What, that fellow Black Sanchez! Bah, no!
He had been at sea, of course; there was no denying that fact, for he
knew ships, and spoke the lingo of blue water; but the very idea that
that blood-stained buccaneer, whose hated name was on the lips of
every sea-faring man of Britain, would ever dare openly to visit
England, and then sail under his own name on board an English vessel
for Virginia, was too preposterous for consideration. Why, it would be
sheer madness. The knowledge that such a possibility ever had flashed
into my mind became amusing, and chuckling over it, I finally fell
asleep.

It was noon, the sky overcast, the wind blowing strong from the
southeast, when the Virginia coast was first sighted from our
mast-head. An hour later it became plainly visible from the deck
below, and the prisoners were routed out from their quarters, and the
shackles, removed from limbs when we first arrived on board, were
again riveted in place, binding them together in fours, preparatory to
landing. I, with one or two others, already disposed of, and in
control of masters, were spared this indignity, and permitted to move
about as we pleased within the narrow deck space reserved for our use.
The last meal was served in the open, the men squatting on the deck
planks, endeavoring to jest among themselves, and assuming a
cheerfulness they were very far from feeling. The long hardships of
the voyage had left indelible marks on the majority, and they were by
now a woe-begone, miserable lot, who had largely abandoned themselves
to despair.

The Monmouth campaign had been brief, but no less disastrous to the
men engaged in it. Those who survived the one battle, wounded and
fugitive, had been hunted down remorselessly like so many wild beasts.
Escape from the pursuit of soldiers was almost impossible, and they
had been brutally beaten and bruised by infuriated captors; and then,
uncared for, nor shown the slightest mercy, had been thrust into
loathsome gaols to helplessly await trial, and a certain conviction.
No pen could adequately describe the suffering and horror of those
months of waiting, while the unfortunate victims lived in crowded,
dirty cells, subjected to every conceivable indignity and insult from
brutal guards, half starved, and breathing foul, fetid air--the breath
of sickness, the stench of unclean wounds. Dragged forth at last, one
by one, into a court organized for condemnation, presided over by a
foul-mouthed brute