the island.

Barthelemy went on sh.o.r.e and rushed like a madman toward the cottage.

He soon neared the hill which concealed the little valley, and continued his way slowly, with a throbbing heart, as if fearing to behold with his eyes what he already witnessed in his soul. The hill afforded a view of the cottage. Here he had parted for the last time with his betrothed bride; here she had sobbed, "Take me with you"; here she had predicted, "Some day you will return and ask, 'Where is Julietta? Why doesn't she come to meet me?'"

His very heart shrank. One step more, and he would reach the hill-top--a weeping-willow obstructed the view and, bending the boughs apart, he gazed down into the valley.

It was empty. Bare yellow fields lay dry and withered in the place of the green plantation, and the site of the cottage was marked by a black spot.

Barthelemy stood motionless, with fixed eyes. No sigh escaped his lips, but he suddenly fell as if lifeless, with his face pressed against the gra.s.s. Perhaps he might have pa.s.sed into the eternal slumber, had not sad dreams come and forced him to witness the horrible b.l.o.o.d.y scenes enacted when the Satanic band burst into the quiet, lonely cottage, where the three girls and their grandmother knelt in prayer; he saw the rabble rush in through door and windows, seizing their victims by the hair, the thin, gray locks of the poor old grandmother, the luxuriant raven ones, which he had so often kissed, of his worshipped Julietta. If he had been lying in his grave, such a dream must have roused him.

"Ah!" shrieked the pirate struggling back to consciousness, like a person throwing off a deadly burden from his heart, and gazing around him, gasping for breath as he wiped the perspiration from his eyes and brow. "It is well that it was _only_ a dream," he faltered. Then a glance into the valley proved that it was no delusion, but reality.

Springing to his feet he rushed wildly down into the valley to the ruins of the hut, called the names of his dear ones, stirred the ashes as if he might find them there, examined the footprints in the mire to see if he could discover among them any traces of those of the objects of his love. But he found nothing except the marks of clumsy negro feet, nowhere the imprint of the dear, fairy-like ones. They were lost. Not a vestige of the cottage remained except the charred threshold. Barthelemy embraced and kissed it, his eyes growing dim with tears.

"Ah!" he shouted, dashing them from his eyes, "Not water, but oil on the flames! This is not the time to weep, but to avenge. A pirate's tears are drops of blood! I will avenge you, my murdered family, on mankind, on the whole world. Earth, grant me no more rest. Change the wine-cup to wormwood ere it reaches my lips, and every throb of my heart to hate. I had a single joy, my soul a single steadfast idea, which came to my remembrance whenever any one sued to me for mercy, and I granted it.

That was joy. But it is forever torn from my heart, henceforward I will give quarter to no one. Hear my vow, ye powers of h.e.l.l, and tremble--I will send you as many black fiends as there are grains of dust in this handful of ashes which I scatter on my head."

With a terrible imprecation, Barthelemy flung into the air a handful of ashes which he had clutched and, as they floated slowly down upon his head, he sank on his knees and, sobbing convulsively, kissed the threshold.

"My G.o.d, my G.o.d, if it was Thy will to punish me, why didst Thou not dash me against a cliff during the raging of a tempest, why didst Thou not let me perish by arms, by hunger? Why didst Thou not make me mount the scaffold? Why didst Thou permit Thy angels to atone for my crimes?"

He sobbed bitterly, while the ashes he had scattered to bear witness to his vow, drifted slowly down upon his head.

A traveller, driving his mule before him, came through the path leading from the forest. Barthelemy barred his way. The man started at sight of the fierce-looking stranger and began to appeal to his patron saint.

"Whence do you come?" asked the pirate.

"From La Vega. I bring good news. The insurgents are conquered and already hang along the coast."

"Bad news for me! Have none of them escaped?"

"A few hundred took refuge in a captured ship and fled to Africa."

"I thank you. You can go on."

The messenger continued his journey, shaking his head; he could not understand why any one should regret that the rebels were conquered, or rejoice because a number of them had escaped.

"What has happened to you, captain?" asked Moody, when Barthelemy returned to the ship. "You are as pale as a corpse."

"Nothing," replied his commander in a hollow tone. "Only my heart has died in my breast."

The pirates asked no further questions. They knew all. Whenever any one of them left the band, the others kept watch from a distance. They had seen Barthelemy sitting despairingly beside the ruins of the hut, and all shrank in timid silence from the pallid man.

Barthelemy shut himself up in his cabin and, taking a chart, began to study the course to Africa. His face was gloomy, but ever and anon his eyes flashed fiercely. Suddenly he heard a knock at the door and angrily opened it.

"Who is disturbing me, now?"

"I, captain," replied Scudamore. "We need your judgment."

"Go until to-morrow. I will grant no favors to-day."

"I want no favors from you, only the execution of the law. Three members of the band took advantage of the time during which we were on sh.o.r.e to desert and take refuge in the interior of the island. But I sleep with my eyes open and, though I have but two of them, can watch the whole hundred men."

"And me also?"

"There can be no discrimination, captain, we need one another, whoever seeks to leave us is a traitor. We want no path for retreat, only for advance. Whoever has once sworn faith, is ours forever, belongs to h.e.l.l, no power can free him, and if he will not live with us he must die."

"Have you captured the fugitives?"

"All three, they were only a mile from La Vega when we overtook them."

"Bring them before me singly."

Scudamore went in search of the prisoners, with fiendish delight, and returned dragging the first one by the ear.

He was a cowardly fellow whom the pirates had forced to join their band.

"Oh, captain!" he cried falling on his knees before Barthelemy, "if you believe in G.o.d and the angels, let me leave this accursed place. You are all doomed to h.e.l.l, permit me to save my soul from the flames of purgatory. Oh! all you saints of Heaven, have mercy on my sinful head."

A horrible roar of laughter from the pirates greeted these imploring words.

"You shall die," said Barthelemy coldly, motioning to the men to lead him away.

"Captain! For heaven's sake, you won't let me die thus, without the sacrament or extreme unction, to the ruin and eternal perdition of my soul?"

"Wait, I'll confess you," said Scudamore with a diabolical laugh, putting the rope around the doomed man's neck.

"Oh G.o.d, my Creator, is there no one to say a prayer for me? Alas, I once knew so many and have forgotten them all."

The pirates, laughing loudly, dragged to the mast the unhappy man, who began to roar the air of a song whose words he had long since forgotten.

A minute later the song ceased, the man was hanging above.

The second prisoner was now brought forward. He, too, was only a common sailor. His companions were forced to bind him hand and foot in order to drag him before the captain, and he kept up a constant torrent of oaths.

"Yes, I ran away from you because I loathed this vile, roystering life, toiling and fighting every day and when, at the risk of death, one gained a little money, a man had to throw it away. I'll run from you a hundred times more."

"Not once," replied Scudamore grinning. He apparently had far more taste for the hangman's trade than for the physician's. Barthelemy silently waved his hand, and the pirate hung.