strange terror of
death--the certain fate that menaced him, was upon his countenance. He
had borne himself bravely enough except for a few craven moments, while
in the presence of his captors and judges, chief among whom had been the
young Spanish soldier and the one-eyed sailor whom he had known for so
many years. With the bravado of despair he had looked with seeming
indifference on the sufferings of his own men that same morning. After
being submitted to the tortures of the rack, the boot, the thumbscrew,
or the wheel, in accordance with the fancy of their relentless captors,
they had been hanged to the outer walls and he had been forced to pass
by them on his way to this hellish spot. But the real courage of the man
was gone now. His simulation had not even been good enough to deceive
his enemies, and now even that had left him.

He was alone, so he believed, upon the island, and all of the mortal
fear slowly creeping upon him already appeared in his awful face,
clearly exhibited by the light of the setting sun streaming upon his
left hand for he was chained facing northward, that is, seaward. As he
fancied himself the only living thing upon that island he took little
care to conceal his emotions--indeed, it was impossible for him any
longer to keep up the pretence of indifference. His nerves were
shattered, his spirit broken. Retribution was dogging him hard.
Vengeance was close at hand at last. Besides, what mattered it? He
thought himself alone, absolutely alone. But in that fancy he was wrong,
for in the solitary little copse of bushes of which mention has been
made there lay hidden a man--an ancient sailor. His single eye gleamed
as fiercely upon the bound, shackled prisoner as did the setting sun
itself.

Old Benjamin Hornigold, who had schemed and planned for his revenge, had
insisted upon being put ashore on the other side of the island after
the boats had rowed out of sight of the captive, that he might steal
back and, himself unseen, watch the torture of the man who had betrayed
him and wronged him so deeply that in his diseased mind no expiation
could be too awful for the crime; that he might glut his fierce old soul
with the sight for which it had longed since the day Harry Morgan,
beholden to him as he was for his very life and fortune, for a thousand
brave and faithful, if nefarious, services, had driven him like a dog
from his presence. Alvarado--who, being a Spaniard, could sympathize and
understa