tor, is there no one to say a prayer for me? Alas, I
once knew so many and have forgotten them all."

The pirates, laughing loudly, dragged to the mast the unhappy man, who
began to roar the air of a song whose words he had long since forgotten.
A minute later the song ceased, the man was hanging above.

The second prisoner was now brought forward. He, too, was only a common
sailor. His companions were forced to bind him hand and foot in order to
drag him before the captain, and he kept up a constant torrent of oaths.

"Yes, I ran away from you because I loathed this vile, roystering life,
toiling and fighting every day and when, at the risk of death, one
gained a little money, a man had to throw it away. I'll run from you a
hundred times more."

"Not once," replied Scudamore grinning. He apparently had far more taste
for the hangman's trade than for the physician's. Barthelemy silently
waved his hand, and the pirate hung.

The third prisoner now appeared, and Barthelemy exclaimed in surprise,
"That is Henry Glasby."

The former captain of the Fortuna was the third captive.

Glasby was a handsome young man, with a noble face, whom the pirates
kept among them by force on account of his superior knowledge of
seamanship; his gentle nature and kind heart were known to the whole
band, for he protected all who fell into their hands, as far as lay in
his power, frequently paying their ransom out of his own pocket; his
entreaties had saved many a ship from burning, and he had always kept
aloof from the bacchanalian orgies of his companions, for which reason
they did not hold him in special regard, and always watched him with
suspicious eyes. He had already made one attempt to escape, which had
been pardoned, now he was certainly doomed. After the first expression
of surprise, Barthelemy's face had regained its cold, unmoved composure.
Scudamore awaited the verdict with greedy impatience.

Glasby stood before Barthelemy with unquailing resolution.

"You have already pronounced sentence upon two," he said fearlessly.
"There is no reason why you should make me an exception. I have but one
request; send this valueless locket containing my portrait to my
mother,--she lives in Norfolk. It also has a curl of hair belonging to
my betrothed bride, whom I longed to see, and for whom I die."

Barthelemy trembled and gazed intently at Glasby's face.

"You have a betrothed bride whom you longed to see?" he said in a
stifled voic