Such was the closing scene in the life of a pirate--the dreadful phantom conjured up by his conscience haunting him to the last. STORY SIX, CHAPTER ONE. STORY SIX--THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM. There once existed in the Pacific Ocean a beautiful island, called the Island of Gracia. In the early ages of the world, before the human race had begun to explore the more distant regions of the globe, it was probably a wild and barren rock, with abrupt sharp-edged hills and dark pools of stagnant water, without a patch of green herbage, or animal or vegetable life of any description to enliven its solitude; while the only sound heard around it was that of the wild waves dashing ceaselessly on its rugged shores. Ages passed away, and those indefatigable insects, the coral worms, built up their wonderful habitations, like lofty walls, around it; toiling, seemingly, for no other purpose than to show how for their structures can surpass in size the most mighty efforts of men. The reefs thus created broke the force of the fierce waves; a soft yellow sand was formed, and shells of many shapes and delicate tints were washed up uninjured on the beach. The sun and rain, with alternate influence, softened also the hard rock, and a soil was formed, and birds of the air rested there in their passage across the ocean, and brought seeds of various descriptions from far-distant lands, which took root and sprung up; and the hills became clothed with fragrant shrubs and gorgeous flowers, and tall trees with luscious fruits grew in the valleys, and a soft green herbage covered the banks of the silent lakes and murmuring streams. Thus the island became a fit habitation for man. Now, it happened that a canoe or a galley with many oars, or a vessel of some description, such as was used in ancient times, with a chief and his followers, and their wives and children, set sail from a remote country. Either they fled from their victorious enemies, or they were driven by a storm so far from their native shores that they could not return. Thus they floated over the ocean, till they reached the Island of Gracia. So shattered was their vessel by the tempest, and so delighted were the chief and his people with the appearance of that beautiful land, that they were well contented to remain. Their chief now became their King. In the course of a few generations the descendants of the first adventurers had thickly peopled the whole island, and had lost all record of the land from whence they came, nor did they know whether it lay to the north or south, or to the east or west.