the deck, with their
heads bent forward, forgetful of every thing but themselves; a light
step was heard close behind them, and the low rustling of garments.
They turned to look, but too late; Florette sprung past them, her foot
rested on the gunwale, and with the cry, "I follow you, William!" the
form of the girl disappeared over the side of the brig.

Lieutenant Morris sprung forward, and the cry of "man overboard!" was
heard from the look-out; the sails were immediately thrown a-back, and
the boat lowered--but the body of Florette was not found. Her long
scarf was picked up, stained with blood; the worthy tar shuddered as
he gazed upon it.

"Jack, I told you that shark was not following us for nothing; he's
been in our wake now these ten days. I knew somebody on board had got
to go to Davy Jones's locker."

"Poor girl! but heave ahead, Bill, it's no use after this, you know."

Julia was terribly shocked at the dreadful fate of Florette, and
retiring to the cabin, she wept sadly, and long, for the poor
girl--this last victim of the _scourge of the ocean_, murdered no less
by him than were the hundreds his bloody hand had struck dead with the
sword. Even the rude seamen shed tears for the lost and ill-fated
girl; and a silence like that of the death-chamber reigned on board
the little brig, as it swept noiselessly over the waters. No class of
people are more proverbially light-hearted and thoughtless than
seamen. The sad event of the preceding night seemed to have passed
from the memories of all on board the Raker with the morning's
dawn--from all save Julia. She, indeed, often thought of the
unfortunate Florette, and her eyes were red, as if from much weeping,
long after the pirate's mistress had been forgotten by all others.

To Lieutenant Morris it was but an event in an eventful life, and if
not wholly forgotten by him, yet slumbered in his memory with other
deeds he had witnessed, as melancholy and appalling as the death of
the poor girl--for his thoughts were too entirely occupied by his love
for Julia, and the necessary duties of his station, to find room for
other and sadder recollections.

Mr. Williams, who had just finished his morning glass, and with a pipe
in his mouth, was reclining in the stern-sheets, a little melancholy,
to be sure, but apparently wholly occupied in watching the long curls
of smoke, which the wind bore off to leeward, to mingle with the purer
air of ocean, was a little surprised