{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_973/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_973","id":"gutenberg_973","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/973","summary":null,"tags":["Buccaneers -- Fiction","Category: Adventure","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Historical fiction, American","Pirates -- Fiction","Pirates, Buccaneers, Corsairs, etc.","Sea stories, American","Spanish Main -- Fiction"],"text":"HOWARD PYLE'S BOOK OF PIRATES\n\n\n\n\nFiction, Fact & Fancy concerning the Buccaneers & Marooners of the\nSpanish Main: From the writing & Pictures of Howard Pyle:\n\n\nCompiled by Merle Johnson\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n     FOREWORD BY MERLE JOHNSON\n\n     PREFACE\n\n     I.   BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN\n     II.  THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND\n     III. WITH THE BUCCANEERS\n     IV.  TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX\n     V.   JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES\n     VI.  BLUESKIN THE PIRATE\n     VII. CAPTAIN SCARFIELD\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\nPIRATES, Buccaneers, Marooners, those cruel but picturesque sea wolves\nwho once infested the Spanish Main, all live in present-day conceptions\nin great degree as drawn by the pen and pencil of Howard Pyle.\n\nPyle, artist-author, living in the latter half of the nineteenth\ncentury and the first decade of the twentieth, had the fine faculty of\ntransposing himself into any chosen period of history and making\nits people flesh and blood again--not just historical puppets. His\ncharacters were sketched with both words and picture; with both words\nand picture he ranks as a master, with a rich personality which makes\nhis work individual and attractive in either medium.\n\nHe was one of the founders of present-day American illustration, and his\npupils and grand-pupils pervade that field to-day. While he bore no\nsuch important part in the world of letters, his stories are modern in\ntreatment, and yet widely read. His range included historical treatises\nconcerning his favorite Pirates (Quaker though he was); fiction, with\nthe same Pirates as principals; Americanized version of Old World fairy\ntales; boy stories of the Middle Ages, still best sellers to growing\nlads; stories of the occult, such as In Tenebras and To the Soil of the\nEarth, which, if newly published, would be hailed as contributions to\nour latest cult.\n\nIn all these fields Pyle's work may be equaled, surpassed, save in one.\nIt is improbable that anyone else will ever bring his combination of\ninterest and talent to the depiction of these old-time Pirates, any more\nthan there could be a second Remington to paint the now extinct Indians\nand gun-fighters of the Great West.\n\nImportant and interesting to the student of history, the\nadventure-lover, and the artist, as they are, these Pirate stories and\npictures have been scattered through many magazines and books. Here, in\nthis volume, they are gathered together for the first time, perhaps\nnot just as Mr. Pyle would have done, but with a completeness and\nappreciation of the real value of the material which the author's\nmodesty might not have permitted. MERLE JOHNSON.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nWHY is it that a little spice of deviltry lends not an unpleasantly\ntitillating twang to the great mass of respectable flour that goes to\nmake up the pudding of our modern civilization? And pertinent to this\nquestion another--Why is it that the pirate has, and always has had,\na certain lurid glamour of the heroical enveloping him round about? Is\nthere, deep under the accumulated debris of culture, a hidden groundwork\nof the old-time savage? Is there even in these well-regulated times an\nunsubdued nature in the respectable mental household of every one of us\nthat still kicks against the pricks of law and order? To make my meaning\nmore clear, would not every boy, for instance--that is, every boy of any\naccount--rather be a pirate captain than a Member of Parliament? And\nwe ourselves--would we not rather read such a story as that of Captain\nAvery's capture of the East Indian treasure ship, with its beautiful\nprincess and load of jewels (which gems he sold by the handful, history\nsayeth, to a Bristol merchant), than, say, one of Bishop Atterbury's\nsermons, or the goodly Master Robert Boyle's religious romance of\n\"Theodora and Didymus\"? It is to be apprehended that to the unregenerate\nnature of most of us there can be but one answer to such a query.\n\nIn the pleasurable warmth the heart feels in answer to tales of\nderring-do Nelson's battles are all mightily interesting, but, even in\nspite of their romance of splendid courage, I fancy that the majority of\nus would rather turn back over the leaves of history to read how Drake\ncaptured the Spanish treasure ship in the South Sea, and of how he\ndivided such a quantity of booty in the Island of Plate (so named\nbecause of the tremendous dividend there declared) that it had to be\nmeasured in quart bowls, being too considerable to be counted.\n\nCourage and daring, no matter how mad and ungodly, have always a\nredundancy of vim and life to recommend them to the nether man that lies\nwithin us, and no doubt his desperate courage, his battle against the\ntremendous odds of all the civilized world of law and order, have had\nmuch to do in making a popular hero of our friend of the black flag. But\nit is not altogether courage and daring that endear him to our hearts.\nThere is another and perhaps a greater kinship in that lust for wealth\nthat makes one's fancy revel more pleasantly in the story of the\ndivision of treasure in the pirate's island retreat, the hiding of his\ngodless gains somewhere in the sandy stretch of tropic beach, there to\nremain hidden until the time should come to rake the doubloons up\nagain and to spend them like a lord in polite society, than in the most\nthrilling tales of his wonderful escapes from commissioned cruisers\nthrough tortuous channels between the coral reefs.\n\nAnd what a life of adventure is his, to be sure! A life of constant\nalertness, constant danger, constant escape! An ocean Ishmaelite, he\nwanders forever aimlessly, homelessly; now unheard of for months, now\ncareening his boat on some lonely uninhabited shore, now appearing\nsuddenly to swoop down on some merchant vessel with rattle of musketry,\nshouting, yells, and a hell of unbridled passions let loose to rend and\ntear. What a Carlislean hero! What a setting of blood and lust and flame\nand rapine for such a hero!\n\nPiracy, such as was practiced in the flower of its days--that is, during\nthe early eighteenth century--was no sudden growth. It was an evolution,\nfrom the semi-lawful buccaneering of the sixteenth century, just as\nbuccaneering was upon its part, in a certain sense, an evolution from\nthe unorganized, unauthorized warfare of the Tudor period.\n\nFor there was a deal of piratical smack in the anti-Spanish ventures\nof Elizabethan days. Many of the adventurers--of the Sir Francis Drake\nschool, for instance--actually overstepped again and again the bounds\nof international law, entering into the realms of de facto piracy.\nNevertheless, while their doings were not recognized officially by the\ngovernment, the perpetrators were neither punished nor reprimanded for\ntheir excursions against Spanish commerce at home or in the West Indies;\nrather were they commended, and it was considered not altogether a\ndiscreditable thing for men to get rich upon the spoils taken from\nSpanish galleons in times of nominal peace. Many of the most reputable\ncitizens and merchants of London, when they felt that the queen failed\nin her duty of pushing the fight against the great Catholic Power,\nfitted out fleets upon their own account and sent them to levy good\nProtestant war of a private nature upon the Pope's anointed.\n\nSome of the treasures captured in such ventures were immense,\nstupendous, unbelievable. For an example, one can hardly credit the\ntruth of the \"purchase\" gained by Drake in the famous capture of the\nplate ship in the South Sea.\n\nOne of the old buccaneer writers of a century later says: \"The Spaniards\naffirm to this day that he took at that time twelvescore tons of\nplate and sixteen bowls of coined money a man (his number being then\nforty-five men in all), insomuch that they were forced to heave much of\nit overboard, because his ship could not carry it all.\"\n\nMaybe this was a very greatly exaggerated statement put by the author\nand his Spanish authorities, nevertheless there was enough truth in it\nto prove very conclusively to the bold minds of the age that tremendous\nprofits--\"purchases\" they called them--were to be made from piracy. The\nWestern World is filled with the names of daring mariners of those old\ndays, who came flitting across the great trackless ocean in their little\ntublike boats of a few hundred tons burden, partly to explore unknown\nseas, partly--largely, perhaps--in pursuit of Spanish treasure:\nFrobisher, Davis, Drake, and a score of others.\n\nIn this left-handed war against Catholic Spain many of the adventurers\nwere, no doubt, stirred and incited by a grim, Calvinistic, puritanical\nzeal for Protestantism. But equally beyond doubt the gold and silver and\nplate of the \"Scarlet Woman\" had much to do with the persistent energy\nwith which these hardy mariners braved the mysterious, unknown terrors\nof the great unknown ocean that stretched away to the sunset, there in\nfaraway waters to attack the huge, unwieldy, treasure-laden galleons\nthat sailed up and down the Caribbean Sea and through the Bahama\nChannel.\n\nOf all ghastly and terrible things old-time religious war was the most\nghastly and terrible. One can hardly credit nowadays the cold, callous\ncruelty of those times. Generally death was the least penalty that\ncapture entailed. When the Spaniards made prisoners of the English, the\nInquisition took them in hand, and what that meant all the world knows.\nWhen the English captured a Spanish vessel the prisoners were tortured,\neither for the sake of revenge or to compel them to disclose where\ntreasure lay hidden. Cruelty begat cruelty, and it would be hard to\nsay whether the Anglo-Saxon or the Latin showed himself to be most\nproficient in torturing his victim.\n\nWhen Cobham, for instance, captured the Spanish ship in the Bay of\nBiscay, after all resistance was over and the heat of the battle had\ncooled, he ordered his crew to bind the captain and all of the crew and\nevery Spaniard aboard--whether in arms or not--to sew them up in the\nmainsail and to fling them overboard. There were some twenty dead bodies\nin the sail when a few days later it was washed up on the shore.\n\nOf course such acts were not likely to go unavenged, and many an\ninnocent life was sacrificed to pay the debt of Cobham's cruelty.\n\nNothing could be more piratical than all this. Nevertheless, as was\nsaid, it was winked at, condoned, if not sanctioned, by the law; and it\nwas not beneath people of family and respectability to take part in it.\nBut by and by Protestantism and Catholicism began to be at somewhat less\ndeadly enmity with each other; religious wars were still far enough from\nbeing ended, but the scabbard of the sword was no longer flung away\nwhen the blade was drawn. And so followed a time of nominal peace, and a\ngeneration arose with whom it was no longer respectable and worthy--one\nmight say a matter of duty--to fight a country with which one's own\nland was not at war. Nevertheless, the seed had been sown; it had been\ndemonstrated that it was feasible to practice piracy against Spain and\nnot to suffer therefor. Blood had been shed and cruelty practiced, and,\nonce indulged, no lust seems stronger than that of shedding blood and\npracticing cruelty.\n\nThough Spain might be ever so well grounded in peace at home, in the\nWest Indies she was always at war with the whole world--English, French,\nDutch. It was almost a matter of life or death with her to keep her hold\nupon the New World. At home she was bankrupt and, upon the earthquake\nof the Reformation, her power was already beginning to totter and to\ncrumble to pieces. America was her treasure house, and from it alone\ncould she hope to keep her leaking purse full of gold and silver. So it\nwas that she strove strenuously, desperately, to keep out the world from\nher American possessions--a bootless task, for the old order upon which\nher power rested was broken and crumbled forever. But still she strove,\nfighting against fate, and so it was that in the tropical America it was\none continual war between her and all the world. Thus it came that,\nlong after piracy ceased to be allowed at home, it continued in those\nfar-away seas with unabated vigor, recruiting to its service all that\nlawless malign element which gathers together in every newly opened\ncountry where the only law is lawlessness, where might is right and\nwhere a living is to be gained with no more trouble than cutting a\nthroat. {signature Howard Pyle His Mark}\n\n\n\n\nHOWARD PILE'S BOOK OF PIRATES\n\n\n\n\nChapter I. BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN\n\nJUST above the northwestern shore of the old island of Hispaniola--the\nSanto Domingo of our day--and separated from it only by a narrow channel\nof some five or six miles in width, lies a queer little hunch of an\nisland, known, because of a distant resemblance to that animal, as\nthe Tortuga de Mar, or sea turtle. It is not more than twenty miles in\nlength by perhaps seven or eight in breadth; it is only a little spot of\nland, and as you look at it upon the map a pin's head would almost cover\nit; yet from that spot, as from a center of inflammation, a burning fire\nof human wickedness and ruthlessness and lust overran the world, and\nspread terror and death throughout the Spanish West Indies, from St.\nAugustine to the island of Trinidad, and from Panama to the coasts of\nPeru.\n\nAbout the middle of the seventeenth century certain French adventurers\nset out from the fortified island of St. Christopher in longboats and\nhoys, directing their course to the westward, there to discover new\nislands. Sighting Hispaniola \"with abundance of joy,\" they landed, and\nwent into the country, where they found great quantities of wild cattle,\nhorses, and swine.\n\nNow vessels on the return voyage to Europe from the West Indies needed\nrevictualing, and food, especially flesh, was at a premium in the\nislands of the Spanish Main; wherefore a great profit was to be turned\nin preserving beef and pork, and selling the flesh to homeward-bound\nvessels.\n\nThe northwestern shore of Hispaniola, lying as it does at the eastern\noutlet of the old Bahama Channel, running between the island of Cuba and\nthe great Bahama Banks, lay almost in the very main stream of travel.\nThe pioneer Frenchmen were not slow to discover the double advantage to\nbe reaped from the wild cattle that cost them nothing to procure, and a\nmarket for the flesh ready found for them. So down upon Hispaniola they\ncame by boatloads and shiploads, gathering like a swarm of mosquitoes,\nand overrunning the whole western end of the island. There they\nestablished themselves, spending the time alternately in hunting the\nwild cattle and buccanning(1) the meat, and squandering their hardly\nearned gains in wild debauchery, the opportunities for which were never\nlacking in the Spanish West Indies.\n\n     (1) Buccanning, by which the \"buccaneers\" gained their name,\n     was of process of curing thin strips of meat by salting,\n     smoking, and drying in the sun.\n\nAt first the Spaniards thought nothing of the few travel-worn Frenchmen\nwho dragged their longboats and hoys up on the beach, and shot a wild\nbullock or two to keep body and soul together; but when the few grew to\ndozens, and the dozens to scores, and the scores to hundreds, it was a\nvery different matter, and wrathful grumblings and mutterings began to\nbe heard among the original settlers.\n\nBut of this the careless buccaneers thought never a whit, the only thing\nthat troubled them being the lack of a more convenient shipping point\nthan the main island afforded them.\n\nThis lack was at last filled by a party of hunters who ventured across\nthe narrow channel that separated the main island from Tortuga. Here\nthey found exactly what they needed--a good harbor, just at the junction\nof the Windward Channel with the old Bahama Channel--a spot where\nfour-fifths of the Spanish-Indian trade would pass by their very\nwharves.\n\nThere were a few Spaniards upon the island, but they were a quiet folk,\nand well disposed to make friends with the strangers; but when more\nFrenchmen and still more Frenchmen crossed the narrow channel, until\nthey overran the Tortuga and turned it into one great curing house for\nthe beef which they shot upon the neighboring island, the Spaniards grew\nrestive over the matter, just as they had done upon the larger island.\n\nAccordingly, one fine day there came half a dozen great boatloads\nof armed Spaniards, who landed upon the Turtle's Back and sent the\nFrenchmen flying to the woods and fastnesses of rocks as the chaff flies\nbefore the thunder gust. That night the Spaniards drank themselves\nmad and shouted themselves hoarse over their victory, while the beaten\nFrenchmen sullenly paddled their canoes back to the main island again,\nand the Sea Turtle was Spanish once more.\n\nBut the Spaniards were not contented with such a petty triumph as that\nof sweeping the island of Tortuga free from the obnoxious strangers,\ndown upon Hispaniola they came, flushed with their easy victory, and\ndetermined to root out every Frenchman, until not one single buccaneer\nremained. For a time they had an easy thing of it, for each French\nhunter roamed the woods by himself, with no better company than his\nhalf-wild dogs, so that when two or three Spaniards would meet such a\none, he seldom if ever came out of the woods again, for even his resting\nplace was lost.\n\nBut the very success of the Spaniards brought their ruin along with it,\nfor the buccaneers began to combine together for self-protection,\nand out of that combination arose a strange union of lawless man with\nlawless man, so near, so close, that it can scarce be compared to\nany other than that of husband and wife. When two entered upon this\ncomradeship, articles were drawn up and signed by both parties, a common\nstock was made of all their possessions, and out into the woods they\nwent to seek their fortunes; thenceforth they were as one man; they\nlived together by day, they slept together by night; what one suffered,\nthe other suffered; what one gained, the other gained. The only\nseparation that came betwixt them was death, and then the survivor\ninherited all that the other left. And now it was another thing with\nSpanish buccaneer hunting, for two buccaneers, reckless of life, quick\nof eye, and true of aim, were worth any half dozen of Spanish islanders.\n\nBy and by, as the French became more strongly organized for mutual\nself-protection, they assumed the offensive. Then down they came upon\nTortuga, and now it was the turn of the Spanish to be hunted off the\nisland like vermin, and the turn of the French to shout their victory.\n\nHaving firmly established themselves, a governor was sent to the French\nof Tortuga, one M. le Passeur, from the island of St. Christopher; the\nSea Turtle was fortified, and colonists, consisting of men of doubtful\ncharacter and women of whose character there could be no doubt whatever,\nbegan pouring in upon the island, for it was said that the buccaneers\nthought no more of a doubloon than of a Lima bean, so that this was the\nplace for the brothel and the brandy shop to reap their golden harvest,\nand the island remained French.\n\nHitherto the Tortugans had been content to gain as much as possible from\nthe homeward-bound vessels through the orderly channels of legitimate\ntrade. It was reserved for Pierre le Grand to introduce piracy as a\nquicker and more easy road to wealth than the semi-honest exchange they\nhad been used to practice.\n\nGathering together eight-and-twenty other spirits as hardy and reckless\nas himself, he put boldly out to sea in a boat hardly large enough to\nhold his crew, and running down the Windward Channel and out into the\nCaribbean Sea, he lay in wait for such a prize as might be worth the\nrisks of winning.\n\nFor a while their luck was steadily against them; their provisions and\nwater began to fail, and they saw nothing before them but starvation\nor a humiliating return. In this extremity they sighted a Spanish ship\nbelonging to a \"flota\" which had become separated from her consorts.\n\nThe boat in which the buccaneers sailed might, perhaps, have served for\nthe great ship's longboat; the Spaniards out-numbered them three to\none, and Pierre and his men were armed only with pistols and cutlasses;\nnevertheless this was their one and their only chance, and they\ndetermined to take the Spanish ship or to die in the attempt. Down upon\nthe Spaniard they bore through the dusk of the night, and giving orders\nto the \"chirurgeon\" to scuttle their craft under them as they were\nleaving it, they swarmed up the side of the unsuspecting ship and upon\nits decks in a torrent--pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other. A\npart of them ran to the gun room and secured the arms and ammunition,\npistoling or cutting down all such as stood in their way or offered\nopposition; the other party burst into the great cabin at the heels of\nPierre le Grand, found the captain and a party of his friends at cards,\nset a pistol to his breast, and demanded him to deliver up the ship.\nNothing remained for the Spaniard but to yield, for there was no\nalternative between surrender and death. And so the great prize was won.\n\nIt was not long before the news of this great exploit and of the vast\ntreasure gained reached the ears of the buccaneers of Tortuga and\nHispaniola. Then what a hubbub and an uproar and a tumult there was!\nHunting wild cattle and buccanning the meat was at a discount, and the\none and only thing to do was to go a-pirating; for where one such prize\nhad been won, others were to be had.\n\nIn a short time freebooting assumed all of the routine of a regular\nbusiness. Articles were drawn up betwixt captain and crew, compacts were\nsealed, and agreements entered into by the one party and the other.\n\nIn all professions there are those who make their mark, those who\nsucceed only moderately well, and those who fail more or less entirely.\nNor did pirating differ from this general rule, for in it were men who\nrose to distinction, men whose names, something tarnished and rusted by\nthe lapse of years, have come down even to us of the present day.\n\nPierre Francois, who, with his boatload of six-and-twenty desperadoes,\nran boldly into the midst of the pearl fleet off the coast of\nSouth America, attacked the vice admiral under the very guns of two\nmen-of-war, captured his ship, though she was armed with eight guns and\nmanned with threescore men, and would have got her safely away, only\nthat having to put on sail, their mainmast went by the board, whereupon\nthe men-of-war came up with them, and the prize was lost.\n\nBut even though there were two men-of-war against all that remained of\nsix-and-twenty buccaneers, the Spaniards were glad enough to make terms\nwith them for the surrender of the vessel, whereby Pierre Francois and\nhis men came off scot-free.\n\nBartholomew Portuguese was a worthy of even more note. In a boat manned\nwith thirty fellow adventurers he fell upon a great ship off Cape\nCorrientes, manned with threescore and ten men, all told.\n\nHer he assaulted again and again, beaten off with the very pressure of\nnumbers only to renew the assault, until the Spaniards who survived,\nsome fifty in all, surrendered to twenty living pirates, who poured upon\ntheir decks like a score of blood-stained, powder-grimed devils.\n\nThey lost their vessel by recapture, and Bartholomew Portuguese\nbarely escaped with his life through a series of almost unbelievable\nadventures. But no sooner had he fairly escaped from the clutches of the\nSpaniards than, gathering together another band of adventurers, he fell\nupon the very same vessel in the gloom of the night, recaptured her when\nshe rode at anchor in the harbor of Campeche under the guns of the fort,\nslipped the cable, and was away without the loss of a single man. He\nlost her in a hurricane soon afterward, just off the Isle of Pines; but\nthe deed was none the less daring for all that.\n\nAnother notable no less famous than these two worthies was Roch\nBraziliano, the truculent Dutchman who came up from the coast of Brazil\nto the Spanish Main with a name ready-made for him. Upon the very first\nadventure which he undertook he captured a plate ship of fabulous value,\nand brought her safely into Jamaica; and when at last captured by the\nSpaniards, he fairly frightened them into letting him go by truculent\nthreats of vengeance from his followers.\n\nSuch were three of the pirate buccaneers who infested the Spanish\nMain. There were hundreds no less desperate, no less reckless, no less\ninsatiate in their lust for plunder, than they.