“What would’ve have?” the Rover was at length heard to say, in a voice that even his iron nerves scarce rendered deep and full-toned as common.  ’What ask ye?”

“Their lives!”

“I understand you; go; they are at your mercy.”

Notwithstanding the horrors of the scene through which he had just passed, and that high and lofty excitement which had sustained him through the fight, the deliberate, solemn tones with which his judge delivered a sentence that he knew consigned him to a hasty and ignominious death, shook the frame of our adventurer nearly to insensibility.  The blood recoiled backward to his heart, and the sickening sensation that beset his brain threatened to up-set his reason.  But the shock passed, on the instant leaving him erect, and seemingly proud and firm as ever, and certainly with no evidence of mortal weakness that human eye could discover.

“For myself nothing is demanded,” he said, with admirable steadiness.  “I know your self-enacted laws condemn me to a miserable fate; but for these ignorant, confiding, faithful followers, I claim, nay beg, entreat, implore your mercy; they knew not what they did, and”—­

“Speak to these!” said the Rover, pointing, with an averted eye, to the fierce knot by which he was surrounded:  “These are your judges, and the sole ministers of mercy.”

Strong and nearly unconquerable disgust was apparent in the manner of the youth; but, with a mighty effort, he subdued it, and, turning to the crew, continued,—­

“Then even to these will I humble myself in petitions.  Ye are men, and ye are mariners”—­

“Away with him!” exclaimed the croaking Nightingale; “he preaches! away with him to the yard arm! away!”

The shrill, long-drawn winding of the call which the callous boatswain sounded in bitter mockery was answered by an echo from twenty voices, in which the accents of nearly as many different people mingled in hoarse discordancy, as they shouted,—­

“To the yard-arm! away with the three! away!”

Wilder cast a last glance of appeal at the Rover but he met no look, in return, from a face that was intentionally averted.  Then, with a burning brain he felt himself rudely transferred from the quarter deck into the centre and less privileged portion of the ship.  The violence of the passage, the hurried reeving of cords, and all the fearful preparations of a nautical execution, appeared but the business of a moment, to him who stood so near the verge of time.

“A yellow flag for punishment!” bawled there vengeful captain of the forecastle; “let the gentle man sail on his last cruise, under the rogue’s ensign!”

“A yellow flag! a yellow flag!” echoed twenty taunting throats.  “Down with the Rover’s ensign and up with the colours of the prevot-marshal!  A yellow flag! a yellow flag!”

The hoarse laughter, and mocking merriment, with which this coarse device was received, stirred the ire of Fid, who had submitted in silence, so far, to the rude treatment he received, for no other reason than that he thought his superior was the best qualified to utter the little which it might be necessary to say.