But the pirates had not yet concluded their dastardly work. Lumsden and Cowper were warned that unless they produced the money, which the pirate was convinced still remained, the _Zephyr_, with all her people in her, should be burnt to the water’s edge. It is to the credit of these two men that they strenuously declined to oblige the pirate. This only served as fuel to the latter’s temper, and he sent them below and began a series of heartless tortures which were more in keeping with some of the worst features of the Middle Ages than the nineteenth century. Determined to attain his object, no matter what the cost, he caused the two men to be locked to the ship’s pumps and proceeded to carry out the threat which he had just promised. Every preparation was made for starting a fire, combustibles were piled round about the unfortunate men, and the light was just about to be applied when Lumsden, unable to endure the torture any longer, confessed that there was money. He was accordingly released, and rummaging about produced a small box of doubloons. This, however, far from satisfying the pirate’s thirst, merely increased his desire for more. Lumsden protested that that was all. So again the skipper was lashed to the pumps, again fire was ordered to be put to the fuel, and again the victim was about to be immolated. Once more, at the last minute, Lumsden yielded and offered to surrender all that he had. Thereupon, for the second time he was released, and producing nine more doubloons declared that this money had been entrusted to his care on behalf of a poor woman. Such human sentiments, however, rarely fell on more unsympathetic ears. “Don’t speak to me of poor people,” howled the pirate. “I am poor, and your countrymen and the Americans have made me so. I know there is more money, and I will either have it or burn you and the vessel.”