When this happened he became either a “gallerian,” rowing out his heart on the benches of the Moslem galleys, or he festered in some noisome dungeon in Algiers, Oran, or Tlemcen.  For him, however, there was always one avenue of escape open:  he had but to acknowledge that Mahomet was the Prophet of God and the prison doors would fly open, or the shackles be knocked off the chain which bound him to the hell of the rower’s bench.  Many of the Christian captives had really nothing to bind them to the faith of their fathers—­neither home nor lands, wealth nor kindred, and they were doubtless dazzled by the amazing success which accompanied the arms of the leaders of the pirates.  Is it wonderful, then, that such men in such an age should grasp at the chance of freedom and throw in their lot with their captors?

It was treachery, it was apostasy, and no amount of sophistry can prove it to have been otherwise; but the man who would sit in judgment in the present day must try to figure to himself what the life of a galley-slave meant—­a life so horrible and so terrible that it is impossible, in the interest of decency, to set down a tithe of what it really was.

We who in the present day sit in judgment upon the virtues and vices of a bygone age can, in the ordered security of our modern civilisation, see many things which were hidden from our forefathers, even as in another three hundred years our descendants will be able to point the finger of scorn at the mistakes which we are now committing.  We have seen how it was that the pirate States arose; we have seen also how, in future generations, they were allowed to abide.  We cannot, in common honesty, echo the words already quoted of the historian that “these are the judgments of God, and things ordered by His divine providence and infinite wisdom,” neither can we acquit the heirs of the ages for that slackness which prevented them from doing their duty; we have, however, to ask ourselves this question, that, had it fallen to our own lot to deal with the problem of the extermination of the pirates, should we have done better?

One word in conclusion.  That which they did has been set down here; the record, however, is not complete, as many of their acts of cruelty, lust, and oppression are not fitted for publication in the present day.  It has been said, with truth, that no man is much better or much worse than in the age in which he lives; and to hold the scales evenly—­if one were tempted to shock contemporary opinion by too literal a transcript of all that was done by the corsairs—­it would also be necessary to cite the reprisals of their Christian antagonists.  It has seemed better to leave such things unchronicled:  to present, with as much fidelity as possible, the public lives and acts of these troublers of the peace of the sixteenth century.  Looking back, as we do, over three hundred and fifty years, and judging as fairly as is possible, it would seem that there is little which can be said in their favour.