\n\nThe effects of this freebooting soon became apparent. The risks to be\nassumed by the owners of vessels and the shippers of merchandise became\nso enormous that Spanish commerce was practically swept away from these\nwaters. No vessel dared to venture out of port excepting under escort\nof powerful men-of-war, and even then they were not always secure from\nmolestation. Exports from Central and South America were sent to Europe\nby way of the Strait of Magellan, and little or none went through the\npasses between the Bahamas and the Caribbees.\n\nSo at last \"buccaneering,\" as it had come to be generically called,\nceased to pay the vast dividends that it had done at first. The cream\nwas skimmed off, and only very thin milk was left in the dish. Fabulous\nfortunes were no longer earned in a ten days' cruise, but what money\nwas won hardly paid for the risks of the winning. There must be a new\ndeparture, or buccaneering would cease to exist.\n\nThen arose one who showed the buccaneers a new way to squeeze money out\nof the Spaniards. This man was an Englishman--Lewis Scot.\n\nThe stoppage of commerce on the Spanish Main had naturally tended to\naccumulate all the wealth gathered and produced into the chief fortified\ncities and towns of the West Indies. As there no longer existed prizes\nupon the sea, they must be gained upon the land, if they were to be\ngained at all. Lewis Scot was the first to appreciate this fact.\n\nGathering together a large and powerful body of men as hungry for\nplunder and as desperate as himself, he descended upon the town of\nCampeche, which he captured and sacked, stripping it of everything that\ncould possibly be carried away.\n\nWhen the town was cleared to the bare walls Scot threatened to set the\ntorch to every house in the place if it was not ransomed by a large sum\nof money which he demanded. With this booty he set sail for Tortuga,\nwhere he arrived safely--and the problem was solved.\n\nAfter him came one Mansvelt, a buccaneer of lesser note, who first made\na descent upon the isle of Saint Catharine, now Old Providence, which he\ntook, and, with this as a base, made an unsuccessful descent upon Neuva\nGranada and Cartagena. His name might not have been handed down to us\nalong with others of greater fame had he not been the master of that\nmost apt of pupils, the great Captain Henry Morgan, most famous of\nall the buccaneers, one time governor of Jamaica, and knighted by King\nCharles II.\n\nAfter Mansvelt followed the bold John Davis, native of Jamaica, where he\nsucked in the lust of piracy with his mother's milk. With only fourscore\nmen, he swooped down upon the great city of Nicaragua in the darkness of\nthe night, silenced the sentry with the thrust of a knife, and then\nfell to pillaging the churches and houses \"without any respect or\nveneration.\"\n\nOf course it was but a short time until the whole town was in an uproar\nof alarm, and there was nothing left for the little handful of men to do\nbut to make the best of their way to their boats. They were in the town\nbut a short time, but in that time they were able to gather together and\nto carry away money and jewels to the value of fifty thousand pieces of\neight, besides dragging off with them a dozen or more notable prisoners,\nwhom they held for ransom.\n\nAnd now one appeared upon the scene who reached a far greater height\nthan any had arisen to before. This was Francois l'Olonoise, who\nsacked the great city of Maracaibo and the town of Gibraltar. Cold,\nunimpassioned, pitiless, his sluggish blood was never moved by one\nsingle pulse of human warmth, his icy heart was never touched by one ray\nof mercy or one spark of pity for the hapless wretches who chanced to\nfall into his bloody hands.\n\nAgainst him the governor of Havana sent out a great war vessel, and with\nit a negro executioner, so that there might be no inconvenient delays of\nlaw after the pirates had been captured. But l'Olonoise did not wait for\nthe coming of the war vessel; he went out to meet it, and he found it\nwhere it lay riding at anchor in the mouth of the river Estra. At the\ndawn of the morning he made his attack sharp, unexpected, decisive. In a\nlittle while the Spaniards were forced below the hatches, and the vessel\nwas taken. Then came the end. One by one the poor shrieking wretches\nwere dragged up from below, and one by one they were butchered in cold\nblood, while l'Olonoise stood upon the poop deck and looked coldly down\nupon what was being done. Among the rest the negro was dragged upon the\ndeck. He begged and implored that his life might be spared, promising to\ntell all that might be asked of him. L'Olonoise questioned him, and when\nhe had squeezed him dry, waved his hand coldly, and the poor black went\nwith the rest. Only one man was spared; him he sent to the governor of\nHavana with a message that henceforth he would give no quarter to any\nSpaniard whom he might meet in arms--a message which was not an empty\nthreat.\n\nThe rise of l'Olonoise was by no means rapid. He worked his way up by\ndint of hard labor and through much ill fortune. But by and by, after\nmany reverses, the tide turned, and carried him with it from one success\nto another, without let or stay, to the bitter end.\n\nCruising off Maracaibo, he captured a rich prize laden with a vast\namount of plate and ready money, and there conceived the design of\ndescending upon the powerful town of Maracaibo itself. Without loss of\ntime he gathered together five hundred picked scoundrels from Tortuga,\nand taking with him one Michael de Basco as land captain, and two\nhundred more buccaneers whom he commanded, down he came into the Gulf of\nVenezuela and upon the doomed city like a blast of the plague. Leaving\ntheir vessels, the buccaneers made a land attack upon the fort that\nstood at the mouth of the inlet that led into Lake Maracaibo and guarded\nthe city.\n\nThe Spaniards held out well, and fought with all the might that\nSpaniards possess; but after a fight of three hours all was given up and\nthe garrison fled, spreading terror and confusion before them. As\nmany of the inhabitants of the city as could do so escaped in boats to\nGibraltar, which lies to the southward, on the shores of Lake Maracaibo,\nat the distance of some forty leagues or more.\n\nThen the pirates marched into the town, and what followed may be\nconceived. It was a holocaust of lust, of passion, and of blood such as\neven the Spanish West Indies had never seen before. Houses and churches\nwere sacked until nothing was left but the bare walls; men and women\nwere tortured to compel them to disclose where more treasure lay hidden.\n\nThen, having wrenched all that they could from Maracaibo, they\nentered the lake and descended upon Gibraltar, where the rest of the\npanic-stricken inhabitants were huddled together in a blind terror.\n\nThe governor of Merida, a brave soldier who had served his king in\nFlanders, had gathered together a troop of eight hundred men, had\nfortified the town, and now lay in wait for the coming of the pirates.\nThe pirates came all in good time, and then, in spite of the brave\ndefense, Gibraltar also fell. Then followed a repetition of the scenes\nthat had been enacted in Maracaibo for the past fifteen days, only here\nthey remained for four horrible weeks, extorting money--money! ever\nmoney!--from the poor poverty-stricken, pest-ridden souls crowded into\nthat fever hole of a town.\n\nThen they left, but before they went they demanded still more money--ten\nthousand pieces of eight--as a ransom for the town, which otherwise\nshould be given to the flames. There was some hesitation on the part of\nthe Spaniards, some disposition to haggle, but there was no hesitation\non the part of l'Olonoise. The torch WAS set to the town as he had\npromised, whereupon the money was promptly paid, and the pirates were\npiteously begged to help quench the spreading flames. This they were\npleased to do, but in spite of all their efforts nearly half of the town\nwas consumed.\n\nAfter that they returned to Maracaibo again, where they demanded a\nransom of thirty thousand pieces of eight for the city. There was no\nhaggling here, thanks to the fate of Gibraltar; only it was utterly\nimpossible to raise that much money in all of the poverty-stricken\nregion. But at last the matter was compromised, and the town was\nredeemed for twenty thousand pieces of eight and five hundred head of\ncattle, and tortured Maracaibo was quit of them.\n\nIn the Ile de la Vache the buccaneers shared among themselves two\nhundred and sixty thousand pieces of eight, besides jewels and bales of\nsilk and linen and miscellaneous plunder to a vast amount.\n\nSuch was the one great deed of l'Olonoise; from that time his star\nsteadily declined--for even nature seemed fighting against such a\nmonster--until at last he died a miserable, nameless death at the hands\nof an unknown tribe of Indians upon the Isthmus of Darien.\n\nAnd now we come to the greatest of all the buccaneers, he who stands\npre-eminent among them, and whose name even to this day is a charm\nto call up his deeds of daring, his dauntless courage, his truculent\ncruelty, and his insatiate and unappeasable lust for gold--Capt. Henry\nMorgan, the bold Welshman, who brought buccaneering to the height and\nflower of its glory.\n\nHaving sold himself, after the manner of the times, for his passage\nacross the seas, he worked out his time of servitude at the Barbados. As\nsoon as he had regained his liberty he entered upon the trade of piracy,\nwherein he soon reached a position of considerable prominence. He was\nassociated with Mansvelt at the time of the latter's descent upon\nSaint Catharine's Isle, the importance of which spot, as a center of\noperations against the neighboring coasts, Morgan never lost sight of.\n\nThe first attempt that Capt. Henry Morgan ever made against any town\nin the Spanish Indies was the bold descent upon the city of Puerto del\nPrincipe in the island of Cuba, with a mere handful of men. It was\na deed the boldness of which has never been outdone by any of a like\nnature--not even the famous attack upon Panama itself. Thence they\nreturned to their boats in the very face of the whole island of Cuba,\naroused and determined upon their extermination. Not only did they make\ngood their escape, but they brought away with them a vast amount of\nplunder, computed at three hundred thousand pieces of eight, besides\nfive hundred head of cattle and many prisoners held for ransom.\n\nBut when the division of all this wealth came to be made, lo! there were\nonly fifty thousand pieces of eight to be found. What had become of the\nrest no man could tell but Capt. Henry Morgan himself. Honesty among\nthieves was never an axiom with him.\n\nRude, truculent, and dishonest as Captain Morgan was, he seems to have\nhad a wonderful power of persuading the wild buccaneers under him to\nsubmit everything to his judgment, and to rely entirely upon his word.\nIn spite of the vast sum of money that he had very evidently made away\nwith, recruits poured in upon him, until his band was larger and better\nequipped than ever.\n\nAnd now it was determined that the plunder harvest was ripe at Porto\nBello, and that city's doom was sealed. The town was defended by two\nstrong castles thoroughly manned, and officered by as gallant a soldier\nas ever carried Toledo steel at his side. But strong castles and gallant\nsoldiers weighed not a barleycorn with the buccaneers when their blood\nwas stirred by the lust of gold.\n\nLanding at Puerto Naso, a town some ten leagues westward of Porto Bello,\nthey marched to the latter town, and coming before the castle, boldly\ndemanded its surrender. It was refused, whereupon Morgan threatened that\nno quarter should be given. Still surrender was refused; and then the\ncastle was attacked, and after a bitter struggle was captured. Morgan\nwas as good as his word: every man in the castle was shut in the guard\nroom, the match was set to the powder magazine, and soldiers, castle,\nand all were blown into the air, while through all the smoke and the\ndust the buccaneers poured into the town. Still the governor held out in\nthe other castle, and might have made good his defense, but that he was\nbetrayed by the soldiers under him. Into the castle poured the howling\nbuccaneers. But still the governor fought on, with his wife and daughter\nclinging to his knees and beseeching him to surrender, and the blood\nfrom his wounded forehead trickling down over his white collar, until a\nmerciful bullet put an end to the vain struggle.\n\nHere were enacted the old scenes. Everything plundered that could be\ntaken, and then a ransom set upon the town itself.\n\nThis time an honest, or an apparently honest, division was made of\nthe spoils, which amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand pieces of\neight, besides merchandise and jewels.\n\nThe next towns to suffer were poor Maracaibo and Gibraltar, now just\nbeginning to recover from the desolation wrought by l'Olonoise. Once\nmore both towns were plundered of every bale of merchandise and of every\nplaster, and once more both were ransomed until everything was squeezed\nfrom the wretched inhabitants.\n\nHere affairs were like to have taken a turn, for when Captain Morgan\ncame up from Gibraltar he found three great men-of-war lying in the\nentrance to the lake awaiting his coming. Seeing that he was hemmed in\nthe narrow sheet of water, Captain Morgan was inclined to compromise\nmatters, even offering to relinquish all the plunder he had gained if\nhe were allowed to depart in peace. But no; the Spanish admiral would\nhear nothing of this. Having the pirates, as he thought, securely in\nhis grasp, he would relinquish nothing, but would sweep them from the\nface of the sea once and forever.\n\nThat was an unlucky determination for the Spaniards to reach, for\ninstead of paralyzing the pirates with fear, as he expected it would do,\nit simply turned their mad courage into as mad desperation.\n\nA great vessel that they had taken with the town of Maracaibo was\nconverted into a fire ship, manned with logs of wood in montera caps and\nsailor jackets, and filled with brimstone, pitch, and palm leaves soaked\nin oil. Then out of the lake the pirates sailed to meet the Spaniards,\nthe fire ship leading the way, and bearing down directly upon the\nadmiral's vessel. At the helm stood volunteers, the most desperate and\nthe bravest of all the pirate gang, and at the ports stood the logs of\nwood in montera caps. So they came up with the admiral, and grappled\nwith his ship in spite of the thunder of all his great guns, and then\nthe Spaniard saw, all too late, what his opponent really was.\n\nHe tried to swing loose, but clouds of smoke and almost instantly a mass\nof roaring flames enveloped both vessels, and the admiral was lost. The\nsecond vessel, not wishing to wait for the coming of the pirates, bore\ndown upon the fort, under the guns of which the cowardly crew sank\nher, and made the best of their way to the shore. The third vessel, not\nhaving an opportunity to escape, was taken by the pirates without the\nslightest resistance, and the passage from the lake was cleared. So\nthe buccaneers sailed away, leaving Maracaibo and Gibraltar prostrate a\nsecond time.\n\nAnd now Captain Morgan determined to undertake another venture, the like\nof which had never been equaled in all of the annals of buccaneering.\nThis was nothing less than the descent upon and the capture of Panama,\nwhich was, next to Cartagena, perhaps, the most powerful and the most\nstrongly fortified city in the West Indies.\n\nIn preparation for this venture he obtained letters of marque from the\ngovernor of Jamaica, by virtue of which elastic commission he began\nimmediately to gather around him all material necessary for the\nundertaking.\n\nWhen it became known abroad that the great Captain Morgan was about\nundertaking an adventure that was to eclipse all that was ever done\nbefore, great numbers came flocking to his standard, until he had\ngathered together an army of two thousand or more desperadoes and\npirates wherewith to prosecute his adventure, albeit the venture itself\nwas kept a total secret from everyone. Port Couillon, in the island of\nHispaniola, over against the Ile de la Vache, was the place of muster,\nand thither the motley band gathered from all quarters. Provisions had\nbeen plundered from the mainland wherever they could be obtained, and by\nthe 24th of October, 1670 (O. S.), everything was in readiness.\n\nThe island of Saint Catharine, as it may be remembered, was at one time\ncaptured by Mansvelt, Morgan's master in his trade of piracy. It had\nbeen retaken by the Spaniards, and was now thoroughly fortified by them.\nAlmost the first attempt that Morgan had made as a master pirate was the\nretaking of Saint Catharine's Isle. In that undertaking he had failed;\nbut now, as there was an absolute need of some such place as a base\nof operations, he determined that the place must be taken. And it was\ntaken.\n\nThe Spaniards, during the time of their possession, had fortified it\nmost thoroughly and completely, and had the governor thereof been as\nbrave as he who met his death in the castle of Porto Bello, there might\nhave been a different tale to tell. As it was, he surrendered it in a\nmost cowardly fashion, merely stipulating that there should be a sham\nattack by the buccaneers, whereby his credit might be saved. And so\nSaint Catharine was won.\n\nThe next step to be taken was the capture of the castle of Chagres,\nwhich guarded the mouth of the river of that name, up which river the\nbuccaneers would be compelled to transport their troops and provisions\nfor the attack upon the city of Panama. This adventure was undertaken by\nfour hundred picked men under command of Captain Morgan himself.\n\nThe castle of Chagres, known as San Lorenzo by the Spaniards, stood upon\nthe top of an abrupt rock at the mouth of the river, and was one of\nthe strongest fortresses for its size in all of the West Indies. This\nstronghold Morgan must have if he ever hoped to win Panama.\n\nThe attack of the castle and the defense of it were equally fierce,\nbloody, and desperate. Again and again the buccaneers assaulted, and\nagain and again they were beaten back. So the morning came, and it\nseemed as though the pirates had been baffled this time. But just at\nthis juncture the thatch of palm leaves on the roofs of some of the\nbuildings inside the fortifications took fire, a conflagration followed,\nwhich caused the explosion of one of the magazines, and in the\nparalysis of terror that followed, the pirates forced their way into\nthe fortifications, and the castle was won. Most of the Spaniards\nflung themselves from the castle walls into the river or upon the rocks\nbeneath, preferring death to capture and possible torture; many who\nwere left were put to the sword, and some few were spared and held as\nprisoners.\n\nSo fell the castle of Chagres, and nothing now lay between the\nbuccaneers and the city of Panama but the intervening and trackless\nforests.\n\nAnd now the name of the town whose doom was sealed was no secret.\n\nUp the river of Chagres went Capt. Henry Morgan and twelve hundred men,\npacked closely in their canoes; they never stopped, saving now and then\nto rest their stiffened legs, until they had come to a place known as\nCruz de San Juan Gallego, where they were compelled to leave their boats\non account of the shallowness of the water.\n\nLeaving a guard of one hundred and sixty men to protect their boats as\na place of refuge in case they should be worsted before Panama, they\nturned and plunged into the wilderness before them.\n\nThere a more powerful foe awaited them than a host of Spaniards\nwith match, powder, and lead--starvation. They met but little or no\nopposition in their progress; but wherever they turned they found every\nfiber of meat, every grain of maize, every ounce of bread or meal, swept\naway or destroyed utterly before them. Even when the buccaneers had\nsuccessfully overcome an ambuscade or an attack, and had sent the\nSpaniards flying, the fugitives took the time to strip their dead\ncomrades of every grain of food in their leathern sacks, leaving nothing\nbut the empty bags.\n\nSays the narrator of these events, himself one of the expedition, \"They\nafterward fell to eating those leathern bags, as affording something to\nthe ferment of their stomachs.\"\n\nTen days they struggled through this bitter privation, doggedly forcing\ntheir way onward, faint with hunger and haggard with weakness and fever.\nThen, from the high hill and over the tops of the forest trees, they saw\nthe steeples of Panama, and nothing remained between them and their goal\nbut the fighting of four Spaniards to every one of them--a simple thing\nwhich they had done over and over again.\n\nDown they poured upon Panama, and out came the Spaniards to meet them;\nfour hundred horse, two thousand five hundred foot, and two thousand\nwild bulls which had been herded together to be driven over the\nbuccaneers so that their ranks might be disordered and broken. The\nbuccaneers were only eight hundred strong; the others had either\nfallen in battle or had dropped along the dreary pathway through the\nwilderness; but in the space of two hours the Spaniards were flying\nmadly over the plain, minus six hundred who lay dead or dying behind\nthem.\n\nAs for the bulls, as many of them as were shot served as food there and\nthen for the half-famished pirates, for the buccaneers were never more\nat home than in the slaughter of cattle.\n\nThen they marched toward the city. Three hours' more fighting and\nthey were in the streets, howling, yelling, plundering, gorging,\ndram-drinking, and giving full vent to all the vile and nameless lusts\nthat burned in their hearts like a hell of fire. And now followed the\nusual sequence of events--rapine, cruelty, and extortion; only this time\nthere was no town to ransom, for Morgan had given orders that it should\nbe destroyed. The torch was set to it, and Panama, one of the greatest\ncities in the New World, was swept from the face of the earth. Why the\ndeed was done, no man but Morgan could tell. Perhaps it was that all\nthe secret hiding places for treasure might be brought to light; but\nwhatever the reason was, it lay hidden in the breast of the great\nbuccaneer himself. For three weeks Morgan and his men abode in this\ndreadful place; and they marched away with ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE\nbeasts of burden loaded with treasures of gold and silver and jewels,\nbesides great quantities of merchandise, and six hundred prisoners held\nfor ransom.\n\nWhatever became of all that vast wealth, and what it amounted to, no\nman but Morgan ever knew, for when a division was made it was found that\nthere was only TWO HUNDRED PIECES OF EIGHT TO EACH MAN.\n\nWhen this dividend was declared a howl of execration went up, under\nwhich even Capt. Henry Morgan quailed. At night he and four other\ncommanders slipped their cables and ran out to sea, and it was said that\nthese divided the greater part of the booty among themselves. But the\nwealth plundered at Panama could hardly have fallen short of a million\nand a half of dollars. Computing it at this reasonable figure, the\nvarious prizes won by Henry Morgan in the West Indies would stand as\nfollows: Panama, $1,500,000; Porto Bello, $800,000; Puerto del\nPrincipe, $700,000; Maracaibo and Gibraltar, $400,000; various piracies,\n$250,000--making a grand total of $3,650,000 as the vast harvest of\nplunder. With this fabulous wealth, wrenched from the Spaniards by\nmeans of the rack and the cord, and pilfered from his companions by the\nmeanest of thieving, Capt. Henry Morgan retired from business, honored\nof all, rendered famous by his deeds, knighted by the good King Charles\nII, and finally appointed governor of the rich island of Jamaica.\n\nOther buccaneers followed him. Campeche was taken and sacked, and even\nCartagena itself fell; but with Henry Morgan culminated the glory of\nthe buccaneers, and from that time they declined in power and wealth and\nwickedness until they were finally swept away.\n\nThe buccaneers became bolder and bolder. In fact, so daring were their\ncrimes that the home governments, stirred at last by these outrageous\nbarbarities, seriously undertook the suppression of the freebooters,\nlopping and trimming the main trunk until its members were scattered\nhither and thither, and it was thought that the organization was\nexterminated. But, so far from being exterminated, the individual\nmembers were merely scattered north, south, east, and west, each forming\na nucleus around which gathered and clustered the very worst of the\noffscouring of humanity.\n\nThe result was that when the seventeenth century was fairly packed away\nwith its lavender in the store chest of the past, a score or more\nbands of freebooters were cruising along the Atlantic seaboard in armed\nvessels, each with a black flag with its skull and crossbones at the\nfore, and with a nondescript crew made up of the tags and remnants of\ncivilized and semicivilized humanity (white, black, red, and yellow),\nknown generally as marooners, swarming upon the decks below.\n\nNor did these offshoots from the old buccaneer stem confine their\ndepredations to the American seas alone; the East Indies and the African\ncoast also witnessed their doings, and suffered from them, and even the\nBay of Biscay had good cause to remember more than one visit from them.