CHAPTER VII Be not afraid! ’Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, A fever fit, and then a chill, And then an end of human ill; For thou art dead. Scott’s Lay of Louise. The Scorpion and her prize had arrived safely in Havana. Willis, heavily manacled, was brought on deck, where, joined by the small remnant of his crew, amongst whom he was glad to discover the face of Mateo, though its symmetry had been spoiled by a cutlas-cut, extending from under his right eye to the left corner of his mouth, entirely severing the end of his nose. The captain of the Maraposa was kept a few moments waiting, and then, under a strong guard, they were all carried to the Moro Castle, and lodged in its dungeons, were left to await their trial. Mateo and the rest of the men were put in a cell together, Willis, for greater security, had been confined in a strong apartment alone. It was the first time the slaver had ever been in prison, and the close, dank air, the gloom, the high, dull, cold, stone walls, the heavy fetters upon his limbs, the entire lack of any thing external to distract his thoughts from his situation, all together, produced a feeling of depression he had never known before. Thus was he four days, with naught to while away the time but his own thoughts, and they brought any thing but comfort to his mind, for the past scenes of a misspent life were constantly presenting themselves with the vividness of a panorama. His early youth, when a good and gentle boy he had listened to the kind admonitions of his excellent mother; then the loss of his sweet parent, throwing him amongst selfish and careless relations; his first steps in vice; then his desire to repent and reform; the cold looks and want of sympathy with which he had been met; and bitterly cursing the want of charity that had been so parsimonious of kindness, when a few soothing words would have established him in the road to rectitude, he looked at the darker deeds of the few last years, and the end to which they would soon bring him. Harassed by such painful reflections, it was a relief when the jailor came to conduct him to trial, though he knew that with him the road would be short from the tribunal to the gallows. He felt that his fate was sealed; he had mortified De Vere so much, by dismantling his vessel and killing so many of his men, besides wounding him in the duel, that he knew the Englishman’s influence would prevent his being treated with the least leniency, and that the utmost penalty of the law would be exacted. He lacked also that powerful friend, gold. Aware of the uncertain tenure one in his profession had of life, he squandered the immense sums he made as he got them, and he had not been allowed an opportunity of obtaining aid from his associates.