followed
him in the old days, men who had served him and trusted him, as I--men
whose valor and courage had made him what he was.

"He took the lad I loved, and because his proud spirit would not break
to his heavy hand and he answered him like the bold, free sailor he was,
he hanged him like a dog, sirs! I--I--stooped for his life. I, who cared
not for myself, offered to stand in his place upon the gallows platform,
though I have no more taste for the rope than any of you, if only he
might go free. He laughed at me! He mocked me! I urged my ancient
service--he drove me from him with curses and threats like a whipped
dog. I could have struck him down then, but that I wanted to save him
for a revenge that might measure my hate, slow and long and terrible.
Not mere sudden death, that would not suffice. Something more.

"Treachery? My lord, his was the first. I played his own game and have
overcome it with the same. D'ye blame me now? Take your treasure! I want
none of it. I want only him and my revenge! Liberty's dear to all of us.
I'll give mine up. You may take my life with the rest, but first give me
this man. Let me deal with him. I will revenge you all, and when I have
finished with him I will yield myself to you."

He was a hideous figure of old hate and rancor, of unslaked passion, of
monstrous possibilities of cruel torture. Hardened as they were by the
customs of their age to hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, the
listeners turned cold at such an exhibition of malefic passion, of
consuming hatred. Even Morgan himself, intrepid as he was, shrank from
the awful menace of the mordant words.

"My lord!" shouted the unfortunate captain, "give him no heed. He lies
in his throat; he lies a thousand times. 'Twas a mutinous dog, that
brother of his, that I hanged. I am your prisoner. You are a soldier. I
look for speedy punishment, certain death it may be, but let it not be
from his hand."

"Think, senors," urged the boatswain; "you would hang him perhaps. It is
the worst that you could do. Is that punishment meet for him? He has
despoiled women, bereft children, tortured men, in the streets of La
Guayra. A more fitting punishment should await him. Think of Panama, of
Maracaibo, of Porto Bello! Recall what he did there. Is hanging enough?
Give him to me. Let me have my way. You have your daughter, safe,
unharmed, within the shelter of her lover's arms. The town is yours. You
have won the fight. 'Twas I that d