the enemy!" gasped Skyrme, only half of whose gigantic body remained.
"Go to the powder room and fire among the kegs!"

Five pirates, with loaded pistols, instantly leaped below, and at the
end of a minute, with a roar like thunder, a cloud of smoke rose into
the air; otherwise there was no harm done. There was not powder enough
to shatter the ship. The five pirates lay in the hold, burnt and
swearing, as black as if they had been transformed into devils in
advance. The explosion threw the helmsman flat on the deck and, as if
he had no other care on his mind, he screamed for his hat, which had
gone overboard.

The Englishmen instantly took possession of the wreck, whose deck was
strewn with the dead and wounded.

The latter were raised and cared for.

"Don't touch me!" shrieked Skyrme in a frenzy of rage, and seizing a
sabre in each hand he began a desperate struggle. The bravest soldiers
could scarcely succeed in disarming the mangled giant, who, when his
huge hands were chained in order to bind up his wounds, tore off the
bandages with his fetters and, by a last tremendous exertion of
strength, burst them and--died.

Meanwhile, in order not to waste time, Barthelemy captured a ship coming
from India. Her captain, Jonathan Hill, was a jovial fellow who,
accepting the pirate's invitation, sat down to breakfast with him,
became very friendly after his first glass of wine, and when the second
was emptied, asked the company to drink for a wager, in which contest he
vowed to land them all under the table.

During this noble rivalry every man was called upon for his favorite
song. Hill had two or three.

"Now let us have _your_ favorite, Barthelemy!" he said at last, turning
to the pirate chief.

"I cannot sing," replied Barthelemy.

"Oho! But you ought at least to learn the one which is being sung
everywhere about you; for instance this:

"Far, far away the white dove flies,
In fierce pursuit the black hawk hies;
The dove is my lover so dear,
The hawk is the pirate I fear."

Barthelemy shuddered.

"Where did you hear that song?"

"Ha! ha! my friend, from a wonderfully beautiful girl, of whom your
soul must not even dream; it's a pity that she was in love with someone
else."

"Speak! when? where?"

"Well, it was a romantic adventure. I had just anchored off the coast of
Hispaniola when the negroes in San Domingo rose against their masters. I
had gone on shore with twenty men to get some