m,
and several bottles of wine they have purloined, or rather taken at
will, from Captain Lantanas' locker bins.

The miscellaneous supply is not meant for a voyage, only a stock to
serve for that night, which they must needs spend upon the beach--as
also to provision them for the land journey, to be commenced in the
morning.

In silence, but with no great show of caution or stealth, are these
movements made. They who make them have but little fear of being
detected, some scarce caring if they be. Indeed, there is no one to
observe them, save those taking part. For the negro cook, after
dressing the dinner, and serving it, has gone out of the galley for
good; and, now acting as table waiter, keeps below in the cabin.

Soon everything is stowed in the pinnace, except that which is to form
its most precious freight; and again the piratical crew bring their
heads together, to deliberate about the final step; the time for taking
which is fast drawing nigh.

A thing so serious calls for calm consideration, or, at all events,
there must be a thorough understanding among them. For it is the
disposal of those they have destined as victims. How this is to be
done, nothing definite has yet been said. Even the most hardened among
them shrinks from putting it in words. Still it is tacitly understood.
The ladies are to be taken along, the others to be dealt with in a
different way. But how? that is the question, yet unasked by any, but
as well understood by all, as if it had been spoken in loudest voice.

For a time they stand silent, waiting for some one who can command the
courage to speak.

And one does this--a ruffian of unmitigated type, whose breast is not
stirred by the slightest throb of humanity. It is the second mate,
Padilla. Breaking silence, he says:

"Let us cut their throats, and have done with it!"

The horrible proposition, more so from its very laconism, despite the
auditory to whom it is addressed, does not find favourable response.
Several speak in opposition to it; Harry Blew first and loudest. Though
broken his word, and forfeited his faith, the British sailor is not so
abandoned as to contemplate murder in such cool, deliberate manner.
Some of those around him have no doubt committed it; but he does not
feel up to it. Opposing Padilla's counsel, he says:

"What need for our killin' them? For my part, I don't see any."

"And for your part, what would you do?" sneeringly retorts the seco