\n\nWorthy sprigs from so worthy a stem improved variously upon the\nparent methods; for while the buccaneers were content to prey upon the\nSpaniards alone, the marooners reaped the harvest from the commerce of\nall nations.\n\nSo up and down the Atlantic seaboard they cruised, and for the fifty\nyears that marooning was in the flower of its glory it was a sorrowful\ntime for the coasters of New England, the middle provinces, and the\nVirginias, sailing to the West Indies with their cargoes of salt fish,\ngrain, and tobacco. Trading became almost as dangerous as privateering,\nand sea captains were chosen as much for their knowledge of the\nflintlock and the cutlass as for their seamanship.\n\nAs by far the largest part of the trading in American waters was\nconducted by these Yankee coasters, so by far the heaviest blows, and\nthose most keenly felt, fell upon them. Bulletin after bulletin came\nto port with its doleful tale of this vessel burned or that vessel\nscuttled, this one held by the pirates for their own use or that one\nstripped of its goods and sent into port as empty as an eggshell from\nwhich the yolk had been sucked. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and\nCharleston suffered alike, and worthy ship owners had to leave off\ncounting their losses upon their fingers and take to the slate to keep\nthe dismal record.\n\n\"Maroon--to put ashore on a desert isle, as a sailor, under pretense of\nhaving committed some great crime.\" Thus our good Noah Webster gives us\nthe dry bones, the anatomy, upon which the imagination may construct a\nspecimen to suit itself.\n\nIt is thence that the marooners took their name, for marooning was\none of their most effective instruments of punishment or revenge. If a\npirate broke one of the many rules which governed the particular band\nto which he belonged, he was marooned; did a captain defend his ship to\nsuch a degree as to be unpleasant to the pirates attacking it, he\nwas marooned; even the pirate captain himself, if he displeased his\nfollowers by the severity of his rule, was in danger of having the same\npunishment visited upon him which he had perhaps more than once visited\nupon another.\n\nThe process of marooning was as simple as terrible. A suitable place was\nchosen (generally some desert isle as far removed as possible from the\npathway of commerce), and the condemned man was rowed from the ship to\nthe beach. Out he was bundled upon the sand spit; a gun, a half dozen\nbullets, a few pinches of powder, and a bottle of water were chucked\nashore after him, and away rowed the boat's crew back to the ship,\nleaving the poor wretch alone to rave away his life in madness, or to\nsit sunken in his gloomy despair till death mercifully released him from\ntorment. It rarely if ever happened that anything was known of him after\nhaving been marooned. A boat's crew from some vessel, sailing by chance\nthat way, might perhaps find a few chalky bones bleaching upon the white\nsand in the garish glare of the sunlight, but that was all. And such\nwere marooners.\n\nBy far the largest number of pirate captains were Englishmen, for,\nfrom the days of good Queen Bess, English sea captains seemed to have\na natural turn for any species of venture that had a smack of piracy\nin it, and from the great Admiral Drake of the old, old days, to the\ntruculent Morgan of buccaneering times, the Englishman did the boldest\nand wickedest deeds, and wrought the most damage.\n\nFirst of all upon the list of pirates stands the bold Captain Avary, one\nof the institutors of marooning. Him we see but dimly, half hidden by\nthe glamouring mists of legends and tradition. Others who came afterward\noutstripped him far enough in their doings, but he stands pre-eminent as\nthe first of marooners of whom actual history has been handed down to us\nof the present day.\n\nWhen the English, Dutch, and Spanish entered into an alliance to\nsuppress buccaneering in the West Indies, certain worthies of Bristol,\nin old England, fitted out two vessels to assist in this laudable\nproject; for doubtless Bristol trade suffered smartly from the Morgans\nand the l'Olonoises of that old time. One of these vessels was named the\nDuke, of which a certain Captain Gibson was the commander and Avary the\nmate.\n\nAway they sailed to the West Indies, and there Avary became impressed by\nthe advantages offered by piracy, and by the amount of good things that\nwere to be gained by very little striving.\n\nOne night the captain (who was one of those fellows mightily addicted\nto punch), instead of going ashore to saturate himself with rum at the\nordinary, had his drink in his cabin in private. While he lay snoring\naway the effects of his rum in the cabin, Avary and a few other\nconspirators heaved the anchor very leisurely, and sailed out of the\nharbor of Corunna, and through the midst of the allied fleet riding at\nanchor in the darkness.\n\nBy and by, when the morning came, the captain was awakened by the\npitching and tossing of the vessel, the rattle and clatter of the tackle\noverhead, and the noise of footsteps passing and repassing hither and\nthither across the deck. Perhaps he lay for a while turning the matter\nover and over in his muddled head, but he presently rang the bell, and\nAvary and another fellow answered the call.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" bawls the captain from his berth.\n\n\"Nothing,\" says Avary, coolly.\n\n\"Something's the matter with the ship,\" says the captain. \"Does she\ndrive? What weather is it?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" says Avary; \"we are at sea.\"\n\n\"At sea?\"\n\n\"Come, come!\" says Avary: \"I'll tell you; you must know that I'm the\ncaptain of the ship now, and you must be packing from this here cabin.\nWe are bound to Madagascar, to make all of our fortunes, and if you're a\nmind to ship for the cruise, why, we'll be glad to have you, if you will\nbe sober and mind your own business; if not, there is a boat alongside,\nand I'll have you set ashore.\"\n\nThe poor half-tipsy captain had no relish to go a-pirating under the\ncommand of his backsliding mate, so out of the ship he bundled, and away\nhe rowed with four or five of the crew, who, like him, refused to join\nwith their jolly shipmates.\n\nThe rest of them sailed away to the East Indies, to try their fortunes\nin those waters, for our Captain Avary was of a high spirit, and had\nno mind to fritter away his time in the West Indies squeezed dry by\nbuccaneer Morgan and others of lesser note. No, he would make a bold\nstroke for it at once, and make or lose at a single cast.\n\nOn his way he picked up a couple of like kind with himself--two sloops\noff Madagascar. With these he sailed away to the coast of India, and for\na time his name was lost in the obscurity of uncertain history. But\nonly for a time, for suddenly it flamed out in a blaze of glory. It was\nreported that a vessel belonging to the Great Mogul, laden with treasure\nand bearing the monarch's own daughter upon a holy pilgrimage to Mecca\n(they being Mohammedans), had fallen in with the pirates, and after a\nshort resistance had been surrendered, with the damsel, her court, and\nall the diamonds, pearls, silk, silver, and gold aboard. It was rumored\nthat the Great Mogul, raging at the insult offered to him through his\nown flesh and blood, had threatened to wipe out of existence the few\nEnglish settlements scattered along the coast; whereat the honorable\nEast India Company was in a pretty state of fuss and feathers. Rumor,\ngrowing with the telling, has it that Avary is going to marry the\nIndian princess, willy-nilly, and will turn rajah, and eschew piracy as\nindecent. As for the treasure itself, there was no end to the extent to\nwhich it grew as it passed from mouth to mouth.\n\nCracking the nut of romance and exaggeration, we come to the kernel of\nthe story--that Avary did fall in with an Indian vessel laden with great\ntreasure (and possibly with the Mogul's daughter), which he captured,\nand thereby gained a vast prize.\n\nHaving concluded that he had earned enough money by the trade he had\nundertaken, he determined to retire and live decently for the rest of\nhis life upon what he already had. As a step toward this object, he set\nabout cheating his Madagascar partners out of their share of what had\nbeen gained. He persuaded them to store all the treasure in his vessel,\nit being the largest of the three; and so, having it safely in hand, he\naltered the course of his ship one fine night, and when the morning\ncame the Madagascar sloops found themselves floating upon a wide ocean\nwithout a farthing of the treasure for which they had fought so hard,\nand for which they might whistle for all the good it would do them.\n\nAt first Avary had a great part of a mind to settle at Boston, in\nMassachusetts, and had that little town been one whit less bleak and\nforbidding, it might have had the honor of being the home of this famous\nman. As it was, he did not like the looks of it, so he sailed away to\nthe eastward, to Ireland, where he settled himself at Biddeford, in\nhopes of an easy life of it for the rest of his days.\n\nHere he found himself the possessor of a plentiful stock of jewels, such\nas pearls, diamonds, rubies, etc., but with hardly a score of honest\nfarthings to jingle in his breeches pocket. He consulted with a certain\nmerchant of Bristol concerning the disposal of the stones--a fellow\nnot much more cleanly in his habits of honesty than Avary himself.\nThis worthy undertook to act as Avary's broker. Off he marched with\nthe jewels, and that was the last that the pirate saw of his Indian\ntreasure.\n\nPerhaps the most famous of all the piratical names to American ears are\nthose of Capt. Robert Kidd and Capt. Edward Teach, or \"Blackbeard.\"\n\nNothing will be ventured in regard to Kidd at this time, nor in regard\nto the pros and cons as to whether he really was or was not a pirate,\nafter all. For many years he was the very hero of heroes of piratical\nfame, there was hardly a creek or stream or point of land along our\ncoast, hardly a convenient bit of good sandy beach, or hump of rock, or\nwater-washed cave, where fabulous treasures were not said to have been\nhidden by this worthy marooner. Now we are assured that he never was\na pirate, and never did bury any treasure, excepting a certain chest,\nwhich he was compelled to hide upon Gardiner's Island--and perhaps even\nit was mythical.\n\nSo poor Kidd must be relegated to the dull ranks of simply respectable\npeople, or semirespectable people at best.\n\nBut with \"Blackbeard\" it is different, for in him we have a real,\nranting, raging, roaring pirate per se--one who really did bury\ntreasure, who made more than one captain walk the plank, and who\ncommitted more private murders than he could number on the fingers of\nboth hands; one who fills, and will continue to fill, the place to which\nhe has been assigned for generations, and who may be depended upon to\nhold his place in the confidence of others for generations to come.\n\nCaptain Teach was a Bristol man born, and learned his trade on board of\nsundry privateers in the East Indies during the old French war--that of\n1702--and a better apprenticeship could no man serve. At last, somewhere\nabout the latter part of the year 1716, a privateering captain, one\nBenjamin Hornigold, raised him from the ranks and put him in command of\na sloop--a lately captured prize and Blackbeard's fortune was made. It\nwas a very slight step, and but the change of a few letters, to convert\n\"privateer\" into \"pirate,\" and it was a very short time before Teach\nmade that change. Not only did he make it himself, but he persuaded his\nold captain to join with him.\n\nAnd now fairly began that series of bold and lawless depredations which\nhave made his name so justly famous, and which placed him among the very\ngreatest of marooning freebooters.\n\n\"Our hero,\" says the old historian who sings of the arms and bravery of\nthis great man--\"our hero assumed the cognomen of Blackbeard from that\nlarge quantity of hair which, like a frightful meteor, covered his whole\nface, and frightened America more than any comet that appeared there\nin a long time. He was accustomed to twist it with ribbons into small\ntails, after the manner of our Ramillies wig, and turn them about his\nears. In time of action he wore a sling over his shoulders, with three\nbrace of pistols, hanging in holsters like bandoleers; he stuck lighted\nmatches under his hat, which, appearing on each side of his face, and\nhis eyes naturally looking fierce and wild, made him altogether such a\nfigure that imagination cannot form an idea of a Fury from hell to look\nmore frightful.\"\n\nThe night before the day of the action in which he was killed he sat up\ndrinking with some congenial company until broad daylight. One of them\nasked him if his poor young wife knew where his treasure was hidden.\n\"No,\" says Blackbeard; \"nobody but the devil and I knows where it is,\nand the longest liver shall have all.\"\n\nAs for that poor young wife of his, the life that he and his rum-crazy\nshipmates led her was too terrible to be told.\n\nFor a time Blackbeard worked at his trade down on the Spanish Main,\ngathering, in the few years he was there, a very neat little fortune in\nthe booty captured from sundry vessels; but by and by he took it into\nhis head to try his luck along the coast of the Carolinas; so off\nhe sailed to the northward, with quite a respectable little fleet,\nconsisting of his own vessel and two captured sloops. From that time he\nwas actively engaged in the making of American history in his small way.\n\nHe first appeared off the bar of Charleston Harbor, to the no small\nexcitement of the worthy town of that ilk, and there he lay for five\nor six days, blockading the port, and stopping incoming and outgoing\nvessels at his pleasure, so that, for the time, the commerce of the\nprovince was entirely paralyzed. All the vessels so stopped he held as\nprizes, and all the crews and passengers (among the latter of whom was\nmore than one provincial worthy of the day) he retained as though they\nwere prisoners of war.\n\nAnd it was a mightily awkward thing for the good folk of Charleston to\nbehold day after day a black flag with its white skull and crossbones\nfluttering at the fore of the pirate captain's craft, over across the\nlevel stretch of green salt marshes; and it was mightily unpleasant,\ntoo, to know that this or that prominent citizen was crowded down with\nthe other prisoners under the hatches.\n\nOne morning Captain Blackbeard finds that his stock of medicine is low.\n\"Tut!\" says he, \"we'll turn no hair gray for that.\" So up he calls the\nbold Captain Richards, the commander of his consort the Revenge sloop,\nand bids him take Mr. Marks (one of his prisoners), and go up to\nCharleston and get the medicine. There was no task that suited our\nCaptain Richards better than that. Up to the town he rowed, as bold as\nbrass. \"Look ye,\" says he to the governor, rolling his quid of tobacco\nfrom one cheek to another--\"look ye, we're after this and that, and if\nwe don't get it, why, I'll tell you plain, we'll burn them bloody crafts\nof yours that we've took over yonder, and cut the weasand of every\nclodpoll aboard of 'em.\"\n\nThere was no answering an argument of such force as this, and the\nworshipful governor and the good folk of Charleston knew very well\nthat Blackbeard and his crew were the men to do as they promised. So\nBlackbeard got his medicine, and though it cost the colony two thousand\ndollars, it was worth that much to the town to be quit of him.\n\nThey say that while Captain Richards was conducting his negotiations\nwith the governor his boat's crew were stumping around the streets of\nthe town, having a glorious time of it, while the good folk glowered\nwrathfully at them, but dared venture nothing in speech or act.\n\nHaving gained a booty of between seven and eight thousand dollars from\nthe prizes captured, the pirates sailed away from Charleston Harbor to\nthe coast of North Carolina.\n\nAnd now Blackbeard, following the plan adopted by so many others of his\nkind, began to cudgel his brains for means to cheat his fellows out of\ntheir share of the booty.\n\nAt Topsail Inlet he ran his own vessel aground, as though by accident.\nHands, the captain of one of the consorts, pretending to come to his\nassistance, also grounded HIS sloop. Nothing now remained but for those\nwho were able to get away in the other craft, which was all that was\nnow left of the little fleet. This did Blackbeard with some forty of his\nfavorites. The rest of the pirates were left on the sand spit to await\nthe return of their companions--which never happened.\n\nAs for Blackbeard and those who were with him, they were that much\nricher, for there were so many the fewer pockets to fill. But even yet\nthere were too many to share the booty, in Blackbeard's opinion, and so\nhe marooned a parcel more of them--some eighteen or twenty--upon a naked\nsand bank, from which they were afterward mercifully rescued by another\nfreebooter who chanced that way--a certain Major Stede Bonnet, of whom\nmore will presently be said. About that time a royal proclamation had\nbeen issued offering pardon to all pirates in arms who would surrender\nto the king's authority before a given date. So up goes Master\nBlackbeard to the Governor of North Carolina and makes his neck safe by\nsurrendering to the proclamation--albeit he kept tight clutch upon what\nhe had already gained.\n\nAnd now we find our bold Captain Blackbeard established in the good\nprovince of North Carolina, where he and His Worship the Governor struck\nup a vast deal of intimacy, as profitable as it was pleasant. There is\nsomething very pretty in the thought of the bold sea rover giving up his\nadventurous life (excepting now and then an excursion against a trader\nor two in the neighboring sound, when the need of money was pressing);\nsettling quietly down into the routine of old colonial life, with a\nyoung wife of sixteen at his side, who made the fourteenth that he had\nin various ports here and there in the world.\n\nBecoming tired of an inactive life, Blackbeard afterward resumed his\npiratical career. He cruised around in the rivers and inlets and sounds\nof North Carolina for a while, ruling the roost and with never a one to\nsay him nay, until there was no bearing with such a pest any longer. So\nthey sent a deputation up to the Governor of Virginia asking if he would\nbe pleased to help them in their trouble.\n\nThere were two men-of-war lying at Kicquetan, in the James River, at the\ntime. To them the Governor of Virginia applies, and plucky Lieutenant\nMaynard, of the Pearl, was sent to Ocracoke Inlet to fight this pirate\nwho ruled it down there so like the cock of a walk. There he found\nBlackbeard waiting for him, and as ready for a fight as ever the\nlieutenant himself could be. Fight they did, and while it lasted it\nwas as pretty a piece of business of its kind as one could wish to\nsee. Blackbeard drained a glass of grog, wishing the lieutenant luck\nin getting aboard of him, fired a broadside, blew some twenty of the\nlieutenant's men out of existence, and totally crippled one of his\nlittle sloops for the balance of the fight. After that, and under cover\nof the smoke, the pirate and his men boarded the other sloop, and then\nfollowed a fine old-fashioned hand-to-hand conflict betwixt him and the\nlieutenant. First they fired their pistols, and then they took to it\nwith cutlasses--right, left, up and down, cut and slash--until the\nlieutenant's cutlass broke short off at the hilt. Then Blackbeard would\nhave finished him off handsomely, only up steps one of the lieutenant's\nmen and fetches him a great slash over the neck, so that the lieutenant\ncame off with no more hurt than a cut across the knuckles.\n\nAt the very first discharge of their pistols Blackbeard had been shot\nthrough the body, but he was not for giving up for that--not he. As said\nbefore, he was of the true roaring, raging breed of pirates, and stood\nup to it until he received twenty more cutlass cuts and five additional\nshots, and then fell dead while trying to fire off an empty pistol.\nAfter that the lieutenant cut off the pirate's head, and sailed away in\ntriumph, with the bloody trophy nailed to the bow of his battered sloop.\n\nThose of Blackbeard's men who were not killed were carried off to\nVirginia, and all of them tried and hanged but one or two, their names,\nno doubt, still standing in a row in the provincial records.\n\nBut did Blackbeard really bury treasures, as tradition says, along the\nsandy shores he haunted?\n\nMaster Clement Downing, midshipman aboard the Salisbury, wrote a book\nafter his return from the cruise to Madagascar, whither the Salisbury\nhad been ordered, to put an end to the piracy with which those waters\nwere infested. He says:\n\n\"At Guzarat I met with a Portuguese named Anthony de Sylvestre; he came\nwith two other Portuguese and two Dutchmen to take on in the Moor's\nservice, as many Europeans do. This Anthony told me he had been among\nthe pirates, and that he belonged to one of the sloops in Virginia when\nBlackbeard was taken. He informed me that if it should be my lot ever\nto go to York River or Maryland, near an island called Mulberry Island,\nprovided we went on shore at the watering place, where the shipping used\nmost commonly to ride, that there the pirates had buried considerable\nsums of money in great chests well clamped with iron plates. As to my\npart, I never was that way, nor much acquainted with any that ever used\nthose parts; but I have made inquiry, and am informed that there is such\na place as Mulberry Island. If any person who uses those parts should\nthink it worth while to dig a little way at the upper end of a small\ncove, where it is convenient to land, he would soon find whether the\ninformation I had was well grounded. Fronting the landing place are five\ntrees, among which, he said, the money was hid. I cannot warrant the\ntruth of this account; but if I was ever to go there, I should find some\nmeans or other to satisfy myself, as it could not be a great deal out\nof my way. If anybody should obtain the benefit of this account, if it\nplease God that they ever come to England, 'tis hoped they will remember\nwhence they had this information.\"\n\nAnother worthy was Capt. Edward Low, who learned his trade of\nsail-making at good old Boston town, and piracy at Honduras. No one\nstood higher in the trade than he, and no one mounted to more lofty\naltitudes of bloodthirsty and unscrupulous wickedness. 'Tis strange that\nso little has been written and sung of this man of might, for he was as\nworthy of story and of song as was Blackbeard.\n\nIt was under a Yankee captain that he made his first cruise--down to\nHonduras, for a cargo of logwood, which in those times was no better\nthan stolen from the Spanish folk.\n\nOne day, lying off the shore, in the Gulf of Honduras, comes Master Low\nand the crew of the whaleboat rowing across from the beach, where they\nhad been all morning chopping logwood.\n\n\"What are you after?\" says the captain, for they were coming back with\nnothing but themselves in the boat.\n\n\"We're after our dinner,\" says Low, as spokesman of the party.\n\n\"You'll have no dinner,\" says the captain, \"until you fetch off another\nload.\"\n\n\"Dinner or no dinner, we'll pay for it,\" says Low, wherewith he up with\na musket, squinted along the barrel, and pulled the trigger.\n\nLuckily the gun hung fire, and the Yankee captain was spared to steal\nlogwood a while longer.\n\nAll the same, that was no place for Ned Low to make a longer stay, so\noff he and his messmates rowed in a whaleboat, captured a brig out at\nsea, and turned pirates.\n\nHe presently fell in with the notorious Captain Lowther, a fellow after\nhis own kidney, who put the finishing touches to his education and\ntaught him what wickedness he did not already know.\n\nAnd so he became a master pirate, and a famous hand at his craft, and\nthereafter forever bore an inveterate hatred of all Yankees because of\nthe dinner he had lost, and never failed to smite whatever one of\nthem luck put within his reach. Once he fell in with a ship off South\nCarolina--the Amsterdam Merchant, Captain Williamson, commander--a\nYankee craft and a Yankee master. He slit the nose and cropped the ears\nof the captain, and then sailed merrily away, feeling the better for\nhaving marred a Yankee.\n\nNew York and New England had more than one visit from the doughty\ncaptain, each of which visits they had good cause to remember, for he\nmade them smart for it.\n\nAlong in the year 1722 thirteen vessels were riding at anchor in front\nof the good town of Marblehead. Into the harbor sailed a strange craft.\n\"Who is she?\" say the townsfolk, for the coming of a new vessel was no\nsmall matter in those days.\n\nWho the strangers were was not long a matter of doubt. Up goes the black\nflag, and the skull and crossbones to the fore.\n\n\"'Tis the bloody Low,\" say one and all; and straightway all was flutter\nand commotion, as in a duck pond when a hawk pitches and strikes in the\nmidst.\n\nIt was a glorious thing for our captain, for here were thirteen Yankee\ncrafts at one and the same time. So he took what he wanted, and then\nsailed away, and it was many a day before Marblehead forgot that visit.