intended to rise against him, and
take the vessel, having often stimulated the crew so to do; and that, as
the other men, as well as the captain's son, could prove, if they
choose, he actually was in confinement for that attempt when the
schooner was entering the passage to the Caicos; and that he was only
released because he was acquainted with the passage, and threatened to
be thrown overboard if he did not take her in: that, at every risk, he
had run her on the rocks; and aware that the captain would murder him,
he had shot Cain as he was swimming to the shore, as the captain's son
could prove; for he had taxed him with it, and he was actually
struggling with him for life, when the officers and boats' crew
separated them, and made them both prisoners: that he hardly expected
that Francisco, the captain's son, would tell the truth to save him, as
he was his bitter enemy, and in the business at the Magdalen river,
which had been long planned (for Francisco had been sent on shore under
the pretence of being wrecked, but, in fact, to ascertain where the
booty was, and to assist the pirates in their attack), Francisco had
taken the opportunity of putting a bullet through his shoulder, which
was well known to the other pirates, and Francisco could not venture to
deny. He trusted that the court would order the torture to Francisco,
and then he would probably speak the truth; at all events, let him speak
now.

When Hawkhurst had ceased to address the court, there was an anxious
pause for some minutes. The day was fast declining, and most parts of
the spacious court-house were already deeply immersed in gloom; while
the light, sober, solemn, and almost sad, gleamed upon the savage and
reckless countenances of the prisoners at the bar. The sun had sunk down
behind a mass of heavy yet gorgeous clouds, fringing their edges with
molten gold. Hawkhurst had spoken fluently and energetically, and there
was an appearance of almost honesty in his coarse and deep-toned voice.
Even the occasional oaths with which his speech was garnished, but which
we have omitted, seemed to be pronounced more in sincerity than in
blasphemy, and gave a more forcible impression to his narrative.

We have said that when he concluded there was a profound silence; and
amid the fast-falling shadows of the evening, those who were present
began to feel, for the first time, the awful importance of the drama
before them, the number of lives which were tremblin