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spirits of those beneath his charge.
Officer and men were a mixed set, for, since his original American
crew had deserted rather than make the return trip upon such a ship,
which they condemned as unseaworthy, and the Captain to perdition, the
very sweepings of the slums had been pressed into servic e. Mostly
Portuguese, they quarreled incessantly amongst themselves, and showed no
respect for their officers. Besides Syn, the other passengers, six in
all, were disappointed merchants from Lisbon, who were going out to
found a colony. At least, that was what they boasted. But they argued
so much about this and that connected with it, and so persistently
quarreled for the post of being the first Governor, that Syn advised
them top conquer themselves before attempting to conquer a territory.
What would have happened had they ever founded that colony will never be
known. The obvious conclusion is that their scalps would speedily have
adorned the belts of war -like Redskins. Instead their fate was just as
terrible, for they were destined to walk the plank.
It was in mid ocean that they fell in with the pirates, and early one
morning under a bright sun shining upon a tranquil sea. The Portuguese
passengers had been grumbling at the slowness of the vessel, but the
Captain argued that the best navigator could not make peace without the
wind. It was then that the topsails of another vessel appeared over the
horizon, and Syn, having watched her for some time, remarked dryly that
there seemed to be plenty of breeze yonder. The ship was indeed fast
overhaul ing the Intention, and heading, too, in their direction. After
the weary weeks on a slow ship, and an empty ocean, this sight of
another vessel cheered the company. But even then, speculations as to
what she might be became cantankerous. One thought her Spanish, another
Dutch, and so on. Doctor Syn settled this argument by the help of his
powerful spy -glass.
“They fly the English flag,” he said.
“I hoped she was Portuguese,” said one of the passengers.
“There are worse colours than the English,” snapped the Captain.
The vessel came on a spanking pace, throwing white water briskly from
her bows.
“They know how to handle her,” said Syn.
Quick to take offense where none was meant, the irritable Captain
cried, “How can I handle the Intention? I told the owners she was
overdue for careening, but they would not spare me the time. Do you
hear a creaking?
“Aye,” replied Syn. “It is the mainmast. She is sprung.”
“I told you that,” retorted the Captain. “But I think otherwise. It
is the barnacles that are so clustered on her kneel that they scrape the
floor of the Atlantic.”
Syn laughed good-humourly and said, “No doubt we shall reach our port
in time, for the barnacles can carry us.”
Meanwhile the other vessel, which was the more plainly seen by all on
board with every tack, showed heavy guns from all her hatch traps.
Asked what she was, the Captain told the Portuguese that she might be
one of England’s finest fighting ships, and no doubt was carrying some
important personable to the Colonies.
“Hardly that, I think,” replied Syn. “She is well handled, true, but
not in the manner of the Royal Navy. Her officers alone would tell me
that. The men, too, are as rascally as ever I saw on shipboard.”
“But they employ the roughest dogs in the English Navy,”
sneered a Portuguese.
“But, sir,” retorted Syn, “there are indeed worse flags to be
met at sea, as the Captain said, than the English colours, and,
by gad,
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they’re going to run up the blackest.”
To the horror of the Portuguese, the English flag, which for all
their sneering had lent to them a feeling of security, was being struck,
and in its stead up went the dreaded Jolly Roger.
“The Skull and Cross Bones!” cried the Captain.
“Pirates!” cried the passengers.
“Pirates! re-echoed the crew, with equal fear.
“It seems, gentlemen,” remarked Doctor Syn calmly, “that we are faced
with a fight, and by the look of it, our adversaries appear to have
advantages.” He turned to the Captain briskly, and said, “I’m su re I
speak for the rest of the passengers. We are under your orders, sir,
and will fight as you direct. Thank God we have no women or children
aboard.”
But his gallant bearing had no effect upon his companions, who were
terrified. Indeed, it was the Captain himself who ran to the cord and
hauled down the colours.
“We can only treat with them so, and plead for our lives,” he
whispered.
“Faith, sir,” cried Syn, “I hardly think they’ll consider some of
them worth the sparing.”
“They will be short of hands,” said the Captain, trying to raise his
own spirit. “For my part I shall not be the last to turn pirate. We
only live once.”
“I thought you were religious,” said Syn, “and I hoped to hear you
say, ‘It is the Lord’s Will’. Also I fear your hopes of being recruited
are in vain. They do not seem so short of hands.”
Indeed, as the black flag had been run up with a cheer, the roughest
villains swarmed from hiding all over the decks. A shot was fired,
which struck with perfect marksmanship, bringing the sprung mast with a
hideous crash upon the deck, killing outright a member of the crew.
Then, on that quiet morning sea, a pandemonium arose. Boats were
lowered, and in a few minutes the deck of the Intention was alive with
the rascals. They w ere led by a gigantic Negro, gaudily dressed, who
cried out that his name was Black Satan and that he was Captain of the
good ship Pit of Sulphur. This was true, for Syn, who stood apart from
his cringing companions upon the poop-deck, had read this ridicu lous
name inscribed around the pirate prow.
“Come down and do homage, you lost souls,” cried Black Satan from the
well-deck.
Led by the craven New Englander, the Portuguese obeyed promptly, and
knelt before the great Negro abjectly, while he kept whi stling a naked
cutlass over their heads, and prodding their flesh with its point.
“I am the Captain of this ship,” faltered the New Englander. “I am
the best seaman and can navigate. I will join the Brotherhood.”
Captain Satan (for he was indeed the Captain, and notorious too as
the only Negro who had commanded whites on the high seas) now spat in
his prisoner’s face.
“You navigate?” he roared. “I never saw such handling of a ship. Take
him below, my bullies, and see that he shows you the ship’s treasures.
And you other, run out the black plank. The funeral plank, my lumbers.
We provide it for you as your undertakers. Empty their pockets, then
let ‘em walk. Tie up their eyes with their own kerchiefs.”
Then, among the lively cheers of the pirates, a gangway was opened,
and a black plank which they had brought for the purpose was run out
over the water.
“Spare us,” cried the wretches. “In the name of the saints.”
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“Talk not of saints to Satan,” cried the Negro. “Along the bridge, you
dogs, and down. The bridge that leads to hell.”
Blindfolded and pricked with cutlasses, they were hustled one by one
along that quaking, springy bridge. Steered by cold steel on either
side, most of them reached the end, stepped into air and fell into the
sea.
“Swim to the other ship,” cried the Negro, shooting down any who