\n\nSome time after this he and his consort fell foul of an English sloop\nof war, the Greyhound, whereby they were so roughly handled that Low was\nglad enough to slip away, leaving his consort and her crew behind him,\nas a sop to the powers of law and order. And lucky for them if no worse\nfate awaited them than to walk the dreadful plank with a bandage around\nthe blinded eyes and a rope around the elbows. So the consort was taken,\nand the crew tried and hanged in chains, and Low sailed off in as pretty\na bit of rage as ever a pirate fell into.\n\nThe end of this worthy is lost in the fogs of the past: some say that he\ndied of a yellow fever down in New Orleans; it was not at the end of a\nhempen cord, more's the pity.\n\nHere fittingly with our strictly American pirates should stand Major\nStede Bonnet along with the rest. But in truth he was only a poor\nhalf-and-half fellow of his kind, and even after his hand was fairly\nturned to the business he had undertaken, a qualm of conscience would\nnow and then come across him, and he would make vast promises to\nforswear his evil courses.\n\nHowever, he jogged along in his course of piracy snugly enough until he\nfell foul of the gallant Colonel Rhett, off Charleston Harbor, whereupon\nhis luck and his courage both were suddenly snuffed out with a puff of\npowder smoke and a good rattling broadside. Down came the \"Black Roger\"\nwith its skull and crossbones from the fore, and Colonel Rhett had the\nglory of fetching back as pretty a cargo of scoundrels and cutthroats as\nthe town ever saw.\n\nAfter the next assizes they were strung up, all in a row--evil apples\nready for the roasting.\n\n\"Ned\" England was a fellow of different blood--only he snapped his whip\nacross the back of society over in the East Indies and along the hot\nshores of Hindustan.\n\nThe name of Capt. Howel Davis stands high among his fellows. He was the\nUlysses of pirates, the beloved not only of Mercury, but of Minerva.\n\nHe it was who hoodwinked the captain of a French ship of double the size\nand strength of his own, and fairly cheated him into the surrender of\nhis craft without the firing of a single pistol or the striking of a\nsingle blow; he it was who sailed boldly into the port of Gambia, on the\ncoast of Guinea, and under the guns of the castle, proclaiming himself\nas a merchant trading for slaves.\n\nThe cheat was kept up until the fruit of mischief was ripe for the\npicking; then, when the governor and the guards of the castle were\nlulled into entire security, and when Davis's band was scattered about\nwherever each man could do the most good, it was out pistol, up cutlass,\nand death if a finger moved. They tied the soldiers back to back, and\nthe governor to his own armchair, and then rifled wherever it pleased\nthem. After that they sailed away, and though they had not made the\nfortune they had hoped to glean, it was a good snug round sum that they\nshared among them.\n\nTheir courage growing high with success, they determined to attempt the\nisland of Del Principe--a prosperous Portuguese settlement on the\ncoast. The plan for taking the place was cleverly laid, and would have\nsucceeded, only that a Portuguese negro among the pirate crew turned\ntraitor and carried the news ashore to the governor of the fort.\nAccordingly, the next day, when Captain Davis came ashore, he found\nthere a good strong guard drawn up as though to honor his coming. But\nafter he and those with him were fairly out of their boat, and well away\nfrom the water side, there was a sudden rattle of musketry, a cloud of\nsmoke, and a dull groan or two. Only one man ran out from under that\npungent cloud, jumped into the boat, and rowed away; and when it lifted,\nthere lay Captain Davis and his companions all of a heap, like a pile of\nold clothes.\n\nCapt. Bartholomew Roberts was the particular and especial pupil\nof Davis, and when that worthy met his death so suddenly and so\nunexpectedly in the unfortunate manner above narrated, he was chosen\nunanimously as the captain of the fleet, and he was a worthy pupil of\na worthy master. Many were the poor fluttering merchant ducks that this\nsea hawk swooped upon and struck; and cleanly and cleverly were they\nplucked before his savage clutch loosened its hold upon them.\n\n\"He made a gallant figure,\" says the old narrator, \"being dressed in a\nrich crimson waistcoat and breeches and red feather in his hat, a gold\nchain around his neck, with a diamond cross hanging to it, a sword in\nhis hand, and two pair of pistols hanging at the end of a silk sling\nflung over his shoulders according to the fashion of the pyrates.\"\nThus he appeared in the last engagement which he fought--that with the\nSwallow--a royal sloop of war. A gallant fight they made of it, those\nbulldog pirates, for, finding themselves caught in a trap betwixt the\nman-of-war and the shore, they determined to bear down upon the king's\nvessel, fire a slapping broadside into her, and then try to get away,\ntrusting to luck in the doing, and hoping that their enemy might be\ncrippled by their fire.\n\nCaptain Roberts himself was the first to fall at the return fire of the\nSwallow; a grapeshot struck him in the neck, and he fell forward across\nthe gun near to which he was standing at the time. A certain fellow\nnamed Stevenson, who was at the helm, saw him fall, and thought he was\nwounded. At the lifting of the arm the body rolled over upon the deck,\nand the man saw that the captain was dead. \"Whereupon,\" says the old\nhistory, \"he\" [Stevenson] \"gushed into tears, and wished that the next\nshot might be his portion.\" After their captain's death the pirate crew\nhad no stomach for more fighting; the \"Black Roger\" was struck, and one\nand all surrendered to justice and the gallows.\n\nSuch is a brief and bald account of the most famous of these pirates.\nBut they are only a few of a long list of notables, such as Captain\nMartel, Capt. Charles Vane (who led the gallant Colonel Rhett, of South\nCarolina, such a wild-goose chase in and out among the sluggish creeks\nand inlets along the coast), Capt. John Rackam, and Captain Anstis,\nCaptain Worley, and Evans, and Philips, and others--a score or more of\nwild fellows whose very names made ship captains tremble in their shoes\nin those good old times.\n\nAnd such is that black chapter of history of the past--an evil chapter,\nlurid with cruelty and suffering, stained with blood and smoke. Yet\nit is a written chapter, and it must be read. He who chooses may\nread betwixt the lines of history this great truth: Evil itself is an\ninstrument toward the shaping of good. Therefore the history of evil as\nwell as the history of good should be read, considered, and digested.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II. THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND\n\nIT is not so easy to tell why discredit should be cast upon a man\nbecause of something that his grandfather may have done amiss, but the\nworld, which is never overnice in its discrimination as to where to lay\nthe blame, is often pleased to make the innocent suffer in the place of\nthe guilty.\n\nBarnaby True was a good, honest, biddable lad, as boys go, but yet he\nwas not ever allowed altogether to forget that his grandfather had\nbeen that very famous pirate, Capt. William Brand, who, after so many\nmarvelous adventures (if one may believe the catchpenny stories and\nballads that were written about him), was murdered in Jamaica by Capt.\nJohn Malyoe, the commander of his own consort, the Adventure galley.\n\nIt has never been denied, that ever I heard, that up to the time of\nCaptain Brand's being commissioned against the South Sea pirates he had\nalways been esteemed as honest, reputable a sea captain as could be.\n\nWhen he started out upon that adventure it was with a ship, the Royal\nSovereign, fitted out by some of the most decent merchants of New York.\nThe governor himself had subscribed to the adventure, and had himself\nsigned Captain Brand's commission. So, if the unfortunate man went\nastray, he must have had great temptation to do so, many others behaving\nno better when the opportunity offered in those far-away seas where so\nmany rich purchases might very easily be taken and no one the wiser.\n\nTo be sure, those stories and ballads made our captain to be a most\nwicked, profane wretch; and if he were, why, God knows he suffered and\npaid for it, for he laid his bones in Jamaica, and never saw his home\nor his wife and daughter again after he had sailed away on the Royal\nSovereign on that long misfortunate voyage, leaving them in New York to\nthe care of strangers.\n\nAt the time when he met his fate in Port Royal Harbor he had obtained\ntwo vessels under his command--the Royal Sovereign, which was the boat\nfitted out for him in New York, and the Adventure galley, which he was\nsaid to have taken somewhere in the South Seas. With these he lay in\nthose waters of Jamaica for over a month after his return from the\ncoasts of Africa, waiting for news from home, which, when it came, was\nof the very blackest; for the colonial authorities were at that time\nstirred up very hot against him to take him and hang him for a pirate,\nso as to clear their own skirts for having to do with such a fellow. So\nmaybe it seemed better to our captain to hide his ill-gotten treasure\nthere in those far-away parts, and afterward to try and bargain with it\nfor his life when he should reach New York, rather than to sail straight\nfor the Americas with what he had earned by his piracies, and so risk\nlosing life and money both.\n\nHowever that might be, the story was that Captain Brand and his gunner,\nand Captain Malyoe of the Adventure and the sailing master of the\nAdventure all went ashore together with a chest of money (no one of them\nchoosing to trust the other three in so nice an affair), and buried the\ntreasure somewhere on the beach of Port Royal Harbor. The story then has\nit that they fell a-quarreling about a future division or the money,\nand that, as a wind-up to the affair, Captain Malyoe shot Captain Brand\nthrough the head, while the sailing master of the Adventure served the\ngunner of the Royal Sovereign after the same fashion through the body,\nand that the murderers then went away, leaving the two stretched out\nin their own blood on the sand in the staring sun, with no one to know\nwhere the money was hid but they two who had served their comrades so.\n\nIt is a mighty great pity that anyone should have a grandfather who\nended his days in such a sort as this, but it was no fault of Barnaby\nTrue's, nor could he have done anything to prevent it, seeing that he\nwas not even born into the world at the time that his grandfather turned\npirate, and was only one year old when he so met his tragical end.\nNevertheless, the boys with whom he went to school never tired of\ncalling him \"Pirate,\" and would sometimes sing for his benefit that\nfamous catchpenny song beginning thus:\n\n     Oh, my name was Captain Brand,\n     A-sailing,\n     And a-sailing;\n     Oh, my name was Captain Brand,\n     A-sailing free.\n     Oh, my name was Captain Brand,\n     And I sinned by sea and land,\n     For I broke God's just command,\n     A-sailing free.\n\n'Twas a vile thing to sing at the grandson of so misfortunate a man, and\noftentimes little Barnaby True would double up his fists and would fight\nhis tormentors at great odds, and would sometimes go back home with a\nbloody nose to have his poor mother cry over him and grieve for him.\n\nNot that his days were all of teasing and torment, neither; for if his\ncomrades did treat him so, why, then, there were other times when he\nand they were as great friends as could be, and would go in swimming\ntogether where there was a bit of sandy strand along the East River\nabove Fort George, and that in the most amicable fashion. Or, maybe\nthe very next day after he had fought so with his fellows, he would go\na-rambling with them up the Bowerie Road, perhaps to help them steal\ncherries from some old Dutch farmer, forgetting in such adventure what a\nthief his own grandfather had been.\n\nWell, when Barnaby True was between sixteen and seventeen years old he\nwas taken into employment in the countinghouse of Mr. Roger Hartright,\nthe well-known West India merchant, and Barnaby's own stepfather.\n\nIt was the kindness of this good man that not only found a place for\nBarnaby in the countinghouse, but advanced him so fast that against our\nhero was twenty-one years old he had made four voyages as supercargo to\nthe West Indies in Mr. Hartright's ship, the Belle Helen, and soon after\nhe was twenty-one undertook a fifth. Nor was it in any such subordinate\nposition as mere supercargo that he acted, but rather as the\nconfidential agent of Mr. Hartright, who, having no children of his\nown, was very jealous to advance our hero into a position of trust and\nresponsibility in the countinghouse, as though he were indeed a son, so\nthat even the captain of the ship had scarcely more consideration aboard\nthan he, young as he was in years.\n\nAs for the agents and correspondents of Mr. Hartright throughout these\nparts, they also, knowing how the good man had adopted his interests,\nwere very polite and obliging to Master Barnaby--especially, be it\nmentioned, Mr. Ambrose Greenfield, of Kingston, Jamaica, who, upon the\noccasions of his visits to those parts, did all that he could to make\nBarnaby's stay in that town agreeable and pleasant to him.\n\nSo much for the history of our hero to the time of the beginning of this\nstory, without which you shall hardly be able to understand the purport\nof those most extraordinary adventures that befell him shortly after he\ncame of age, nor the logic of their consequence after they had occurred.\n\nFor it was during his fifth voyage to the West Indies that the first of\nthose extraordinary adventures happened of which I shall have presently\nto tell.\n\nAt that time he had been in Kingston for the best part of four weeks,\nlodging at the house of a very decent, respectable widow, by name Mrs.\nAnne Bolles, who, with three pleasant and agreeable daughters, kept a\nvery clean and well-served lodging house in the outskirts of the town.\n\nOne morning, as our hero sat sipping his coffee, clad only in loose\ncotton drawers, a shirt, and a jacket, and with slippers upon his feet,\nas is the custom in that country, where everyone endeavors to keep as\ncool as may be while he sat thus sipping his coffee Miss Eliza, the\nyoungest of the three daughters, came and gave him a note, which,\nshe said, a stranger had just handed in at the door, going away again\nwithout waiting for a reply. You may judge of Barnaby's surprise when he\nopened the note and read as follows:\n\n     MR.  BARNABY TRUE.\n\n     SIR,--Though you don't know me, I know you, and I tell you\n     this: if you will be at Pratt's Ordinary on Harbor Street\n     on Friday next at eight o'clock of the evening, and will\n     accompany the man who shall say to you, \"The Royal Sovereign\n     is come in,\" you shall learn something the most to your\n     advantage that ever befell you. Sir, keep this note, and\n     show it to him who shall address these words to you, so to\n     certify that you are the man he seeks.\n\nSuch was the wording of the note, which was without address, and without\nany superscription whatever.\n\nThe first emotion that stirred Barnaby was one of extreme and profound\namazement. Then the thought came into his mind that some witty fellow,\nof whom he knew a good many in that town--and wild, waggish pranks they\nwere was attempting to play off some smart jest upon him. But all\nthat Miss Eliza could tell him when he questioned her concerning the\nmessenger was that the bearer of the note was a tall, stout man, with\na red neckerchief around his neck and copper buckles to his shoes, and\nthat he had the appearance of a sailorman, having a great big queue\nhanging down his back. But, Lord! what was such a description as that\nin a busy seaport town, full of scores of men to fit such a likeness?\nAccordingly, our hero put away the note into his wallet, determining to\nshow it to his good friend Mr. Greenfield that evening, and to ask his\nadvice upon it. So he did show it, and that gentleman's opinion was the\nsame as his--that some wag was minded to play off a hoax upon him, and\nthat the matter of the letter was all nothing but smoke.\n\nNevertheless, though Barnaby was thus confirmed in his opinion as to the\nnature of the communication he had received, he yet determined in his\nown mind that he would see the business through to the end, and would be\nat Pratt's Ordinary, as the note demanded, upon the day and at the time\nspecified therein.\n\nPratt's Ordinary was at that time a very fine and well-known place of\nits sort, with good tobacco and the best rum that ever I tasted, and had\na garden behind it that, sloping down to the harbor front, was planted\npretty thick with palms and ferns grouped into clusters with flowers and\nplants. Here were a number of little tables, some in little grottoes,\nlike our Vauxhall in New York, and with red and blue and white paper\nlanterns hung among the foliage, whither gentlemen and ladies used\nsometimes to go of an evening to sit and drink lime juice and sugar and\nwater (and sometimes a taste of something stronger), and to look out\nacross the water at the shipping in the cool of the night.\n\nThither, accordingly, our hero went, a little before the time appointed\nin the note, and passing directly through the Ordinary and the garden\nbeyond, chose a table at the lower end of the garden and close to the\nwater's edge, where he would not be easily seen by anyone coming into\nthe place. Then, ordering some rum and water and a pipe of tobacco, he\ncomposed himself to watch for the appearance of those witty fellows whom\nhe suspected would presently come thither to see the end of their prank\nand to enjoy his confusion.\n\nThe spot was pleasant enough; for the land breeze, blowing strong and\nfull, set the leaves of the palm tree above his head to rattling and\nclattering continually against the sky, where, the moon then being about\nfull, they shone every now and then like blades of steel. The waves also\nwere splashing up against the little landing place at the foot of the\ngarden, sounding very cool in the night, and sparkling all over the\nharbor where the moon caught the edges of the water. A great many\nvessels were lying at anchor in their ridings, with the dark, prodigious\nform of a man-of-war looming up above them in the moonlight.\n\nThere our hero sat for the best part of an hour, smoking his pipe of\ntobacco and sipping his grog, and seeing not so much as a single thing\nthat might concern the note he had received.\n\nIt was not far from half an hour after the time appointed in the note,\nwhen a rowboat came suddenly out of the night and pulled up to the\nlanding place at the foot of the garden above mentioned, and three\nor four men came ashore in the darkness. Without saying a word among\nthemselves they chose a near-by table and, sitting down, ordered rum\nand water, and began drinking their grog in silence. They might have\nsat there about five minutes, when, by and by, Barnaby True became aware\nthat they were observing him very curiously; and then almost immediately\none, who was plainly the leader of the party, called out to him:\n\n\"How now, messmate! Won't you come and drink a dram of rum with us?\"\n\n\"Why, no,\" says Barnaby, answering very civilly; \"I have drunk enough\nalready, and more would only heat my blood.\"\n\n\"All the same,\" quoth the stranger, \"I think you will come and drink\nwith us; for, unless I am mistook, you are Mr. Barnaby True, and I am\ncome here to tell you that the Royal Sovereign is come in.\"\n\nNow I may honestly say that Barnaby True was never more struck aback in\nall his life than he was at hearing these words uttered in so unexpected\na manner. He had been looking to hear them under such different\ncircumstances that, now that his ears heard them addressed to him, and\nthat so seriously, by a perfect stranger, who, with others, had thus\nmysteriously come ashore out of the darkness, he could scarce believe\nthat his ears heard aright. His heart suddenly began beating at a\ntremendous rate, and had he been an older and wiser man, I do believe\nhe would have declined the adventure, instead of leaping blindly, as\nhe did, into that of which he could see neither the beginning nor the\nending. But being barely one-and-twenty years of age, and having an\nadventurous disposition that would have carried him into almost anything\nthat possessed a smack of uncertainty or danger about it, he contrived\nto say, in a pretty easy tone (though God knows how it was put on for\nthe occasion):\n\n\"Well, then, if that be so, and if the Royal Sovereign is indeed\ncome in, why, I'll join you, since you are so kind as to ask me.\" And\ntherewith he went across to the other table, carrying his pipe with him,\nand sat down and began smoking, with all the appearance of ease he could\nassume upon the occasion.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Barnaby True,\" said the man who had before addressed him, so\nsoon as Barnaby had settled himself, speaking in a low tone of voice,\nso there would be no danger of any others hearing the words--\"Well, Mr.\nBarnaby True--for I shall call you by your name, to show you that though\nI know you, you don't know me I am glad to see that you are man enough\nto enter thus into an affair, though you can't see to the bottom of it.\nFor it shows me that you are a man of mettle, and are deserving of the\nfortune that is to befall you to-night. Nevertheless, first of all, I\nam bid to say that you must show me a piece of paper that you have about\nyou before we go a step farther.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Barnaby; \"I have it here safe and sound, and see\nit you shall.\" And thereupon and without more ado he fetched out his\nwallet, opened it, and handed his interlocutor the mysterious note he\nhad received the day or two before. Whereupon the other, drawing to him\nthe candle, burning there for the convenience of those who would smoke\ntobacco, began immediately reading it.\n\nThis gave Barnaby True a moment or two to look at him. He was a tall,\nstout man, with a red handkerchief tied around his neck, and with copper\nbuckles on his shoes, so that Barnaby True could not but wonder whether\nhe was not the very same man who had given the note to Miss Eliza Bolles\nat the door of his lodging house.\n\n\"'Tis all right and straight as it should be,\" the other said, after he\nhad so glanced his eyes over the note. \"And now that the paper is read\"\n(suiting his action to his words), \"I'll just burn it, for safety's\nsake.\"\n\nAnd so he did, twisting it up and setting it to the flame of the candle.\n\n\"And now,\" he said, continuing his address, \"I'll tell you what I am\nhere for. I was sent to ask you if you're man enough to take your life\nin your own hands and to go with me in that boat down there? Say 'Yes,'\nand we'll start away without wasting more time, for the devil is ashore\nhere at Jamaica--though you don't know what that means--and if he gets\nahead of us, why, then we may whistle for what we are after. Say 'No,'\nand I go away again, and I promise you you shall never be troubled again\nin this sort. So now speak up plain, young gentleman, and tell us\nwhat is your mind in this business, and whether you will adventure any\nfarther or not.\"\n\nIf our hero hesitated it was not for long. I cannot say that his courage\ndid not waver for a moment; but if it did, it was, I say, not for long,\nand when he spoke up it was with a voice as steady as could be.\n\n\"To be sure I'm man enough to go with you,\" he said; \"and if you mean\nme any harm I can look out for myself; and if I can't, why, here is\nsomething can look out for me,\" and therewith he lifted up the flap of\nhis coat pocket and showed the butt of a pistol he had fetched with him\nwhen he had set out from his lodging house that evening.\n\nAt this the other burst out a-laughing. \"Come,\" says he, \"you are indeed\nof right mettle, and I like your spirit. All the same, no one in all the\nworld means you less ill than I, and so, if you have to use that barker,\n'twill not be upon us who are your friends, but only upon one who is\nmore wicked than the devil himself. So come, and let us get away.\"\n\nThereupon he and the others, who had not spoken a single word for all\nthis time, rose from the table, and he having paid the scores of all,\nthey all went down together to the boat that still lay at the landing\nplace at the bottom of the garden.\n\nThus coming to it, our hero could see that it was a large yawl boat\nmanned with half a score of black men for rowers, and there were two\nlanterns in the stern sheets, and three or four iron shovels.\n\nThe man who had conducted the conversation with Barnaby True for all\nthis time, and who was, as has been said, plainly the captain of the\nparty, stepped immediately down into the boat; our hero followed, and\nthe others followed after him; and instantly they were seated the boat\nwas shoved off and the black men began pulling straight out into the\nharbor, and so, at some distance away, around under the stern of the\nman-of-war.