The whole affair seemed more a nightmare than a reality.

I was actually serving as first officer on a pirate ship in search of vessels to rob on the high seas, commanding a crew of West Indian cut-throats--the very scum of hell, and under the order of a Portuguese devil, whose ambition coolly plotted murder.

I was sailing under the black flag, to be hung if captured, compelled to act out the masquerade, a satellite of the most infamous villain who ever sacked a merchantman.

Why, the very name of Sanchez had been horror to me in the past--yet here I actually was in charge of the deck of his death ship, searching for new victims, and only hoping that the arch villain might live to overthrow the even fouler demon who would succeed him if he died.

Already I knew murder had been done; that the coming morning would reveal some hideous tragedy, on which, perhaps my fate would depend.