What my thoughts were when I realized the position of the woman I loved I can hardly remember.

I am a plain sailor-man, and, perhaps, a rough one. But I believe my skin is no thicker than most men’s.

Now, when I look back on that time and remember what I went through, I try to think if it would have been any better for the people who look down on me, or if I would have been a better man had I acted differently.

I’m not a man to cry out against the rulings of a fate I’ve fought against with all my power. If I’m looked down upon as an untrustworthy man, I’m willing to take my rating accordingly. I know I’m shunned and called a pirate by some, but I still feel as if I did about what might have been ex{183} pected from one in my position and condition, and that I was as near right as possible.

I know, also, that Brown acted from as good an impulse as I did, although it may not have been the same. Had old Captain Crojack lived he would have made it plainer to landsmen why we stood together in the part we played. But I don’t mean to say that the honest old fellow would have joined us.

As it was, before eight bells in the morning Captain Crojack was stark and stiff, lying dead where they had left him on the cabin floor. He had received several wounds after Mrs. Waters was shot, while she was clinging to him.

Not a word of complaint about himself had passed his lips. He died the man he had lived, and the deep-water fleet lost one of the best and bravest men that ever trod a quarter-deck.

At eight bells this convict, Benson, who now had command of the ship with a hundred and more men for her desperate crew, came into the after cabin.{184}

There were only the two men left to watch us in there of this gang, and he glanced quickly at them and then at us.

Then he took a key from his pocket, opened the door of the captain’s stateroom, and entered there alone.

In a few moments I heard a piteous cry, followed by the noise of a slight scuffle. Then all was quiet. Something seemed to swell within me as if my whole life or spirit was striving to burst forth from my lashed body. I remember that I suddenly found myself with my mouth open, gasping for breath. Then I strained every nerve and sinew to start my lashings. I saw nothing, but felt a strand of rope give slightly. Steadily I kept the strain until it seemed as if I was losing consciousness. Then I felt the rope part across my chest and I forced one arm free. The next instant the two men were upon me.

They were powerful men. I struggled and fought fiercely in the vain effort to free myself, but the coils wrapped me closely from my shoulders to my ankles. I bent and{185} doubled and struck out savagely with my free arm. But it was no use.

They pinned me down and soon had another turn around my arm and I lay helpless. One of the villains, however, got his hand too near my mouth and I cut the thumb from it with my teeth as clean as if done with a knife. Then something crashed upon my head and a great flame burned before my eyes. The struggle was over.

When I regained consciousness from the blow, an hour or two afterward, the blood was running from my nose and mouth in a thin stream. A hurricane roared in my ears, but I could see objects distinctly. The red fluid ran down the deck seams and trickled on to O’Toole’s cheek, rousing him as it became cold. I remember watching it with a feeling of indifference, except that I hoped it would continue to run.

Benson came out of the stateroom and stood languidly resting his elbow against the bulkhead. His face wore a devilish smile and his dark eyes looked straight and steadily into mine. His shirt was open at the{186} front and I recall the smooth white skin of his neck. I watched him closely and hoped he would come near enough to me. If he had, bound and lashed as I was, I should have killed him with my teeth. I was breathing hard, but otherwise I was cool and collected. “You are the mate,” said the convict leader in a low, even tone, still looking me in the eye and smiling.

O’Toole moved his head slightly and I saw that he was aware of what the man was saying.

“I’ll give you three men the choice of joining or leaving,” went on Benson. “You will have to navigate the ship to where we want to go. What is it, stay or leave?”

“Me friend,” said O’Toole in a strained voice, “ye cannot expect me ter spake with th’ rope a-cuttin’ through me. I can’t think av th’ proposition till ye’ll loosen a few turns av th’ gaskets about me wind.”

Whether it was my desire to live in order to revenge myself upon this felon, Benson, or whether it was the thought of staying and doing what I could for the girl, that swayed{187} me most, I leave people to judge for themselves. I will admit that these two ideas were the only ones in my head at the time, but I cannot honestly recall which of them governed me the most. I know that I never wished to live, before or since, with the desire that came upon me at that moment.

Thoughts come rapidly to a man used to emergencies, and I made up my mind what to do before O’Toole had ceased speaking.

I saw the light in Benson’s eyes when he turned his gaze toward the second mate. Although the matted beard he wore partly covered the smiling movement of the convict’s mouth, I felt that he had passed sentence on O’Toole at that glance. He remained perfectly quiet, however, and awaited my answer. I know that some people have said that men, such as Crojack, O’Toole, and myself, ought to have given better account of ourselves in a fight where we knew it was almost certain death to be beaten. But we were not story-book heroes. We were just plain sailor-men.

There were only three convicts killed in{188} the fight and four wounded. Three of these latter had the unmistakable marks of the second mate’s belaying-pin on their heads.

With the exception of the big-shouldered German sailor in my watch, the men had offered no resistance whatever. This one man had made some show of resistance when cornered under the t’gallant fo’castle, but he was quickly overpowered.

O’Toole and myself were strong men, but what did that count for in such a crowd. Crojack and Brown had defended the quarter-deck until they were shot down and overpowered. They were but two against fifty.

I knew that every man of our crew who would not join would walk the plank long before daylight.

There had been no unnecessary noise about it. The deep, sullen murmur of angry voices forward, followed by splashes alongside, told plainer than words what Benson meant to do with us unless we joined him in his crime.

I knew, also, that he would not suspect the feeling I bore toward his poor victim{189} left in the captain’s cabin, and if I stayed, I might watch for my chance for either rescue or revenge. Even if rescue were out of the question, I felt that nothing could save the villain’s life, should I once again be free.

Therefore, I looked him straight in the eyes and answered:

“I promise to join you for good or bad. Turn me loose and give your orders.”

“And you?” he said, quietly, addressing Brown.

“I’ll follow Mr. Gore in anything,” he answered.

O’Toole gasped, struggled, and half-rose in a sitting posture, crying out:

“My God! Mr. Gore! Mr. Gore! What have ye done? What have ye done?”

Benson opened the door in the bulkhead which separated the fore and after cabins, and instantly three men, who appeared to be his chief followers, entered and cut my lashings and cast me adrift to my ankles. These fellows had evidently been listening and waiting for this.{190}

Then they handed me a sheet of paper and placed pen and ink on the cabin table. I was requested to write that agreement with Benson that stated I joined him of my own free will. This paper was used against me at the trial to prove my piracy. I wrote it and signed it without being threatened in any way.

After that my ankles were freed and Brown was cast loose. He was bl............