\n\nNot a word was spoken after they had thus left the shore, and presently\nthey might all have been ghosts, for the silence of the party. Barnaby\nTrue was too full of his own thoughts to talk--and serious enough\nthoughts they were by this time, with crimps to trepan a man at every\nturn, and press gangs to carry a man off so that he might never be heard\nof again. As for the others, they did not seem to choose to say anything\nnow that they had him fairly embarked upon their enterprise.\n\nAnd so the crew pulled on in perfect silence for the best part of an\nhour, the leader of the expedition directing the course of the boat\nstraight across the harbor, as though toward the mouth of the Rio Cobra\nRiver. Indeed, this was their destination, as Barnaby could after a\nwhile see, by the low point of land with a great long row of coconut\npalms upon it (the appearance of which he knew very well), which by and\nby began to loom up out of the milky dimness of the moonlight. As they\napproached the river they found the tide was running strong out of\nit, so that some distance away from the stream it gurgled and rippled\nalongside the boat as the crew of black men pulled strongly against\nit. Thus they came up under what was either a point of land or an islet\ncovered with a thick growth of mangrove trees. But still no one spoke a\nsingle word as to their destination, or what was the business they had\nin hand.\n\nThe night, now that they were close to the shore, was loud with the\nnoise of running tide-water, and the air was heavy with the smell of mud\nand marsh, and over all the whiteness of the moonlight, with a few stars\npricking out here and there in the sky; and all so strange and silent\nand mysterious that Barnaby could not divest himself of the feeling that\nit was all a dream.\n\nSo, the rowers bending to the oars, the boat came slowly around from\nunder the clump of mangrove bushes and out into the open water again.\n\nInstantly it did so the leader of the expedition called out in a sharp\nvoice, and the black men instantly lay on their oars.\n\nAlmost at the same instant Barnaby True became aware that there was\nanother boat coming down the river toward where they lay, now drifting\nwith the strong tide out into the harbor again, and he knew that it was\nbecause of the approach of that boat that the other had called upon his\nmen to cease rowing.\n\nThe other boat, as well as he could see in the distance, was full of\nmen, some of whom appeared to be armed, for even in the dusk of the\ndarkness the shine of the moonlight glimmered sharply now and then on\nthe barrels of muskets or pistols, and in the silence that followed\nafter their own rowing had ceased Barnaby True could hear the chug!\nchug! of the oars sounding louder and louder through the watery\nstillness of the night as the boat drew nearer and nearer. But he knew\nnothing of what it all meant, nor whether these others were friends or\nenemies, or what was to happen next.\n\nThe oarsmen of the approaching boat did not for a moment cease\ntheir rowing, not till they had come pretty close to Barnaby and his\ncompanions. Then a man who sat in the stern ordered them to cease\nrowing, and as they lay on their oars he stood up. As they passed by,\nBarnaby True could see him very plain, the moonlight shining full upon\nhim--a large, stout gentleman with a round red face, and clad in a fine\nlaced coat of red cloth. Amidship of the boat was a box or chest about\nthe bigness of a middle-sized traveling trunk, but covered all over\nwith cakes of sand and dirt. In the act of passing, the gentleman, still\nstanding, pointed at it with an elegant gold-headed cane which he held\nin his hand. \"Are you come after this, Abraham Dawling?\" says he, and\nthereat his countenance broke into as evil, malignant a grin as ever\nBarnaby True saw in all of his life.\n\nThe other did not immediately reply so much as a single word, but sat\nas still as any stone. Then, at last, the other boat having gone by, he\nsuddenly appeared to regain his wits, for he bawled out after it, \"Very\nwell, Jack Malyoe! very well, Jack Malyoe! you've got ahead of us this\ntime again, but next time is the third, and then it shall be our turn,\neven if William Brand must come back from hell to settle with you.\"\n\nThis he shouted out as the other boat passed farther and farther away,\nbut to it my fine gentleman made no reply except to burst out into a\ngreat roaring fit of laughter.\n\nThere was another man among the armed men in the stern of the passing\nboat--a villainous, lean man with lantern jaws, and the top of his head\nas bald as the palm of my hand. As the boat went away into the night\nwith the tide and the headway the oars had given it, he grinned so that\nthe moonlight shone white on his big teeth. Then, flourishing a great\nbig pistol, he said, and Barnaby could hear every word he spoke, \"Do but\ngive me the word, Your Honor, and I'll put another bullet through the\nson of a sea cook.\"\n\nBut the gentleman said some words to forbid him, and therewith the boat\nwas gone away into the night, and presently Barnaby could hear that\nthe men at the oars had begun rowing again, leaving them lying there,\nwithout a single word being said for a long time.\n\nBy and by one of those in Barnaby's boat spoke up. \"Where shall you go\nnow?\" he said.\n\nAt this the leader of the expedition appeared suddenly to come back to\nhimself, and to find his voice again. \"Go?\" he roared out. \"Go to the\ndevil! Go? Go where you choose! Go? Go back again--that's where we'll\ngo!\" and therewith he fell a-cursing and swearing until he foamed at\nthe lips, as though he had gone clean crazy, while the black men began\nrowing back again across the harbor as fast as ever they could lay oars\ninto the water.\n\nThey put Barnaby True ashore below the old custom house; but so\nbewildered and shaken was he by all that had happened, and by what he\nhad seen, and by the names that he heard spoken, that he was scarcely\nconscious of any of the familiar things among which he found himself\nthus standing. And so he walked up the moonlit street toward his lodging\nlike one drunk or bewildered; for \"John Malyoe\" was the name of\nthe captain of the Adventure galley--he who had shot Barnaby's own\ngrandfather--and \"Abraham Dawling\" was the name of the gunner of the\nRoyal Sovereign who had been shot at the same time with the pirate\ncaptain, and who, with him, had been left stretched out in the staring\nsun by the murderers.\n\nThe whole business had occupied hardly two hours, but it was as though\nthat time was no part of Barnaby's life, but all a part of some other\nlife, so dark and strange and mysterious that it in no wise belonged to\nhim.\n\nAs for that box covered all over with mud, he could only guess at that\ntime what it contained and what the finding of it signified.\n\nBut of this our hero said nothing to anyone, nor did he tell a single\nliving soul what he had seen that night, but nursed it in his own mind,\nwhere it lay so big for a while that he could think of little or nothing\nelse for days after.\n\nMr. Greenfield, Mr. Hartright's correspondent and agent in these parts,\nlived in a fine brick house just out of the town, on the Mona Road,\nhis family consisting of a wife and two daughters--brisk, lively young\nladies with black hair and eyes, and very fine bright teeth that shone\nwhenever they laughed, and with a plenty to say for themselves. Thither\nBarnaby True was often asked to a family dinner; and, indeed, it was a\npleasant home to visit, and to sit upon the veranda and smoke a cigarro\nwith the good old gentleman and look out toward the mountains, while the\nyoung ladies laughed and talked, or played upon the guitar and sang. And\noftentimes so it was strongly upon Barnaby's mind to speak to the good\ngentleman and tell him what he had beheld that night out in the harbor;\nbut always he would think better of it and hold his peace, falling to\nthinking, and smoking away upon his cigarro at a great rate.\n\nA day or two before the Belle Helen sailed from Kingston Mr. Greenfield\nstopped Barnaby True as he was going through the office to bid him to\ncome to dinner that night (for there within the tropics they breakfast\nat eleven o'clock and take dinner in the cool of the evening, because of\nthe heat, and not at midday, as we do in more temperate latitudes). \"I\nwould have you meet,\" says Mr. Greenfield, \"your chief passenger for\nNew York, and his granddaughter, for whom the state cabin and the two\nstaterooms are to be fitted as here ordered [showing a letter]--Sir John\nMalyoe and Miss Marjorie Malyoe. Did you ever hear tell of Capt. Jack\nMalyoe, Master Barnaby?\"\n\nNow I do believe that Mr. Greenfield had no notion at all that old\nCaptain Brand was Barnaby True's own grandfather and Capt. John Malyoe\nhis murderer, but when he so thrust at him the name of that man, what\nwith that in itself and the late adventure through which he himself had\njust passed, and with his brooding upon it until it was so prodigiously\nbig in his mind, it was like hitting him a blow to so fling the\nquestions at him. Nevertheless, he was able to reply, with a pretty\nstraight face, that he had heard of Captain Malyoe and who he was.\n\n\"Well,\" says Mr. Greenfield, \"if Jack Malyoe was a desperate pirate and\na wild, reckless blade twenty years ago, why, he is Sir John Malyoe now\nand the owner of a fine estate in Devonshire. Well, Master Barnaby, when\none is a baronet and come into the inheritance of a fine estate (though\nI do hear it is vastly cumbered with debts), the world will wink its eye\nto much that he may have done twenty years ago. I do hear say, though,\nthat his own kin still turn the cold shoulder to him.\"\n\nTo this address Barnaby answered nothing, but sat smoking away at his\ncigarro at a great rate.\n\nAnd so that night Barnaby True came face to face for the first time with\nthe man who murdered his own grandfather--the greatest beast of a man\nthat ever he met in all of his life.\n\nThat time in the harbor he had seen Sir John Malyoe at a distance and\nin the darkness; now that he beheld him near by it seemed to him that he\nhad never looked at a more evil face in all his life. Not that the man\nwas altogether ugly, for he had a good nose and a fine double chin; but\nhis eyes stood out like balls and were red and watery, and he winked\nthem continually, as though they were always smarting; and his lips\nwere thick and purple-red, and his fat, red cheeks were mottled here\nand there with little clots of purple veins; and when he spoke his voice\nrattled so in his throat that it made one wish to clear one's own throat\nto listen to him. So, what with a pair of fat, white hands, and that\nhoarse voice, and his swollen face, and his thick lips sticking out, it\nseemed to Barnaby True he had never seen a countenance so distasteful to\nhim as that one into which he then looked.\n\nBut if Sir John Malyoe was so displeasing to our hero's taste, why, the\ngranddaughter, even this first time he beheld her, seemed to him to be\nthe most beautiful, lovely young lady that ever he saw. She had a thin,\nfair skin, red lips, and yellow hair--though it was then powdered pretty\nwhite for the occasion--and the bluest eyes that Barnaby beheld in all\nof his life. A sweet, timid creature, who seemed not to dare so much as\nto speak a word for herself without looking to Sir John for leave to do\nso, and would shrink and shudder whenever he would speak of a sudden to\nher or direct a sudden glance upon her. When she did speak, it was in so\nlow a voice that one had to bend his head to hear her, and even if she\nsmiled would catch herself and look up as though to see if she had leave\nto be cheerful.\n\nAs for Sir John, he sat at dinner like a pig, and gobbled and ate and\ndrank, smacking his lips all the while, but with hardly a word to either\nher or Mrs. Greenfield or to Barnaby True; but with a sour, sullen air,\nas though he would say, \"Your damned victuals and drink are no better\nthan they should be, but I must eat 'em or nothing.\" A great bloated\nbeast of a man!\n\nOnly after dinner was over and the young lady and the two misses sat off\nin a corner together did Barnaby hear her talk with any ease. Then, to\nbe sure, her tongue became loose, and she prattled away at a great rate,\nthough hardly above her breath, until of a sudden her grandfather called\nout, in his hoarse, rattling voice, that it was time to go. Whereupon\nshe stopped short in what she was saying and jumped up from her chair,\nlooking as frightened as though she had been caught in something amiss,\nand was to be punished for it.\n\nBarnaby True and Mr. Greenfield both went out to see the two into their\ncoach, where Sir John's man stood holding the lantern. And who should\nhe be, to be sure, but that same lean villain with bald head who had\noffered to shoot the leader of our hero's expedition out on the harbor\nthat night! For, one of the circles of light from the lantern shining\nup into his face, Barnaby True knew him the moment he clapped eyes upon\nhim. Though he could not have recognized our hero, he grinned at him in\nthe most impudent, familiar fashion, and never so much as touched his\nhat either to him or to Mr. Greenfield; but as soon as his master\nand his young mistress had entered the coach, banged to the door and\nscrambled up on the seat alongside the driver, and so away without a\nword, but with another impudent grin, this time favoring both Barnaby\nand the old gentleman.\n\nSuch were these two, master and man, and what Barnaby saw of them then\nwas only confirmed by further observation--the most hateful couple he\never knew; though, God knows, what they afterward suffered should wipe\nout all complaint against them.\n\nThe next day Sir John Malyoe's belongings began to come aboard the Belle\nHelen, and in the afternoon that same lean, villainous manservant comes\nskipping across the gangplank as nimble as a goat, with two black men\nbehind him lugging a great sea chest. \"What!\" he cried out, \"and so you\nis the supercargo, is you? Why, I thought you was more account when\nI saw you last night a-sitting talking with His Honor like his equal.\nWell, no matter; 'tis something to have a brisk, genteel young fellow\nfor a supercargo. So come, my hearty, lend a hand, will you, and help me\nset His Honor's cabin to rights.\"\n\nWhat a speech was this to endure from such a fellow, to be sure! and\nBarnaby so high in his own esteem, and holding himself a gentleman!\nWell, what with his distaste for the villain, and what with such odious\nfamiliarity, you can guess into what temper so impudent an address must\nhave cast him. \"You'll find the steward in yonder,\" he said, \"and\nhe'll show you the cabin,\" and therewith turned and walked away with\nprodigious dignity, leaving the other standing where he was.\n\nAs he entered his own cabin he could not but see, out of the tail of his\neye, that the fellow was still standing where he had left him, regarding\nhim with a most evil, malevolent countenance, so that he had the\nsatisfaction of knowing that he had made one enemy during that voyage\nwho was not very likely to forgive or forget what he must regard as a\nslight put upon him.\n\nThe next day Sir John Malyoe himself came aboard, accompanied by his\ngranddaughter, and followed by this man, and he followed again by four\nblack men, who carried among them two trunks, not large in size, but\nprodigious heavy in weight, and toward which Sir John and his follower\ndevoted the utmost solicitude and care to see that they were properly\ncarried into the state cabin he was to occupy. Barnaby True was standing\nin the great cabin as they passed close by him; but though Sir John\nMalyoe looked hard at him and straight in the face, he never so much as\nspoke a single word, or showed by a look or a sign that he knew who our\nhero was. At this the serving man, who saw it all with eyes as quick as\na cat's, fell to grinning and chuckling to see Barnaby in his turn so\nslighted.\n\nThe young lady, who also saw it all, flushed up red, then in the instant\nof passing looked straight at our hero, and bowed and smiled at him with\na most sweet and gracious affability, then the next moment recovering\nherself, as though mightily frightened at what she had done.\n\nThe same day the Belle Helen sailed, with as beautiful, sweet weather as\never a body could wish for.\n\nThere were only two other passengers aboard, the Rev. Simon Styles, the\nmaster of a flourishing academy in Spanish Town, and his wife, a good,\nworthy old couple, but very quiet, and would sit in the great cabin by\nthe hour together reading, so that, what with Sir John Malyoe staying\nall the time in his own cabin with those two trunks he held so precious,\nit fell upon Barnaby True in great part to show attention to the young\nlady; and glad enough he was of the opportunity, as anyone may guess.\nFor when you consider a brisk, lively young man of one-and-twenty and a\nsweet, beautiful miss of seventeen so thrown together day after day for\ntwo weeks, the weather being very fair, as I have said, and the ship\ntossing and bowling along before a fine humming breeze that sent white\ncaps all over the sea, and with nothing to do but sit and look at that\nblue sea and the bright sky overhead, it is not hard to suppose what was\nto befall, and what pleasure it was to Barnaby True to show attention to\nher.\n\nBut, oh! those days when a man is young, and, whether wisely or no,\nfallen in love! How often during that voyage did our hero lie awake in\nhis berth at night, tossing this way and that without sleep--not that\nhe wanted to sleep if he could, but would rather lie so awake thinking\nabout her and staring into the darkness!\n\nPoor fool! He might have known that the end must come to such a fool's\nparadise before very long. For who was he to look up to Sir John\nMalyoe's granddaughter, he, the supercargo of a merchant ship, and she\nthe granddaughter of a baronet.\n\nNevertheless, things went along very smooth and pleasant, until one\nevening, when all came of a sudden to an end. At that time he and the\nyoung lady had been standing for a long while together, leaning over\nthe rail and looking out across the water through the dusk toward the\nwestward, where the sky was still of a lingering brightness. She had\nbeen mightily quiet and dull all that evening, but now of a sudden she\nbegan, without any preface whatever, to tell Barnaby about herself and\nher affairs. She said that she and her grandfather were going to New\nYork that they might take passage thence to Boston town, there to meet\nher cousin Captain Malyoe, who was stationed in garrison at that place.\nThen she went on to say that Captain Malyoe was the next heir to the\nDevonshire estate, and that she and he were to be married in the fall.\n\nBut, poor Barnaby! what a fool was he, to be sure! Methinks when she\nfirst began to speak about Captain Malyoe he knew what was coming. But\nnow that she had told him, he could say nothing, but stood there staring\nacross the ocean, his breath coming hot and dry as ashes in his throat.\nShe, poor thing, went on to say, in a very low voice, that she had liked\nhim from the very first moment she had seen him, and had been very happy\nfor these days, and would always think of him as a dear friend who had\nbeen very kind to her, who had so little pleasure in life, and so would\nalways remember him.\n\nThen they were both silent, until at last Barnaby made shift to say,\nthough in a hoarse and croaking voice, that Captain Malyoe must be a\nvery happy man, and that if he were in Captain Malyoe's place he would\nbe the happiest man in the world. Thus, having spoken, and so found his\ntongue, he went on to tell her, with his head all in a whirl, that he,\ntoo, loved her, and that what she had told him struck him to the heart,\nand made him the most miserable, unhappy wretch in the whole world.\n\nShe was not angry at what he said, nor did she turn to look at him, but\nonly said, in a low voice, he should not talk so, for that it could only\nbe a pain to them both to speak of such things, and that whether she\nwould or no, she must do everything as her grandfather bade her, for\nthat he was indeed a terrible man.\n\nTo this poor Barnaby could only repeat that he loved her with all his\nheart, that he had hoped for nothing in his love, but that he was now\nthe most miserable man in the world.\n\nIt was at this moment, so tragic for him, that some one who had been\nhiding nigh them all the while suddenly moved away, and Barnaby True\ncould see in the gathering darkness that it was that villain manservant\nof Sir John Malyoe's and knew that he must have overheard all that had\nbeen said.\n\nThe man went straight to the great cabin, and poor Barnaby, his brain\nall atingle, stood looking after him, feeling that now indeed the last\ndrop of bitterness had been added to his trouble to have such a wretch\noverhear what he had said.\n\nThe young lady could not have seen the fellow, for she continued leaning\nover the rail, and Barnaby True, standing at her side, not moving, but\nin such a tumult of many passions that he was like one bewildered, and\nhis heart beating as though to smother him.\n\nSo they stood for I know not how long when, of a sudden, Sir John\nMalyoe comes running out of the cabin, without his hat, but carrying his\ngold-headed cane, and so straight across the deck to where Barnaby and\nthe young lady stood, that spying wretch close at his heels, grinning\nlike an imp.\n\n\"You hussy!\" bawled out Sir John, so soon as he had come pretty near\nthem, and in so loud a voice that all on deck might have heard the\nwords; and as he spoke he waved his cane back and forth as though he\nwould have struck the young lady, who, shrinking back almost upon the\ndeck, crouched as though to escape such a blow. \"You hussy!\" he bawled\nout with vile oaths, too horrible here to be set down. \"What do you do\nhere with this Yankee supercargo, not fit for a gentlewoman to wipe her\nfeet upon? Get to your cabin, you hussy\" (only it was something worse he\ncalled her this time), \"before I lay this cane across your shoulders!\"\n\nWhat with the whirling of Barnaby's brains and the passion into which he\nwas already melted, what with his despair and his love, and his anger at\nthis address, a man gone mad could scarcely be less accountable for his\nactions than was he at that moment. Hardly knowing what he did, he put\nhis hand against Sir John Malyoe's breast and thrust him violently back,\ncrying out upon him in a great, loud, hoarse voice for threatening a\nyoung lady, and saying that for a farthing he would wrench the stick out\nof his hand and throw it overboard.\n\nSir John went staggering back with the push Barnaby gave him, and then\ncaught himself up again. Then, with a great bellow, ran roaring at our\nhero, whirling his cane about, and I do believe would have struck him\n(and God knows then what might have happened) had not his manservant\ncaught him and held him back.\n\n\"Keep back!\" cried out our hero, still mighty hoarse. \"Keep back! If you\nstrike me with that stick I'll fling you overboard!\"\n\nBy this time, what with the sound of loud voices and the stamping of\nfeet, some of the crew and others aboard were hurrying up, and the next\nmoment Captain Manly and the first mate, Mr. Freesden, came running out\nof the cabin. But Barnaby, who was by this fairly set agoing, could not\nnow stop himself.\n\n\"And who are you, anyhow,\" he cried out, \"to threaten to strike me and\nto insult me, who am as good as you? You dare not strike me! You may\nshoot a man from behind, as you shot poor Captain Brand on the Rio Cobra\nRiver, but you won't dare strike me face to face. I know who you are and\nwhat you are!\"\n\nBy this time Sir John Malyoe had ceased to endeavor to strike him, but\nstood stock-still, his great bulging eyes staring as though they would\npop out of his head.\n\n\"What's all this?\" cries Captain Manly, bustling up to them with Mr.\nFreesden. \"What does all this mean?\"\n\nBut, as I have said, our hero was too far gone now to contain himself\nuntil all that he had to say was out.\n\n\"The damned villain insulted me and insulted the young lady,\" he cried\nout, panting in the extremity of his passion, \"and then he threatened\nto strike me with his cane. But I know who he is and what he is. I know\nwhat he's got in his cabin in those two trunks, and where he found\nit, and whom it belongs to. He found it on the shores of the Rio Cobra\nRiver, and I have only to open my mouth and tell what I know about it.\"\n\nAt this Captain Manly clapped his hand upon our hero's shoulder and fell\nto shaking him so that he could scarcely stand, calling out to him the\nwhile to be silent. \"What do you mean?\" he cried. \"An officer of this\nship to quarrel with a passenger of mine! Go straight to your cabin, and\nstay there till I give you leave to come out again.\"\n\nAt this Master Barnaby came somewhat back to himself and into his\nwits again with a jump. \"But he threatened to strike me with his cane,\nCaptain,\" he cried out, \"and that I won't stand from any man!\"\n\n\"No matter what he did,\" said Captain Manly, very sternly. \"Go to your\ncabin, as I bid you, and stay there till I tell you to come out again,\nand when we get to New York I'll take pains to tell your stepfather of\nhow you have behaved. I'll have no such rioting as this aboard my ship.\"\n\nBarnaby True looked around him, but the young lady was gone. Nor, in the\nblindness of his frenzy, had he seen when she had gone nor whither she\nwent. As for Sir John Malyoe, he stood in the light of a lantern, his\nface gone as white as ashes, and I do believe if a look could kill, the\ndreadful malevolent stare he fixed upon Barnaby True would have slain\nhim where he stood.