ore bent on mischief than I was. I could not draw back, but I modified
my plan. I determined to become merely a _robber_, and use the proceeds
of my trade to indemnify those to whom injustice had been done. I
thought at the time that there was some justice in this. I called
myself, in jest, a tax-gatherer of the sea. I ordered the men aft one
day, and explained to them my views. I said that I abhorred the name and
the deeds of pirates; that I would only consent to command them if they
agreed never to shed human blood except in fair and open fight.

"They liked the idea. There were men among them who had never heartily
agreed to the seizing of the schooner, and who would have left her if I
would have allowed them; these were much relieved to hear my proposal.
It was fixed that we should _rob_, but not _murder_. Miserable fool that
I was! I thought it was possible to go just so far and no farther into
sin. I did not know at that time the strength of the fearful current
into which I had plunged.

"But we stuck to our principles. We never did commit murder. And as our
appearance was always sufficient to cause the colors of any ship we ever
came across to be hauled down at once, there has been no occasion for
shedding blood, even in fair and open fight. Do you believe me, Mary?"
said Gascoyne, pausing at this point.

The widow was still silent; but a slight inclination of her head
satisfied the pirate, who was about to resume, when Mr. Mason said:
"Gascoyne, do you call warfare in the cause of robbery by the name of
'fair and open fight?'"

"No, I do not. Yet there have been great generals and admirals in this
world who have committed wholesale murder in this same cause, and whose
names stand high on the roll of fame!"

A look of scorn rested on the pirate's face as he said this, but it
passed away quickly.

"You tell me that there were some of the men in the schooner whom you
kept aboard against their will!" said Mr. Mason. "Did it never occur to
you, Gascoyne, that you may have been the murderer of the _souls_ of
these men?"

The pirate made no reply for some time, and the troubled, anxious look
that had more than once crossed his face returned.

"Yes," said he, at length, "I have thought of that. But it is done now,
and cannot be undone. I can do no more now than give myself up to
justice. You see, I have thrown away my arms and stand here defenseless.
But I did not come here to plead for mercy. I came to make to