Never, I am sure, should I tire of voyaging this sea in a speedy vessel, of watching the streaming, far-flung wake of verdigris, turquoise, and veridian; of standing in the very eyes of the plunging craft and, with the rushing wind whipping the salt spray in my face, gazing at the hissing, prismatic curling bow wave and the skittering flying-fish like miniature hydroplanes. Never should I weary of watching those wondrous masses of a thousand shades of green rising above the rim of the sea, of seeing the hazy, opalescent forms develop into mile-high mountains, stupendous gorges, and vast, forest-clad hills. Glorious are the saffron-and-pink-hued dawns when the sea seems swept and scoured, so scintillating it is. And equally wonderful are the flaming orange-and-crimson sunsets, with the water mauve, lavender, and royal purple in the fading light of day. Then, when night comes, suddenly and like a black curtain dropped from the zenith, and the myriad gleaming stars spangle the velvety dome of the sky and the Southern Cross glows low in the heavens,—then is the world filled with romance and peace as the gentle rise and fall of the vessel lulls to rest, the creaking tackle and rigging and the soft lapping of the waves whisper a lullaby, and the balmy night wind touches one’s cheek with a caress. If I could have my heart’s desire, I should, I think, choose to spend my declining years sailing the Spanish Main in a swift and handy ship, cruising aimlessly, touching where fancy willed, free as one of the swift-winged frigate-birds, untrammeled as the leaping porpoises. Being possessed of a passion for the sea and for the ships that sail thereon, and with an even greater fondness for my familiar and beloved Caribbean, I can well understand why the buccaneers loved their wild life. It was not simply gain, murder, debauchery, or lawlessness that lured them, that kept them ceaselessly reaching, scudding, tacking, and beating back and forth, round and about the Spanish Main. Most of them had more treasure than they could ever need—more than they could ever spend—cached here and there. No, it was largely sheer love of the sea, a resistless desire to feel the heaving decks under their feet, the pure fascination of adventure. So let us not judge them too harshly. In their day, loot in time of war was legitimate and included the females of the vanquished; slavery flourished; debtors were sold as slaves. Taken all in all, the buccaneers were gentlemanly in their treatment of prisoners according to the customs of their times, while, compared with other forms of death then in vogue, walking the plank was a merciful end.