\n\nAfter Captain Manly had so shaken some wits into poor Barnaby he,\nunhappy wretch, went to his cabin, as he was bidden to do, and there,\nshutting the door upon himself, and flinging himself down, all dressed\nas he was, upon his berth, yielded himself over to the profoundest\npassion of humiliation and despair.\n\nThere he lay for I know not how long, staring into the darkness, until\nby and by, in spite of his suffering and his despair, he dozed off into\na loose sleep, that was more like waking than sleep, being possessed\ncontinually by the most vivid and distasteful dreams, from which he\nwould awaken only to doze off and to dream again.\n\nIt was from the midst of one of these extravagant dreams that he was\nsuddenly aroused by the noise of a pistol shot, and then the noise of\nanother and another, and then a great bump and a grinding jar, and then\nthe sound of many footsteps running across the deck and down into the\ngreat cabin. Then came a tremendous uproar of voices in the great cabin,\nthe struggling as of men's bodies being tossed about, striking violently\nagainst the partitions and bulkheads. At the same instant arose a\nscreaming of women's voices, and one voice, and that Sir John Malyoe's,\ncrying out as in the greatest extremity: \"You villains! You damned\nvillains!\" and with the sudden detonation of a pistol fired into the\nclose space of the great cabin.\n\nBarnaby was out in the middle of his cabin in a moment, and taking only\ntime enough to snatch down one of the pistols that hung at the head of\nhis berth, flung out into the great cabin, to find it as black as night,\nthe lantern slung there having been either blown out or dashed out into\ndarkness. The prodigiously dark space was full of uproar, the hubbub\nand confusion pierced through and through by that keen sound of women's\nvoices screaming, one in the cabin and the other in the stateroom\nbeyond. Almost immediately Barnaby pitched headlong over two or three\nstruggling men scuffling together upon the deck, falling with a great\nclatter and the loss of his pistol, which, however, he regained almost\nimmediately.\n\nWhat all the uproar meant he could not tell, but he presently heard\nCaptain Manly's voice from somewhere suddenly calling out, \"You bloody\npirate, would you choke me to death?\" wherewith some notion of what had\nhappened came to him like a dash, and that they had been attacked in the\nnight by pirates.\n\nLooking toward the companionway, he saw, outlined against the darkness\nof the night without, the blacker form of a man's figure, standing still\nand motionless as a statue in the midst of all this hubbub, and so by\nsome instinct he knew in a moment that that must be the master maker\nof all this devil's brew. Therewith, still kneeling upon the deck, he\ncovered the bosom of that shadowy figure pointblank, as he thought, with\nhis pistol, and instantly pulled the trigger.\n\nIn the flash of red light, and in the instant stunning report of the\npistol shot, Barnaby saw, as stamped upon the blackness, a broad, flat\nface with fishy eyes, a lean, bony forehead with what appeared to be\na great blotch of blood upon the side, a cocked hat trimmed with gold\nlace, a red scarf across the breast, and the gleam of brass buttons.\nThen the darkness, very thick and black, swallowed everything again.\n\nBut in the instant Sir John Malyoe called out, in a great loud voice:\n\"My God! 'Tis William Brand!\" Therewith came the sound of some one\nfalling heavily down.\n\nThe next moment, Barnaby's sight coming back to him again in the\ndarkness, he beheld that dark and motionless figure still standing\nexactly where it had stood before, and so knew either that he had missed\nit or else that it was of so supernatural a sort that a leaden bullet\nmight do it no harm. Though if it was indeed an apparition that Barnaby\nbeheld in that moment, there is this to say, that he saw it as plain as\never he saw a living man in all of his life.\n\nThis was the last our hero knew, for the next moment somebody--whether\nby accident or design he never knew--struck him such a terrible violent\nblow upon the side of the head that he saw forty thousand stars flash\nbefore his eyeballs, and then, with a great humming in his head, swooned\ndead away.\n\nWhen Barnaby True came back to his senses again it was to find himself\nbeing cared for with great skill and nicety, his head bathed with cold\nwater, and a bandage being bound about it as carefully as though a\nchirurgeon was attending to him.\n\nHe could not immediately recall what had happened to him, nor until he\nhad opened his eyes to find himself in a strange cabin, extremely well\nfitted and painted with white and gold, the light of a lantern shining\nin his eyes, together with the gray of the early daylight through the\ndead-eye. Two men were bending over him--one, a negro in a striped\nshirt, with a yellow handkerchief around his head and silver earrings in\nhis ears; the other, a white man, clad in a strange outlandish dress of\na foreign make, and with great mustachios hanging down, and with gold\nearrings in his ears.\n\nIt was the latter who was attending to Barnaby's hurt with such extreme\ncare and gentleness.\n\nAll this Barnaby saw with his first clear consciousness after his swoon.\nThen remembering what had befallen him, and his head beating as though\nit would split asunder, he shut his eyes again, contriving with great\neffort to keep himself from groaning aloud, and wondering as to what\nsort of pirates these could be who would first knock a man in the head\nso terrible a blow as that which he had suffered, and then take\nsuch care to fetch him back to life again, and to make him easy and\ncomfortable.\n\nNor did he open his eyes again, but lay there gathering his wits\ntogether and wondering thus until the bandage was properly tied about\nhis head and sewed together. Then once more he opened his eyes, and\nlooked up to ask where he was.\n\nEither they who were attending to him did not choose to reply, or else\nthey could not speak English, for they made no answer, excepting by\nsigns; for the white man, seeing that he was now able to speak, and\nso was come back into his senses again, nodded his head three or four\ntimes, and smiled with a grin of his white teeth, and then pointed, as\nthough toward a saloon beyond. At the same time the negro held up our\nhero's coat and beckoned for him to put it on, so that Barnaby, seeing\nthat it was required of him to meet some one without, arose, though with\na good deal of effort, and permitted the negro to help him on with his\ncoat, still feeling mightily dizzy and uncertain upon his legs, his head\nbeating fit to split, and the vessel rolling and pitching at a great\nrate, as though upon a heavy ground swell.\n\nSo, still sick and dizzy, he went out into what was indeed a fine saloon\nbeyond, painted in white and gilt like the cabin he had just quitted,\nand fitted in the nicest fashion, a mahogany table, polished very\nbright, extending the length of the room, and a quantity of bottles,\ntogether with glasses of clear crystal, arranged in a hanging rack\nabove.\n\nHere at the table a man was sitting with his back to our hero, clad in\na rough pea-jacket, and with a red handkerchief tied around his throat,\nhis feet stretched out before him, and he smoking a pipe of tobacco with\nall the ease and comfort in the world.\n\nAs Barnaby came in he turned round, and, to the profound astonishment\nof our hero, presented toward him in the light of the lantern, the dawn\nshining pretty strong through the skylight, the face of that very man\nwho had conducted the mysterious expedition that night across Kingston\nHarbor to the Rio Cobra River.\n\nThis man looked steadily at Barnaby True for a moment or two, and\nthen burst out laughing; and, indeed, Barnaby, standing there with the\nbandage about his head, must have looked a very droll picture of that\nastonishment he felt so profoundly at finding who was this pirate into\nwhose hands he had fallen.\n\n\"Well,\" says the other, \"and so you be up at last, and no great harm\ndone, I'll be bound. And how does your head feel by now, my young\nmaster?\"\n\nTo this Barnaby made no reply, but, what with wonder and the dizziness\nof his head, seated himself at the table over against the speaker,\nwho pushed a bottle of rum toward him, together with a glass from the\nswinging shelf above.\n\nHe watched Barnaby fill his glass, and so soon as he had done so began\nimmediately by saying: \"I do suppose you think you were treated\nmightily ill to be so handled last night. Well, so you were treated ill\nenough--though who hit you that crack upon the head I know no more than\na child unborn. Well, I am sorry for the way you were handled, but there\nis this much to say, and of that you may believe me, that nothing was\nmeant to you but kindness, and before you are through with us all you\nwill believe that well enough.\"\n\nHere he helped himself to a taste of grog, and sucking in his lips,\nwent on again with what he had to say. \"Do you remember,\" said he, \"that\nexpedition of ours in Kingston Harbor, and how we were all of us balked\nthat night?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said Barnaby True, \"nor am I likely to forget it.\"\n\n\"And do you remember what I said to that villain, Jack Malyoe, that\nnight as his boat went by us?\"\n\n\"As to that,\" said Barnaby True, \"I do not know that I can say yes or\nno, but if you will tell me, I will maybe answer you in kind.\"\n\n\"Why, I mean this,\" said the other. \"I said that the villain had got the\nbetter of us once again, but that next time it would be our turn, even\nif William Brand himself had to come back from hell to put the business\nthrough.\"\n\n\"I remember something of the sort,\" said Barnaby, \"now that you speak of\nit, but still I am all in the dark as to what you are driving at.\"\n\nThe other looked at him very cunningly for a little while, his head on\none side, and his eyes half shut. Then, as if satisfied, he suddenly\nburst out laughing. \"Look hither,\" said he, \"and I'll show you\nsomething,\" and therewith, moving to one side, disclosed a couple of\ntraveling cases or small trunks with brass studs, so exactly like those\nthat Sir John Malyoe had fetched aboard at Jamaica that Barnaby, putting\nthis and that together, knew that they must be the same.\n\nOur hero had a strong enough suspicion as to what those two cases\ncontained, and his suspicions had become a certainty when he saw Sir\nJohn Malyoe struck all white at being threatened about them, and his\nface lowering so malevolently as to look murder had he dared do it. But,\nLord! what were suspicions or even certainty to what Barnaby True's two\neyes beheld when that man lifted the lids of the two cases--the locks\nthereof having already been forced--and, flinging back first one lid and\nthen the other, displayed to Barnaby's astonished sight a great treasure\nof gold and silver! Most of it tied up in leathern bags, to be sure,\nbut many of the coins, big and little, yellow and white, lying loose and\nscattered about like so many beans, brimming the cases to the very top.\n\nBarnaby sat dumb-struck at what he beheld; as to whether he breathed\nor no, I cannot tell; but this I know, that he sat staring at that\nmarvelous treasure like a man in a trance, until, after a few seconds of\nthis golden display, the other banged down the lids again and burst out\nlaughing, whereupon he came back to himself with a jump.\n\n\"Well, and what do you think of that?\" said the other. \"Is it not enough\nfor a man to turn pirate for? But,\" he continued, \"it is not for the\nsake of showing you this that I have been waiting for you here so long\na while, but to tell you that you are not the only passenger aboard, but\nthat there is another, whom I am to confide to your care and attention,\naccording to orders I have received; so, if you are ready, Master\nBarnaby, I'll fetch her in directly.\" He waited for a moment, as though\nfor Barnaby to speak, but our hero not replying, he arose and, putting\naway the bottle of rum and the glasses, crossed the saloon to a door\nlike that from which Barnaby had come a little while before. This he\nopened, and after a moment's delay and a few words spoken to some one\nwithin, ushered thence a young lady, who came out very slowly into the\nsaloon where Barnaby still sat at the table.\n\nIt was Miss Marjorie Malyoe, very white, and looking as though stunned\nor bewildered by all that had befallen her.\n\nBarnaby True could never tell whether the amazing strange voyage that\nfollowed was of long or of short duration; whether it occupied three\ndays or ten days. For conceive, if you choose, two people of flesh\nand blood moving and living continually in all the circumstances and\nsurroundings as of a nightmare dream, yet they two so happy together\nthat all the universe beside was of no moment to them! How was anyone\nto tell whether in such circumstances any time appeared to be long or\nshort? Does a dream appear to be long or to be short?\n\nThe vessel in which they sailed was a brigantine of good size and build,\nbut manned by a considerable crew, the most strange and outlandish in\ntheir appearance that Barnaby had ever beheld--some white, some yellow,\nsome black, and all tricked out with gay colors, and gold earrings\nin their ears, and some with great long mustachios, and others with\nhandkerchiefs tied around their heads, and all talking a language\ntogether of which Barnaby True could understand not a single word, but\nwhich might have been Portuguese from one or two phrases he caught. Nor\ndid this strange, mysterious crew, of God knows what sort of men, seem\nto pay any attention whatever to Barnaby or to the young lady. They\nmight now and then have looked at him and her out of the corners of\ntheir yellow eyes, but that was all; otherwise they were indeed like\nthe creatures of a nightmare dream. Only he who was the captain of\nthis outlandish crew would maybe speak to Barnaby a few words as to the\nweather or what not when he would come down into the saloon to mix a\nglass of grog or to light a pipe of tobacco, and then to go on deck\nagain about his business. Otherwise our hero and the young lady were\nleft to themselves, to do as they pleased, with no one to interfere with\nthem.\n\nAs for her, she at no time showed any great sign of terror or of fear,\nonly for a little while was singularly numb and quiet, as though dazed\nwith what had happened to her. Indeed, methinks that wild beast, her\ngrandfather, had so crushed her spirit by his tyranny and his violence\nthat nothing that happened to her might seem sharp and keen, as it does\nto others of an ordinary sort.\n\nBut this was only at first, for afterward her face began to grow\nsingularly clear, as with a white light, and she would sit quite still,\npermitting Barnaby to gaze, I know not how long, into her eyes, her face\nso transfigured and her lips smiling, and they, as it were, neither\nof them breathing, but hearing, as in another far-distant place, the\noutlandish jargon of the crew talking together in the warm, bright\nsunlight, or the sound of creaking block and tackle as they hauled upon\nthe sheets.\n\nIs it, then, any wonder that Barnaby True could never remember whether\nsuch a voyage as this was long or short?\n\nIt was as though they might have sailed so upon that wonderful voyage\nforever. You may guess how amazed was Barnaby True when, coming upon\ndeck one morning, he found the brigantine riding upon an even keel,\nat anchor off Staten Island, a small village on the shore, and the\nwell-known roofs and chimneys of New York town in plain sight across the\nwater.\n\n'Twas the last place in the world he had expected to see.\n\nAnd, indeed, it did seem strange to lie there alongside Staten Island\nall that day, with New York town so nigh at hand and yet so impossible\nto reach. For whether he desired to escape or no, Barnaby True could not\nbut observe that both he and the young lady were so closely watched that\nthey might as well have been prisoners, tied hand and foot and laid in\nthe hold, so far as any hope of getting away was concerned.\n\nAll that day there was a deal of mysterious coming and going aboard\nthe brigantine, and in the afternoon a sailboat went up to the town,\ncarrying the captain, and a great load covered over with a tarpaulin in\nthe stern. What was so taken up to the town Barnaby did not then guess,\nbut the boat did not return again till about sundown.\n\nFor the sun was just dropping below the water when the captain came\naboard once more and, finding Barnaby on deck, bade him come down into\nthe saloon, where they found the young lady sitting, the broad light of\nthe evening shining in through the skylight, and making it all pretty\nbright within.\n\nThe captain commanded Barnaby to be seated, for he had something of\nmoment to say to him; whereupon, as soon as Barnaby had taken his\nplace alongside the young lady, he began very seriously, with a preface\nsomewhat thus: \"Though you may think me the captain of this brigantine,\nyoung gentleman, I am not really so, but am under orders, and so have\nonly carried out those orders of a superior in all these things that I\nhave done.\" Having so begun, he went on to say that there was one thing\nyet remaining for him to do, and that the greatest thing of all. He said\nthat Barnaby and the young lady had not been fetched away from the Belle\nHelen as they were by any mere chance of accident, but that 'twas all a\nplan laid by a head wiser than his, and carried out by one whom he must\nobey in all things. He said that he hoped that both Barnaby and the\nyoung lady would perform willingly what they would be now called upon\nto do, but that whether they did it willingly or no, they must, for that\nthose were the orders of one who was not to be disobeyed.\n\nYou may guess how our hero held his breath at all this; but whatever\nmight have been his expectations, the very wildest of them all did not\nreach to that which was demanded of him. \"My orders are these,\" said the\nother, continuing: \"I am to take you and the young lady ashore, and to\nsee that you are married before I quit you; and to that end a very\ngood, decent, honest minister who lives ashore yonder in the village was\nchosen and hath been spoken to and is now, no doubt, waiting for you to\ncome. Such are my orders, and this is the last thing I am set to do; so\nnow I will leave you alone together for five minutes to talk it over,\nbut be quick about it, for whether willing or not, this thing must be\ndone.\"\n\nThereupon he went away, as he had promised, leaving those two alone\ntogether, Barnaby like one turned into stone, and the young lady, her\nface turned away, flaming as red as fire in the fading light.\n\nNor can I tell what Barnaby said to her, nor what words he used, but\nonly, all in a tumult, with neither beginning nor end he told her that\nGod knew he loved her, and that with all his heart and soul, and that\nthere was nothing in all the world for him but her; but, nevertheless,\nif she would not have it as had been ordered, and if she were not\nwilling to marry him as she was bidden to do, he would rather die\nthan lend himself to forcing her to do such a thing against her will.\nNevertheless, he told her she must speak up and tell him yes or no, and\nthat God knew he would give all the world if she would say \"yes.\"\n\nAll this and more he said in such a tumult of words that there was no\norder in their speaking, and she sitting there, her bosom rising and\nfalling as though her breath stifled her. Nor may I tell what she\nreplied to him, only this, that she said she would marry him. At this he\ntook her into his arms and set his lips to hers, his heart all melting\naway in his bosom.\n\nSo presently came the captain back into the saloon again, to find\nBarnaby sitting there holding her hand, she with her face turned away,\nand his heart beating like a trip hammer, and so saw that all was\nsettled as he would have it. Wherewith he wished them both joy, and gave\nBarnaby his hand.\n\nThe yawlboat belonging to the brigantine was ready and waiting alongside\nwhen they came upon deck, and immediately they descended to it and took\ntheir seats. So they landed, and in a little while were walking up the\nvillage street in the darkness, she clinging to his arm as though she\nwould swoon, and the captain of the brigantine and two other men from\naboard following after them. And so to the minister's house, finding him\nwaiting for them, smoking his pipe in the warm evening, and walking up\nand down in front of his own door. He immediately conducted them into\nthe house, where, his wife having fetched a candle, and two others\nof the village folk being present, the good man having asked several\nquestions as to their names and their age and where they were from,\nthe ceremony was performed, and the certificate duly signed by those\npresent--excepting the men who had come ashore from the brigantine, and\nwho refused to set their hands to any paper.\n\nThe same sailboat that had taken the captain up to the town in the\nafternoon was waiting for them at the landing place, whence, the\ncaptain, having wished them Godspeed, and having shaken Barnaby very\nheartily by the hand, they pushed off, and, coming about, ran away with\nthe slant of the wind, dropping the shore and those strange beings alike\nbehind them into the night.\n\nAs they sped away through the darkness they could hear the creaking of\nthe sails being hoisted aboard of the brigantine, and so knew that she\nwas about to put to sea once more. Nor did Barnaby True ever set eyes\nupon those beings again, nor did anyone else that I ever heard tell of.\n\nIt was nigh midnight when they made Mr. Hartright's wharf at the foot of\nWall Street, and so the streets were all dark and silent and deserted as\nthey walked up to Barnaby's home.\n\nYou may conceive of the wonder and amazement of Barnaby's dear\nstepfather when, clad in a dressing gown and carrying a lighted candle\nin his hand, he unlocked and unbarred the door, and so saw who it\nwas had aroused him at such an hour of the night, and the young and\nbeautiful lady whom Barnaby had fetched with him.\n\nThe first thought of the good man was that the Belle Helen had come into\nport; nor did Barnaby undeceive him as he led the way into the house,\nbut waited until they were all safe and sound in privily together before\nhe should unfold his strange and wonderful story.\n\n\"This was left for you by two foreign sailors this afternoon, Barnaby,\"\nthe good old man said, as he led the way through the hall, holding up\nthe candle at the same time, so that Barnaby might see an object that\nstood against the wainscoting by the door of the dining room.\n\nNor could Barnaby refrain from crying out with amazement when he saw\nthat it was one of the two chests of treasure that Sir John Malyoe had\nfetched from Jamaica, and which the pirates had taken from the Belle\nHelen. As for Mr. Hartright, he guessed no more what was in it than the\nman in the moon.\n\nThe next day but one brought the Belle Helen herself into port, with the\nterrible news not only of having been attacked at night by pirates, but\nalso that Sir John Malyoe was dead. For whether it was the sudden shock\nof the sight of his old captain's face--whom he himself had murdered\nand thought dead and buried--flashing so out against the darkness, or\nwhether it was the strain of passion that overset his brains, certain\nit is that when the pirates left the Belle Helen, carrying with them the\nyoung lady and Barnaby and the traveling trunks, those left aboard\nthe Belle Helen found Sir John Malyoe lying in a fit upon the floor,\nfrothing at the mouth and black in the face, as though he had been\nchoked, and so took him away to his berth, where, the next morning about\nten o'clock, he died, without once having opened his eyes or spoken a\nsingle word.\n\nAs for the villain manservant, no one ever saw him afterward; though\nwhether he jumped overboard, or whether the pirates who so attacked the\nship had carried him away bodily, who shall say?\n\nMr. Hartright, after he had heard Barnaby's story, had been very\nuncertain as to the ownership of the chest of treasure that had been\nleft by those men for Barnaby, but the news of the death of Sir John\nMalyoe made the matter very easy for him to decide. For surely if that\ntreasure did not belong to Barnaby, there could be no doubt that it must\nbelong to his wife, she being Sir John Malyoe's legal heir. And so it\nwas that that great fortune (in actual computation amounting to upward\nof sixty-three thousand pounds) came to Barnaby True, the grandson of\nthat famous pirate, William Brand; the English estate in Devonshire, in\ndefault of male issue of Sir John Malyoe, descended to Captain Malyoe,\nwhom the young lady was to have married.\n\nAs for the other case of treasure, it was never heard of again, nor\ncould Barnaby ever guess whether it was divided as booty among the\npirates, or whether they had carried it away with them to some strange\nand foreign land, there to share it among themselves.