with sharks. Whenever a pair was thrown into the sea the waves around
were reddened; at each death shriek Barthelemy drained a glass of wine,
muttering: "That is for the cottage in Hispaniola." The negroes were all
murdered, but Barthelemy was not yet drunk.

The captains left him at a late hour, hoping that they might meet again.
Barthelemy gave each a receipt for the ransom money which, preserved
among other documents in the government archives, ran as follows:

We, the Knights of Fortune, hereby inform all whom it
may concern, that we have received from Captain ---- of
the ship ---- eight pounds of gold dust as ransom
money, for which we released the said ship. Given under
our hand and seal in the harbor of Mydaw, on the 13th
of January, 1722.

ROBERT BARTHELEMY (HENRY GLASBY).

* * * * *

The storm was subsiding. A calm night followed. The moon rose, shedding
a magical lustre upon the sea. Barthelemy stood on the deck of his ship
with folded arms, gazing at the stars.

How much wine and blood he had poured to intoxicate himself, but all in
vain. Neither wine nor blood gave him peace and forgetfulness. Ah, he
could win no forgetfulness, that sweet unconsciousness of the soul, but
instead came memory, the anguish of recalling the past.

The stars exert a magical power over the soul; whoever gazes at them
long has it drawn whither it does not desire, whither it fears to go.

What did Barthelemy behold in those stars? He saw the years of his
youth, painted in sweet, glimmering pictures, as unlike those of the
present as if either the one or the other must be a dream.

There were the three girlish figures sporting around him, weaving
garlands for his head, fastening them on with kisses, amid merry
laughter. How softly the palms were whispering!

They sat together in the little house, the grandmother, in her armchair,
telling marvelous, terrible tales of famous warriors; the young girls
casting timid glances at the windows, where the darkness of the
gathering night appeared, and the fire on the hearth died slowly, while
William's heart began to swell with eager desire to battle with these
unknown perils, and win for himself a name like those of the heroes
glorified by tradition. How softly the palms were whispering!

The moon shone brilliantly. The moonlight nights of the South are
brighter than the days of the North. His