Under
the spell of his liquor Williams became more and more pressing with his
offers of help.

"It's the devil that my missus should be on board, just this trip. But
hang it! come and dine with me. I'll get some of the Kingston men--the
regular hot men--to stand up for you. They will when they hear the
tale."

There was a certain amount of sense in what he said. If warrants were
out against me, he or some of the Kingston merchants whom he knew, and
who had no cause to love the admiral, might help me a good deal.

Accordingly, I did go down to Kingston. It happened to be the day when
the seven pirates were hanged at Port Royal Point. I had never seen a
hanging, and a man who hadn't was rare in those days. I wanted to keep
out of the way, but it was impossible to get a boatman to row me off to
the _Lion_. They were all dying to see the show, and, half curious, half
reluctant, I let myself drift with the crowd.

The gallows themselves stood high enough to be seen--a long very stout
beam supported by posts at each end. There was a blazing sun, and the
crowd pushed and shouted and craned its thousands of heads every time
one heard the cry of "Here they come," for an hour or so. There was a
very limpid sky, a very limpid sea, a scattering of shipping gliding up
and down, and the very silent hills a long way away. There was a large
flavour of Spaniards among the crowd. I got into the middle of a knot of
them, jammed against the wheels of one of the carriages, standing, hands
down, on tiptoe, staring at the long scaffold. There were a great many
false alarms, sudden outcries, hushing again rather slowly. In between
I could hear someone behind me talk Spanish to the occupants of the
carriage. I thought the voice was Ramon's, but I could not turn, and the
people in the carriage answered in French, I thought. A man was shouting
"Cool Drinks" on the other side of them.

Finally, there was a roar, an irresistible swaying, a rattle of musket
ramrods, a rhythm of marching feet, and the grating of heavy iron-bound
wheels. Seven men appeared in sight above the heads, clinging to each
other for support, and being drawn slowly along. The little worsted
balls on the infantry shakos bobbed all round their feet. They were
a sorry-looking group, those pirates; very wild-eyed, very ragged,
dust-stained, weather-beaten, begrimed till they had the colour of
unpolished mahogany. Clinging still to each other as they stood beneath
the danglin