“I will explain,” resumed the pirate captain, drawing a long breath, and directing his looks to Henry now.

“For reasons which it is not necessary that you should know, I resolved some years ago to become a pirate.  I had been deceived—­shamefully deceived and wronged—­by wealthy and powerful men.  I had appealed to the law of my country, and the law refused to right me.  No, not the law, but those who sat on the judgment-seat to pervert the law.  It matters not now; I was driven mad at the time, for the wrong done was not done so much to me as to those whom I loved.  I vowed that I should be avenged.

“I soon found men as mad as myself, who only wanted a leader to guide them in order to run full swing to destruction.  I seized the Foam, of which schooner I was mate, called her the Avenger, and became a pirate.  No blood was shed when I seized the schooner.  Before an opportunity occurred of trying my hand at this new profession, my anger had cooled. I repented of what I had done; but I was surrounded by men who were more 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?”