\n\nAnd so the ending of the story, with only this to observe, that whether\nthat strange appearance of Captain Brand's face by the light of the\npistol was a ghostly and spiritual appearance, or whether he was present\nin flesh and blood, there is only to say that he was never heard of\nagain; nor had he ever been heard of till that time since the day he was\nso shot from behind by Capt. John Malyoe on the banks of the Rio Cobra\nRiver in the year 1733.\n\n\n\n\nChapter III. WITH THE BUCCANEERS\n\nBeing an Account of Certain Adventures that Befell Henry Mostyn Under\nCapt. H. Morgan in the Year 1665-66\n\n\nI.\n\nALTHOUGH this narration has more particularly to do with the taking of\nthe Spanish vice admiral in the harbor of Porto Bello, and of the rescue\ntherefrom of Le Sieur Simon, his wife and daughter (the adventure\nof which was successfully achieved by Captain Morgan, the famous\nbuccaneer), we shall, nevertheless, premise something of the earlier\nhistory of Master Harry Mostyn, whom you may, if you please, consider as\nthe hero of the several circumstances recounted in these pages.\n\nIn the year 1664 our hero's father embarked from Portsmouth, in England,\nfor the Barbados, where he owned a considerable sugar plantation.\nThither to those parts of America he transported with himself his whole\nfamily, of whom our Master Harry was the fifth of eight children--a\ngreat lusty fellow as little fitted for the Church (for which he was\ndesigned) as could be. At the time of this story, though not above\nsixteen years old, Master Harry Mostyn was as big and well-grown as many\na man of twenty, and of such a reckless and dare-devil spirit that no\nadventure was too dangerous or too mischievous for him to embark upon.\n\nAt this time there was a deal of talk in those parts of the Americas\nconcerning Captain Morgan, and the prodigious successes he was having\npirating against the Spaniards.\n\nThis man had once been an indentured servant with Mr. Rolls, a sugar\nfactor at the Barbados. Having served out his time, and being of lawless\ndisposition, possessing also a prodigious appetite for adventure, he\njoined with others of his kidney, and, purchasing a caravel of three\nguns, embarked fairly upon that career of piracy the most successful\nthat ever was heard of in the world.\n\nMaster Harry had known this man very well while he was still with Mr.\nRolls, serving as a clerk at that gentleman's sugar wharf, a tall,\nbroad-shouldered, strapping fellow, with red cheeks, and thick red lips,\nand rolling blue eyes, and hair as red as any chestnut. Many knew him\nfor a bold, gruff-spoken man, but no one at that time suspected that he\nhad it in him to become so famous and renowned as he afterward grew to\nbe.\n\nThe fame of his exploits had been the talk of those parts for above a\ntwelvemonth, when, in the latter part of the year 1665, Captain Morgan,\nhaving made a very successful expedition against the Spaniards into the\nGulf of Campeche--where he took several important purchases from\nthe plate fleet--came to the Barbados, there to fit out another such\nventure, and to enlist recruits.\n\nHe and certain other adventurers had purchased a vessel of some five\nhundred tons, which they proposed to convert into a pirate by cutting\nportholes for cannon, and running three or four carronades across\nher main deck. The name of this ship, be it mentioned, was the Good\nSamaritan, as ill-fitting a name as could be for such a craft, which,\ninstead of being designed for the healing of wounds, was intended to\ninflict such devastation as those wicked men proposed.\n\nHere was a piece of mischief exactly fitted to our hero's tastes;\nwherefore, having made up a bundle of clothes, and with not above a\nshilling in his pocket, he made an excursion into the town to seek\nfor Captain Morgan. There he found the great pirate established at an\nordinary, with a little court of ragamuffins and swashbucklers gathered\nabout him, all talking very loud, and drinking healths in raw rum as\nthough it were sugared water.\n\nAnd what a fine figure our buccaneer had grown, to be sure! How\ndifferent from the poor, humble clerk upon the sugar wharf! What a deal\nof gold braid! What a fine, silver-hilled Spanish sword! What a gay\nvelvet sling, hung with three silver-mounted pistols! If Master Harry's\nmind had not been made up before, to be sure such a spectacle of glory\nwould have determined it.\n\nThis figure of war our hero asked to step aside with him, and when they\nhad come into a corner, proposed to the other what he intended, and that\nhe had a mind to enlist as a gentleman adventurer upon this expedition.\nUpon this our rogue of a buccaneer captain burst out a-laughing, and\nfetching Master Harry a great thump upon the back, swore roundly that he\nwould make a man of him, and that it was a pity to make a parson out of\nso good a piece of stuff.\n\nNor was Captain Morgan less good than his word, for when the Good\nSamaritan set sail with a favoring wind for the island of Jamaica,\nMaster Harry found himself established as one of the adventurers aboard.\n\n\nII\n\nCould you but have seen the town of Port Royal as it appeared in the\nyear 1665 you would have beheld a sight very well worth while looking\nupon. There were no fine houses at that time, and no great counting\nhouses built of brick, such as you may find nowadays, but a crowd of\nboard and wattled huts huddled along the streets, and all so gay with\nflags and bits of color that Vanity Fair itself could not have been\ngayer. To this place came all the pirates and buccaneers that infested\nthose parts, and men shouted and swore and gambled, and poured out money\nlike water, and then maybe wound up their merrymaking by dying of fever.\nFor the sky in these torrid latitudes is all full of clouds overhead,\nand as hot as any blanket, and when the sun shone forth it streamed down\nupon the smoking sands so that the houses were ovens and the streets\nwere furnaces; so it was little wonder that men died like rats in a\nhole. But little they appeared to care for that; so that everywhere you\nmight behold a multitude of painted women and Jews and merchants and\npirates, gaudy with red scarfs and gold braid and all sorts of odds and\nends of foolish finery, all fighting and gambling and bartering for that\nill-gotten treasure of the be-robbed Spaniard.\n\nHere, arriving, Captain Morgan found a hearty welcome, and a message\nfrom the governor awaiting him, the message bidding him attend His\nExcellency upon the earliest occasion that offered. Whereupon, taking\nour hero (of whom he had grown prodigiously fond) along with him, our\npirate went, without any loss of time, to visit Sir Thomas Modiford, who\nwas then the royal governor of all this devil's brew of wickedness.\n\nThey found His Excellency seated in a great easy-chair, under the shadow\nof a slatted veranda, the floor whereof was paved with brick. He\nwas clad, for the sake of coolness, only in his shirt, breeches, and\nstockings, and he wore slippers on his feet. He was smoking a great\ncigarro of tobacco, and a goblet of lime juice and water and rum stood\nat his elbow on a table. Here, out of the glare of the heat, it was all\nvery cool and pleasant, with a sea breeze blowing violently in through\nthe slats, setting them a-rattling now and then, and stirring Sir\nThomas's long hair, which he had pushed back for the sake of coolness.\n\nThe purport of this interview, I may tell you, concerned the rescue of\none Le Sieur Simon, who, together with his wife and daughter, was held\ncaptive by the Spaniards.\n\nThis gentleman adventurer (Le Sieur Simon) had, a few years before, been\nset up by the buccaneers as governor of the island of Santa Catharina.\nThis place, though well fortified by the Spaniards, the buccaneers\nhad seized upon, establishing themselves thereon, and so infesting the\ncommerce of those seas that no Spanish fleet was safe from them. At last\nthe Spaniards, no longer able to endure these assaults against their\ncommerce, sent a great force against the freebooters to drive them out\nof their island stronghold. This they did, retaking Santa Catharina,\ntogether with its governor, his wife, and daughter, as well as the whole\ngarrison of buccaneers.\n\nThis garrison was sent by their conquerors, some to the galleys, some\nto the mines, some to no man knows where. The governor himself--Le Sieur\nSimon--was to be sent to Spain, there to stand his trial for piracy.\n\nThe news of all this, I may tell you, had only just been received in\nJamaica, having been brought thither by a Spanish captain, one Don\nRoderiguez Sylvia, who was, besides, the bearer of dispatches to the\nSpanish authorities relating the whole affair.\n\nSuch, in fine, was the purport of this interview, and as our hero\nand his captain walked back together from the governor's house to the\nordinary where they had taken up their inn, the buccaneer assured his\ncompanion that he purposed to obtain those dispatches from the Spanish\ncaptain that very afternoon, even if he had to use force to seize them.\n\nAll this, you are to understand, was undertaken only because of the\nfriendship that the governor and Captain Morgan entertained for Le Sieur\nSimon. And, indeed, it was wonderful how honest and how faithful were\nthese wicked men in their dealings with one another. For you must know\nthat Governor Modiford and Le Sieur Simon and the buccaneers were all of\none kidney--all taking a share in the piracies of those times, and all\nholding by one another as though they were the honestest men in the\nworld. Hence it was they were all so determined to rescue Le Sieur Simon\nfrom the Spaniards.\n\n\nIII\n\nHaving reached his ordinary after his interview with the governor,\nCaptain Morgan found there a number of his companions, such as usually\ngathered at that place to be in attendance upon him--some, those\nbelonging to the Good Samaritan; others, those who hoped to obtain\nbenefits from him; others, those ragamuffins who gathered around him\nbecause he was famous, and because it pleased them to be of his court\nand to be called his followers. For nearly always your successful pirate\nhad such a little court surrounding him.\n\nFinding a dozen or more of these rascals gathered there, Captain Morgan\ninformed them of his present purpose that he was going to find the\nSpanish captain to demand his papers of him, and calling upon them to\naccompany him.\n\nWith this following at his heels, our buccaneer started off down the\nstreet, his lieutenant, a Cornishman named Bartholomew Davis, upon one\nhand and our hero upon the other. So they paraded the streets for the\nbest part of an hour before they found the Spanish captain. For whether\nhe had got wind that Captain Morgan was searching for him, or whether,\nfinding himself in a place so full of his enemies, he had buried himself\nin some place of hiding, it is certain that the buccaneers had traversed\npretty nearly the whole town before they discovered that he was lying\nat a certain auberge kept by a Portuguese Jew. Thither they went, and\nthither Captain Morgan entered with the utmost coolness and composure of\ndemeanor, his followers crowding noisily in at his heels.\n\nThe space within was very dark, being lighted only by the doorway and by\ntwo large slatted windows or openings in the front.\n\nIn this dark, hot place not over-roomy at the best--were gathered twelve\nor fifteen villainous-appearing men, sitting at tables and drinking\ntogether, waited upon by the Jew and his wife. Our hero had no trouble\nin discovering which of this lot of men was Captain Sylvia, for not\nonly did Captain Morgan direct his glance full of war upon him, but the\nSpaniard was clad with more particularity and with more show of finery\nthan any of the others who were there.\n\nHim Captain Morgan approached and demanded his papers, whereunto the\nother replied with such a jabber of Spanish and English that no man\ncould have understood what he said. To this Captain Morgan in turn\nreplied that he must have those papers, no matter what it might cost him\nto obtain them, and thereupon drew a pistol from his sling and presented\nit at the other's head.\n\nAt this threatening action the innkeeper's wife fell a-screaming, and\nthe Jew, as in a frenzy, besought them not to tear the house down about\nhis ears.\n\nOur hero could hardly tell what followed, only that all of a sudden\nthere was a prodigious uproar of combat. Knives flashed everywhere,\nand then a pistol was fired so close to his head that he stood like one\nstunned, hearing some one crying out in a loud voice, but not knowing\nwhether it was a friend or a foe who had been shot. Then another pistol\nshot so deafened what was left of Master Harry's hearing that his ears\nrang for above an hour afterward. By this time the whole place was\nfull of gunpowder smoke, and there was the sound of blows and oaths and\noutcrying and the clashing of knives.\n\nAs Master Harry, who had no great stomach for such a combat, and no very\nparticular interest in the quarrel, was making for the door, a little\nPortuguese, as withered and as nimble as an ape, came ducking under the\ntable and plunged at his stomach with a great long knife, which, had\nit effected its object, would surely have ended his adventures then and\nthere. Finding himself in such danger, Master Harry snatched up a heavy\nchair, and, flinging it at his enemy, who was preparing for another\nattack, he fairly ran for it out of the door, expecting every instant to\nfeel the thrust of the blade betwixt his ribs.\n\nA considerable crowd had gathered outside, and others, hearing the\nuproar, were coming running to join them. With these our hero stood,\ntrembling like a leaf, and with cold chills running up and down his back\nlike water at the narrow escape from the danger that had threatened him.\n\nNor shall you think him a coward, for you must remember he was hardly\nsixteen years old at the time, and that this was the first affair of the\nsort he had encountered. Afterward, as you shall learn, he showed that\nhe could exhibit courage enough at a pinch.\n\nWhile he stood there, endeavoring to recover his composure, the while\nthe tumult continued within, suddenly two men came running almost\ntogether out of the door, a crowd of the combatants at their heels. The\nfirst of these men was Captain Sylvia; the other, who was pursuing him,\nwas Captain Morgan.\n\nAs the crowd about the door parted before the sudden appearing of these,\nthe Spanish captain, perceiving, as he supposed, a way of escape opened\nto him, darted across the street with incredible swiftness toward an\nalleyway upon the other side. Upon this, seeing his prey like to get\naway from him, Captain Morgan snatched a pistol out of his sling, and\nresting it for an instant across his arm, fired at the flying Spaniard,\nand that with so true an aim that, though the street was now full of\npeople, the other went tumbling over and over all of a heap in the\nkennel, where he lay, after a twitch or two, as still as a log.\n\nAt the sound of the shot and the fall of the man the crowd scattered\nupon all sides, yelling and screaming, and the street being thus pretty\nclear, Captain Morgan ran across the way to where his victim lay, his\nsmoking pistol still in his hand, and our hero following close at his\nheels.\n\nOur poor Harry had never before beheld a man killed thus in an instant\nwho a moment before had been so full of life and activity, for when\nCaptain Morgan turned the body over upon its back he could perceive at a\nglance, little as he knew of such matters, that the man was stone-dead.\nAnd, indeed, it was a dreadful sight for him who was hardly more than\na child. He stood rooted for he knew not how long, staring down at the\ndead face with twitching fingers and shuddering limbs. Meantime a great\ncrowd was gathering about them again. As for Captain Morgan, he went\nabout his work with the utmost coolness and deliberation imaginable,\nunbuttoning the waistcoat and the shirt of the man he had murdered with\nfingers that neither twitched nor shook. There were a gold cross and\na bunch of silver medals hung by a whipcord about the neck of the dead\nman. This Captain Morgan broke away with a snap, reaching the jingling\nbaubles to Harry, who took them in his nerveless hand and fingers that\nhe could hardly close upon what they held.\n\nThe papers Captain Morgan found in a wallet in an inner breast pocket of\nthe Spaniard's waistcoat. These he examined one by one, and finding them\nto his satisfaction, tied them up again, and slipped the wallet and its\ncontents into his own pocket.\n\nThen for the first time he appeared to observe Master Harry, who,\nindeed, must have been standing, the perfect picture of horror and\ndismay. Whereupon, bursting out a-laughing, and slipping the pistol he\nhad used back into its sling again, he fetched poor Harry a great slap\nupon the back, bidding him be a man, for that he would see many such\nsights as this.\n\nBut indeed, it was no laughing matter for poor Master Harry, for it was\nmany a day before his imagination could rid itself of the image of the\ndead Spaniard's face; and as he walked away down the street with his\ncompanions, leaving the crowd behind them, and the dead body where it\nlay for its friends to look after, his ears humming and ringing from\nthe deafening noise of the pistol shots fired in the close room, and the\nsweat trickling down his face in drops, he knew not whether all that\nhad passed had been real, or whether it was a dream from which he might\npresently awaken.\n\n\nIV\n\nThe papers Captain Morgan had thus seized upon as the fruit of the\nmurder he had committed must have been as perfectly satisfactory to him\nas could be, for having paid a second visit that evening to Governor\nModiford, the pirate lifted anchor the next morning and made sail toward\nthe Gulf of Darien. There, after cruising about in those waters for\nabout a fortnight without falling in with a vessel of any sort, at the\nend of that time they overhauled a caravel bound from Porto Bello to\nCartagena, which vessel they took, and finding her loaded with nothing\nbetter than raw hides, scuttled and sank her, being then about twenty\nleagues from the main of Cartagena. From the captain of this vessel\nthey learned that the plate fleet was then lying in the harbor of Porto\nBello, not yet having set sail thence, but waiting for the change of the\nwinds before embarking for Spain. Besides this, which was a good deal\nmore to their purpose, the Spaniards told the pirates that the Sieur\nSimon, his wife, and daughter were confined aboard the vice admiral of\nthat fleet, and that the name of the vice admiral was the Santa Maria y\nValladolid.\n\nSo soon as Captain Morgan had obtained the information he desired he\ndirected his course straight for the Bay of Santo Blaso, where he might\nlie safely within the cape of that name without any danger of discovery\n(that part of the mainland being entirely uninhabited) and yet be within\ntwenty or twenty-five leagues of Porto Bello.\n\nHaving come safely to this anchorage, he at once declared his intentions\nto his companions, which were as follows:\n\nThat it was entirely impossible for them to hope to sail their vessel\ninto the harbor of Porto Bello, and to attack the Spanish vice admiral\nwhere he lay in the midst of the armed flota; wherefore, if anything was\nto be accomplished, it must be undertaken by some subtle design rather\nthan by open-handed boldness. Having so prefaced what he had to say, he\nnow declared that it was his purpose to take one of the ship's boats and\nto go in that to Porto Bello, trusting for some opportunity to occur to\naid him either in the accomplishment of his aims or in the gaining of\nsome further information. Having thus delivered himself, he invited any\nwho dared to do so to volunteer for the expedition, telling them plainly\nthat he would constrain no man to go against his will, for that at best\nit was a desperate enterprise, possessing only the recommendation that\nin its achievement the few who undertook it would gain great renown, and\nperhaps a very considerable booty.\n\nAnd such was the incredible influence of this bold man over his\ncompanions, and such was their confidence in his skill and cunning, that\nnot above a dozen of all those aboard hung back from the undertaking,\nbut nearly every man desired to be taken.\n\nOf these volunteers Captain Morgan chose twenty--among others our Master\nHarry--and having arranged with his lieutenant that if nothing was heard\nfrom the expedition at the end of three days he should sail for Jamaica\nto await news, he embarked upon that enterprise, which, though never\nheretofore published, was perhaps the boldest and the most desperate of\nall those that have since made his name so famous. For what could be a\nmore unparalleled undertaking than for a little open boat, containing\nbut twenty men, to enter the harbor of the third strongest fortress of\nthe Spanish mainland with the intention of cutting out the Spanish vice\nadmiral from the midst of a whole fleet of powerfully armed vessels, and\nhow many men in all the world do you suppose would venture such a thing?\n\nBut there is this to be said of that great buccaneer: that if he\nundertook enterprises so desperate as this, he yet laid his plans\nso well that they never went altogether amiss. Moreover, the very\ndesperation of his successes was of such a nature that no man could\nsuspect that he would dare to undertake such things, and accordingly his\nenemies were never prepared to guard against his attacks. Aye, had he\nbut worn the king's colors and served under the rules of honest war, he\nmight have become as great and as renowned as Admiral Blake himself.\n\nBut all that is neither here nor there; what I have to tell you now is\nthat Captain Morgan in this open boat with his twenty mates reached the\nCape of Salmedina toward the fall of day. Arriving within view of the\nharbor they discovered the plate fleet at anchor, with two men-of-war\nand an armed galley riding as a guard at the mouth of the harbor, scarce\nhalf a league distant from the other ships. Having spied the fleet in\nthis posture, the pirates presently pulled down their sails and rowed\nalong the coast, feigning to be a Spanish vessel from Nombre de Dios. So\nhugging the shore, they came boldly within the harbor, upon the opposite\nside of which you might see the fortress a considerable distance away.\n\nBeing now come so near to the consummation of their adventure, Captain\nMorgan required every man to make an oath to stand by him to the last,\nwhereunto our hero swore as heartily as any man aboard, although his\nheart, I must needs confess, was beating at a great rate at the approach\nof what was to happen. Having thus received the oaths of all his\nfollowers, Captain Morgan commanded the surgeon of the expedition that,\nwhen the order was given, he, the medico, was to bore six holes in the\nboat, so that, it sinking under them, they might all be compelled to\npush forward, with no chance of retreat. And such was the ascendancy of\nthis man over his followers, and such was their awe of him, that not one\nof them uttered even so much as a murmur, though what he had commanded\nthe surgeon to do pledged them either to victory or to death, with no\nchance to choose between. Nor did the surgeon question the orders he had\nreceived, much less did he dream of disobeying them.\n\nBy now it had fallen pretty dusk, whereupon, spying two fishermen in a\ncanoe at a little distance, Captain Morgan demanded of them in Spanish\nwhich vessel of those at anchor in the harbor was the vice admiral, for\nthat he had dispatches for the captain thereof. Whereupon the fishermen,\nsuspecting nothing, pointed to them a galleon of great size riding at\nanchor not half a league distant.\n\nToward this vessel accordingly the pirates directed their course, and\nwhen they had come pretty nigh, Captain Morgan called upon the surgeon\nthat now it was time for him to perform the duty that had been laid upon\nhim. Whereupon the other did as he was ordered, and that so thoroughly\nthat the water presently came gushing into the boat in great streams,\nwhereat all hands pulled for the galleon as though every next moment was\nto be their last.\n\nAnd what do you suppose were our hero's emotions at this time? Like all\nin the boat, his awe of Captain Morgan was so great that I do believe he\nwould rather have gone to the bottom than have questioned his command,\neven when it was to scuttle the boat. Nevertheless, when he felt the\ncold water gushing about his feet (for he had taken off his shoes and\nstockings) he became possessed with such a fear of being drowned that\neven the Spanish galleon had no terrors for him if he could only feel\nthe solid planks thereof beneath his feet.\n\nIndeed, all the crew appeared to be possessed of a like dismay, for they\npulled at the oars with such an incredible force that they were under\nthe quarter of the galleon before the boat was half filled with water.\n\nHere, as they approached, it then being pretty dark and the moon not\nyet having risen, the watch upon the deck hailed them, whereupon Captain\nMorgan called out in Spanish that he was Capt. Alvarez Mendazo, and that\nhe brought dispatches for the vice admiral.\n\nBut at that moment, the boat being now so full of water as to be\nlogged, it suddenly tilted upon one side as though to sink beneath them,\nwhereupon all hands, without further orders, went scrambling up the\nside, as nimble as so many monkeys, each armed with a pistol in one hand\nand a cutlass in the other, and so were upon deck before the watch could\ncollect his wits to utter any outcry or to give any other alarm than to\ncry out, \"Jesu bless us! who are these?