In the silence, the terror of the fated ship
became audible. Confused voices came to us, and the scream of a
woman.
On the faces of a very few of the pirates there was a look of
momentary doubt and wavering; it passed, and the most had never
worn it. They began to press forward toward the poop, cursing and
threatening, working themselves up into a rage that would not care
for my sword, the minister's cutlass, or Diccon's pike. One who
called himself a wit cried out something about Kirby and his
methods, and two or three laughed.
"I find that the r“le of Kirby wearies me," I said. "I am an English
gentleman, and I will not fire upon an English ship."
As if in answer there came from our forecastle a flame and thunder
of guns. The gunners there, intent upon their business, and now
within range of the merchantman, had fired the three forecastle
culverins. The shot cut her rigging and brought down the flag. The
pirates' shout of triumph was echoed by a cry from her decks and
the defiant roar of her few remaining guns.
I drew my sword. The minister and Diccon moved nearer to me,
and the King's ward, still and white and braver than a man, stood
beside me. From the pirates that we faced came one deep breath,
like the first sigh of the wind before the blast strikes. Suddenly the
Spaniard pushed himself to the front; with his gaunt figure and
sable dress he had the seeming of a raven come to croak over the
dead.
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