e, loosing the ropes from his wrists--"go back to her, I
release you--"

"Captain! Two are hanging already," shouted Scudamore, furious as he saw
the escape of the man whose death he most desired. "The third rope is
waiting for its ornament."

"It will pull up the man who dares to contradict my judgment!" answered
Barthelemy, gazing fiercely at the defiant faces, and closed the door of
his cabin behind him.

The whole band remained silent.

From that moment Barthelemy was completely transformed. His heart was
stone, nothing touched it except a woman's sobs; then he fled, it was
more than he could bear.

To his men he was stern to the point of injustice, the most trivial
offence did not escape his punishment, every evening he held a court of
justice by which he had those who were accused imprisoned in the ship's
hold, flogged, or shot. Yet there was one person whom he never attacked,
Glasby. He spent whole nights in questioning him about his family life,
his mother, and his betrothed bride, listening with eager attention to
all the details for the hundredth time. He showed mercy to no one,
burning or sinking the captured ships, unmoved by submission or
entreaties, but if a vessel chanced to have a woman on board, and he
heard her voice he would take nothing from the ship and let her pursue
her way uninjured.

* * * * *

One day he assembled the crews of both pirate cruisers on the deck of
the Commodore.

"My lads," he said, "life here is beginning to grow wearisome. Fortune
offers her favors in vain, there is no one on this side of the world
whom we fear; we have plenty of booty, but no fame, for we encounter no
foemen worthy of us. Let us go farther. These Dutch and Portuguese
merchantmen already fear us to such a degree that they almost love us.
Let us go where we are not known, among the English and French, whose
troops sleep secure in their fortresses along the coast, where Fortune
is still a coy maiden who permits her favors to be grasped only by
strong hands. Let us win honor and fame in the places where the wise
law-makers have written a hundred paragraphs against us in their code of
laws, let us tear out the page, and place in its stead the words that
there are no laws for the brave."

Barthelemy wished to fire his comrades' hearts as he had done in former
days, but he was unsuccessful, the tones which had once thrilled them
were dead; the fire in his soul, one spark of