run through the shoulder on the island
off Cape Charles, and he had been Kirby's pilot from Maracaibo to Fort
Caroline. Now he answered with a burst of vaunting oaths: "We're in deep
water, and there's deep water beyond. I've passed this way before, and
I'll carry ye safe past that reef were 't hell's gate!"

The desperadoes who heard him swore applause, and thought no more of
the reef that lay in wait. Long since they had gone through the gates
of hell for the sake of the prize beyond. Knowing the appeal to be
hopeless, I yet made it.

"She is English, men!" I shouted. "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.

"I find that the role of Kirby wearies me," I said. "I am an English
gentleman, and I will not fire upon an English ship."

As if in answer there came from our forecastle a flame and thunder of
guns. The gunners there, intent upon their business, and now within
range of the merchantman, had fired the three forecastle culverins. The
shot cut her rigging and brought down the flag. The pirates' shout of
triumph was echoed by a cry from her decks and the defiant roar of her
few remaining guns.

I drew my sword. The minister and Diccon moved nearer to me, and the
King's ward, still and white and braver than a man, stood beside me.
From the pirates that we faced came one deep breath, like the first
sigh of the wind before the blast strikes. Suddenly the Spaniard pushed
himself to the front; with his gaunt figure and sable dress he had the
seeming of a raven come to croak over the dead. He rested his gloomy
eyes upon my lord. The latter, very white, returned the look; then, with
his head held high, crossed the deck with a measured step and took his
place among us. He was followed