\" at which words somebody knocked\nhim down with the butt of a pistol, though who it was our hero could not\ntell in the darkness and the hurry.\n\nBefore any of those upon deck could recover from their alarm or those\nfrom below come up upon deck, a part of the pirates, under the carpenter\nand the surgeon, had run to the gun room and had taken possession of the\narms, while Captain Morgan, with Master Harry and a Portuguese called\nMurillo Braziliano, had flown with the speed of the wind into the great\ncabin.\n\nHere they found the captain of the vice admiral playing at cards\nwith the Sieur Simon and a friend, Madam Simon and her daughter being\npresent.\n\nCaptain Morgan instantly set his pistol at the breast of the Spanish\ncaptain, swearing with a most horrible fierce countenance that if he\nspake a word or made any outcry he was a dead man. As for our hero,\nhaving now got his hand into the game, he performed the same service for\nthe Spaniard's friend, declaring he would shoot him dead if he opened\nhis lips or lifted so much as a single finger.\n\nAll this while the ladies, not comprehending what had occurred, had sat\nas mute as stones; but now having so far recovered themselves as to find\na voice, the younger of the two fell to screaming, at which the Sieur\nSimon called out to her to be still, for these were friends who had come\nto help them, and not enemies who had come to harm them.\n\nAll this, you are to understand, occupied only a little while, for in\nless than a minute three or four of the pirates had come into the cabin,\nwho, together with the Portuguese, proceeded at once to bind the\ntwo Spaniards hand and foot, and to gag them. This being done to our\nbuccaneer's satisfaction, and the Spanish captain being stretched out\nin the corner of the cabin, he instantly cleared his countenance of its\nterrors, and bursting forth into a great loud laugh, clapped his hand\nto the Sieur Simon's, which he wrung with the best will in the world.\nHaving done this, and being in a fine humor after this his first\nsuccess, he turned to the two ladies. \"And this, ladies,\" said he,\ntaking our hero by the hand and presenting him, \"is a young gentleman\nwho has embarked with me to learn the trade of piracy. I recommend him\nto your politeness.\"\n\nThink what a confusion this threw our Master Harry into, to be sure,\nwho at his best was never easy in the company of strange ladies! You may\nsuppose what must have been his emotions to find himself thus introduced\nto the attention of Madam Simon and her daughter, being at the time in\nhis bare feet, clad only in his shirt and breeches, and with no hat upon\nhis head, a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other. However,\nhe was not left for long to his embarrassments, for almost immediately\nafter he had thus far relaxed, Captain Morgan fell of a sudden serious\nagain, and bidding the Sieur Simon to get his ladies away into some\nplace of safety, for the most hazardous part of this adventure was yet\nto occur, he quitted the cabin with Master Harry and the other pirates\n(for you may call him a pirate now) at his heels.\n\nHaving come upon deck, our hero beheld that a part of the Spanish crew\nwere huddled forward in a flock like so many sheep (the others being\ncrowded below with the hatches fastened upon them), and such was the\nterror of the pirates, and so dreadful the name of Henry Morgan, that\nnot one of those poor wretches dared to lift up his voice to give any\nalarm, nor even to attempt an escape by jumping overboard.\n\nAt Captain Morgan's orders, these men, together with certain of his own\ncompany, ran nimbly aloft and began setting the sails, which, the night\nnow having fallen pretty thick, was not for a good while observed by any\nof the vessels riding at anchor about them.\n\nIndeed, the pirates might have made good their escape, with at most only\na shot or two from the men-of-war, had it not then been about the full\nof the moon, which, having arisen, presently discovered to those of the\nfleet that lay closest about them what was being done aboard the vice\nadmiral.\n\nAt this one of the vessels hailed them, and then after a while,\nhaving no reply, hailed them again. Even then the Spaniards might not\nimmediately have suspected anything was amiss but only that the\nvice admiral for some reason best known to himself was shifting his\nanchorage, had not one of the Spaniards aloft--but who it was Captain\nMorgan was never able to discover--answered the hail by crying out that\nthe vice admiral had been seized by the pirates.\n\nAt this the alarm was instantly given and the mischief done, for\npresently there was a tremendous bustle through that part of the fleet\nlying nighest the vice admiral--a deal of shouting of orders, a beating\nof drums, and the running hither and thither of the crews.\n\nBut by this time the sails of the vice admiral had filled with a strong\nland breeze that was blowing up the harbor, whereupon the carpenter,\nat Captain Morgan's orders, having cut away both anchors, the galleon\npresently bore away up the harbor, gathering headway every moment with\nthe wind nearly dead astern. The nearest vessel was the only one that\nfor the moment was able to offer any hindrance. This ship, having by\nthis time cleared away one of its guns, was able to fire a parting shot\nagainst the vice-admiral, striking her somewhere forward, as our hero\ncould see by a great shower of splinters that flew up in the moonlight.\n\nAt the sound of the shot all the vessels of the flota not yet disturbed\nby the alarm were aroused at once, so that the pirates had the\nsatisfaction of knowing that they would have to run the gantlet of\nall the ships between them and the open sea before they could reckon\nthemselves escaped.\n\nAnd, indeed, to our hero's mind it seemed that the battle which followed\nmust have been the most terrific cannonade that was ever heard in the\nworld. It was not so ill at first, for it was some while before the\nSpaniards could get their guns clear for action, they being not the\nleast in the world prepared for such an occasion as this. But by and by\nfirst one and then another ship opened fire upon the galleon, until it\nseemed to our hero that all the thunders of heaven let loose upon them\ncould not have created a more prodigious uproar, and that it was not\npossible that they could any of them escape destruction.\n\nBy now the moon had risen full and round, so that the clouds of smoke\nthat rose in the air appeared as white as snow. The air seemed full of\nthe hiss and screaming of shot, each one of which, when it struck the\ngalleon, was magnified by our hero's imagination into ten times its\nmagnitude from the crash which it delivered and from the cloud of\nsplinters it would cast up into the moonlight. At last he suddenly\nbeheld one poor man knocked sprawling across the deck, who, as he raised\nhis arm from behind the mast, disclosed that the hand was gone from it,\nand that the shirt sleeve was red with blood in the moonlight. At this\nsight all the strength fell away from poor Harry, and he felt sure that\na like fate or even a worse must be in store for him.\n\nBut, after all, this was nothing to what it might have been in\nbroad daylight, for what with the darkness of night, and the little\npreparation the Spaniards could make for such a business, and\nthe extreme haste with which they discharged their guns (many not\nunderstanding what was the occasion of all this uproar), nearly all the\nshot flew so wide of the mark that not above one in twenty struck that\nat which it was aimed.\n\nMeantime Captain Morgan, with the Sieur Simon, who had followed him\nupon deck, stood just above where our hero lay behind the shelter of the\nbulwark. The captain had lit a pipe of tobacco, and he stood now in the\nbright moonlight close to the rail, with his hands behind him, looking\nout ahead with the utmost coolness imaginable, and paying no more\nattention to the din of battle than though it were twenty leagues away.\nNow and then he would take his pipe from his lips to utter an order to\nthe man at the wheel. Excepting this he stood there hardly moving at\nall, the wind blowing his long red hair over his shoulders.\n\nHad it not been for the armed galley the pirates might have got the\ngalleon away with no great harm done in spite of all this cannonading,\nfor the man-of-war which rode at anchor nighest to them at the mouth\nof the harbor was still so far away that they might have passed it by\nhugging pretty close to the shore, and that without any great harm being\ndone to them in the darkness. But just at this moment, when the open\nwater lay in sight, came this galley pulling out from behind the point\nof the shore in such a manner as either to head our pirates off entirely\nor else to compel them to approach so near to the man-of-war that that\nlatter vessel could bring its guns to bear with more effect.\n\nThis galley, I must tell you, was like others of its kind such as you\nmay find in these waters, the hull being long and cut low to the water\nso as to allow the oars to dip freely. The bow was sharp and projected\nfar out ahead, mounting a swivel upon it, while at the stern a number of\ngalleries built one above another into a castle gave shelter to several\ncompanies of musketeers as well as the officers commanding them.\n\nOur hero could behold the approach of this galley from above the\nstarboard bulwarks, and it appeared to him impossible for them to\nhope to escape either it or the man-of-war. But still Captain Morgan\nmaintained the same composure that he had exhibited all the while, only\nnow and then delivering an order to the man at the wheel, who, putting\nthe helm over, threw the bows of the galleon around more to the\nlarboard, as though to escape the bow of the galley and get into the\nopen water beyond. This course brought the pirates ever closer and\ncloser to the man-of-war, which now began to add its thunder to the din\nof the battle, and with so much more effect that at every discharge you\nmight hear the crashing and crackling of splintered wood, and now and\nthen the outcry or groaning of some man who was hurt. Indeed, had it\nbeen daylight, they must at this juncture all have perished, though,\nas was said, what with the night and the confusion and the hurry, they\nescaped entire destruction, though more by a miracle than through any\npolicy upon their own part.\n\nMeantime the galley, steering as though to come aboard of them, had now\ncome so near that it, too, presently began to open its musketry fire\nupon them, so that the humming and rattling of bullets were presently\nadded to the din of cannonading.\n\nIn two minutes more it would have been aboard of them, when in a moment\nCaptain Morgan roared out of a sudden to the man at the helm to put it\nhard a starboard. In response the man ran the wheel over with the utmost\nquickness, and the galleon, obeying her helm very readily, came around\nupon a course which, if continued, would certainly bring them into\ncollision with their enemy.\n\nIt is possible at first the Spaniards imagined the pirates intended to\nescape past their stern, for they instantly began backing oars to keep\nthem from getting past, so that the water was all of a foam about them,\nat the same time they did this they poured in such a fire of musketry\nthat it was a miracle that no more execution was accomplished than\nhappened.\n\nAs for our hero, methinks for the moment he forgot all about everything\nelse than as to whether or no his captain's maneuver would succeed, for\nin the very first moment he divined, as by some instinct, what Captain\nMorgan purposed doing.\n\nAt this moment, so particular in the execution of this nice design,\na bullet suddenly struck down the man at the wheel. Hearing the sharp\noutcry, our Harry turned to see him fall forward, and then to his hands\nand knees upon the deck, the blood running in a black pool beneath him,\nwhile the wheel, escaping from his hands, spun over until the spokes\nwere all of a mist.\n\nIn a moment the ship would have fallen off before the wind had not our\nhero, leaping to the wheel (even as Captain Morgan shouted an order for\nsome one to do so), seized the flying spokes, whirling them back again,\nand so bringing the bow of the galleon up to its former course.\n\nIn the first moment of this effort he had reckoned of nothing but of\ncarrying out his captain's designs. He neither thought of cannon balls\nnor of bullets. But now that his task was accomplished, he came suddenly\nback to himself to find the galleries of the galley aflame with musket\nshots, and to become aware with a most horrible sinking of the spirits\nthat all the shots therefrom were intended for him. He cast his eyes\nabout him with despair, but no one came to ease him of his task, which,\nhaving undertaken, he had too much spirit to resign from carrying\nthrough to the end, though he was well aware that the very next instant\nmight mean his sudden and violent death. His ears hummed and rang, and\nhis brain swam as light as a feather. I know not whether he breathed,\nbut he shut his eyes tight as though that might save him from the\nbullets that were raining about him.\n\nAt this moment the Spaniards must have discovered for the first time the\npirates' design, for of a sudden they ceased firing, and began to shout\nout a multitude of orders, while the oars lashed the water all about\nwith a foam. But it was too late then for them to escape, for within a\ncouple of seconds the galleon struck her enemy a blow so violent upon\nthe larboard quarter as nearly to hurl our Harry upon the deck, and then\nwith a dreadful, horrible crackling of wood, commingled with a yelling\nof men's voices, the galley was swung around upon her side, and the\ngalleon, sailing into the open sea, left nothing of her immediate enemy\nbut a sinking wreck, and the water dotted all over with bobbing heads\nand waving hands in the moonlight.\n\nAnd now, indeed, that all danger was past and gone, there were plenty\nto come running to help our hero at the wheel. As for Captain Morgan,\nhaving come down upon the main deck, he fetches the young helmsman a\nclap upon the back. \"Well, Master Harry,\" says he, \"and did I not tell\nyou I would make a man of you?\" Whereat our poor Harry fell a-laughing,\nbut with a sad catch in his voice, for his hands trembled as with an\nague, and were as cold as ice. As for his emotions, God knows he was\nnearer crying than laughing, if Captain Morgan had but known it.\n\nNevertheless, though undertaken under the spur of the moment, I protest\nit was indeed a brave deed, and I cannot but wonder how many young\ngentlemen of sixteen there are to-day who, upon a like occasion, would\nact as well as our Harry.\n\n\nV\n\nThe balance of our hero's adventures were of a lighter sort than those\nalready recounted, for the next morning the Spanish captain (a very\npolite and well-bred gentleman) having fitted him out with a shift of\nhis own clothes, Master Harry was presented in a proper form to the\nladies. For Captain Morgan, if he had felt a liking for the young man\nbefore, could not now show sufficient regard for him. He ate in the\ngreat cabin and was petted by all. Madam Simon, who was a fat and\nred-faced lady, was forever praising him, and the young miss, who was\nextremely well-looking, was as continually making eyes at him.\n\nShe and Master Harry, I must tell you, would spend hours together, she\nmaking pretense of teaching him French, although he was so possessed\nwith a passion of love that he was nigh suffocated with it. She, upon\nher part, perceiving his emotions, responded with extreme good nature\nand complacency, so that had our hero been older, and the voyage proved\nlonger, he might have become entirely enmeshed in the toils of his\nfair siren. For all this while, you are to understand, the pirates were\nmaking sail straight for Jamaica, which they reached upon the third day\nin perfect safety.\n\nIn that time, however, the pirates had well-nigh gone crazy for joy; for\nwhen they came to examine their purchase they discovered her cargo to\nconsist of plate to the prodigious sum of L180,000 in value. 'Twas a\nwonder they did not all make themselves drunk for joy. No doubt they\nwould have done so had not Captain Morgan, knowing they were still in\nthe exact track of the Spanish fleets, threatened them that the first\nman among them who touched a drop of rum without his permission he would\nshoot him dead upon the deck. This threat had such effect that they all\nremained entirely sober until they had reached Port Royal Harbor, which\nthey did about nine o'clock in the morning.\n\nAnd now it was that our hero's romance came all tumbling down about his\nears with a run. For they had hardly come to anchor in the harbor when\na boat came from a man-of-war, and who should come stepping aboard but\nLieutenant Grantley (a particular friend of our hero's father) and his\nown eldest brother Thomas, who, putting on a very stern face, informed\nMaster Harry that he was a desperate and hardened villain who was sure\nto end at the gallows, and that he was to go immediately back to his\nhome again. He told our embryo pirate that his family had nigh gone\ndistracted because of his wicked and ungrateful conduct. Nor could our\nhero move him from his inflexible purpose. \"What,\" says our Harry, \"and\nwill you not then let me wait until our prize is divided and I get my\nshare?\"\n\n\"Prize, indeed!\" says his brother. \"And do you then really think that\nyour father would consent to your having a share in this terrible bloody\nand murthering business?\"\n\nAnd so, after a good deal of argument, our hero was constrained to go;\nnor did he even have an opportunity to bid adieu to his inamorata. Nor\ndid he see her any more, except from a distance, she standing on the\npoop deck as he was rowed away from her, her face all stained with\ncrying. For himself, he felt that there was no more joy in life;\nnevertheless, standing up in the stern of the boat, he made shift,\nthough with an aching heart, to deliver her a fine bow with the hat he\nhad borrowed from the Spanish captain, before his brother bade him sit\ndown again.\n\nAnd so to the ending of this story, with only this to relate, that our\nMaster Harry, so far from going to the gallows, became in good time a\nrespectable and wealthy sugar merchant with an English wife and a\nfine family of children, whereunto, when the mood was upon him, he has\nsometimes told these adventures (and sundry others not here recounted),\nas I have told them unto you.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV. TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX\n\nAn Old-time Story of the Days of Captain Kidd\n\n\nI\n\nTO tell about Tom Chist, and how he got his name, and how he came to be\nliving at the little settlement of Henlopen, just inside the mouth of\nthe Delaware Bay, the story must begin as far back as 1686, when a great\nstorm swept the Atlantic coast from end to end. During the heaviest part\nof the hurricane a bark went ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals, just\nbelow Cape Henlopen and at the mouth of the Delaware Bay, and Tom Chist\nwas the only soul of all those on board the ill-fated vessel who escaped\nalive.\n\nThis story must first be told, because it was on account of the strange\nand miraculous escape that happened to him at that time that he gained\nthe name that was given to him.\n\nEven as late as that time of the American colonies, the little scattered\nsettlement at Henlopen, made up of English, with a few Dutch and Swedish\npeople, was still only a spot upon the face of the great American\nwilderness that spread away, with swamp and forest, no man knew how far\nto the westward. That wilderness was not only full of wild beasts, but\nof Indian savages, who every fall would come in wandering tribes\nto spend the winter along the shores of the fresh-water lakes below\nHenlopen. There for four or five months they would live upon fish and\nclams and wild ducks and geese, chipping their arrowheads, and making\ntheir earthenware pots and pans under the lee of the sand hills and pine\nwoods below the Capes.\n\nSometimes on Sundays, when the Rev. Hillary Jones would be preaching\nin the little log church back in the woods, these half-clad red savages\nwould come in from the cold, and sit squatting in the back part of the\nchurch, listening stolidly to the words that had no meaning for them.\n\nBut about the wreck of the bark in 1686. Such a wreck as that which then\nwent ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals was a godsend to the poor and\nneedy settlers in the wilderness where so few good things ever came.\nFor the vessel went to pieces during the night, and the next morning\nthe beach was strewn with wreckage--boxes and barrels, chests and spars,\ntimbers and planks, a plentiful and bountiful harvest, to be gathered up\nby the settlers as they chose, with no one to forbid or prevent them.\n\nThe name of the bark, as found painted on some of the water barrels\nand sea chests, was the Bristol Merchant, and she no doubt hailed from\nEngland.\n\nAs was said, the only soul who escaped alive off the wreck was Tom\nChist.\n\nA settler, a fisherman named Matt Abrahamson, and his daughter Molly,\nfound Tom. He was washed up on the beach among the wreckage, in a great\nwooden box which had been securely tied around with a rope and lashed\nbetween two spars--apparently for better protection in beating through\nthe surf. Matt Abrahamson thought he had found something of more than\nusual value when he came upon this chest; but when he cut the cords\nand broke open the box with his broadax, he could not have been more\nastonished had he beheld a salamander instead of a baby of nine or ten\nmonths old lying half smothered in the blankets that covered the bottom\nof the chest.\n\nMatt Abrahamson's daughter Molly had had a baby who had died a month or\nso before. So when she saw the little one lying there in the bottom of\nthe chest, she cried out in a great loud voice that the Good Man had\nsent her another baby in place of her own.\n\nThe rain was driving before the hurricane storm in dim, slanting sheets,\nand so she wrapped up the baby in the man's coat she wore and ran off\nhome without waiting to gather up any more of the wreckage.\n\nIt was Parson Jones who gave the foundling his name. When the news\ncame to his ears of what Matt Abrahamson had found he went over to the\nfisherman's cabin to see the child. He examined the clothes in which the\nbaby was dressed. They were of fine linen and handsomely stitched, and\nthe reverend gentleman opined that the foundling's parents must have\nbeen of quality. A kerchief had been wrapped around the baby's neck and\nunder its arms and tied behind, and in the corner, marked with very fine\nneedlework, were the initials T. C.\n\n\"What d'ye call him, Molly?\" said Parson Jones. He was standing, as he\nspoke, with his back to the fire, warming his palms before the blaze.\nThe pocket of the greatcoat he wore bulged out with a big case bottle of\nspirits which he had gathered up out of the wreck that afternoon. \"What\nd'ye call him, Molly?\"\n\n\"I'll call him Tom, after my own baby.\"\n\n\"That goes very well with the initial on the kerchief,\" said Parson\nJones. \"But what other name d'ye give him? Let it be something to go\nwith the C.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Molly.\n\n\"Why not call him 'Chist,' since he was born in a chist out of the sea?\n'Tom Chist'--the name goes off like a flash in the pan.\" And so \"Tom\nChist\" he was called and \"Tom Chist\" he was christened.\n\nSo much for the beginning of the history of Tom Chist. The story of\nCaptain Kidd's treasure box does not begin until the late spring of\n1699.\n\nThat was the year that the famous pirate captain, coming up from the\nWest Indies, sailed his sloop into the Delaware Bay, where he lay for\nover a month waiting for news from his friends in New York.\n\nFor he had sent word to that town asking if the coast was clear for him\nto return home with the rich prize he had brought from the Indian seas\nand the coast of Africa, and meantime he lay there in the Delaware Bay\nwaiting for a reply. Before he left he turned the whole of Tom Chist's\nlife topsy-turvy with something that he brought ashore.\n\nBy that time Tom Chist had grown into a strong-limbed, thick-jointed boy\nof fourteen or fifteen years of age. It was a miserable dog's life he\nlived with old Matt Abrahamson, for the old fisherman was in his cups\nmore than half the time, and when he was so there was hardly a day\npassed that he did not give Tom a curse or a buffet or, as like as not,\nan actual beating. One would have thought that such treatment would\nhave broken the spirit of the poor little foundling, but it had just the\nopposite effect upon Tom Chist, who was one of your stubborn, sturdy,\nstiff-willed fellows who only grow harder and more tough the more they\nare ill-treated. It had been a long time now since he had made any\noutcry or complaint at the hard usage he suffered from old Matt. At\nsuch times he would shut his teeth and bear whatever came to him, until\nsometimes the half-drunken old man would be driven almost mad by his\nstubborn silence. Maybe he would stop in the midst of the beating he\nwas administering, and, grinding his teeth, would cry out: \"Won't ye say\nnaught? Won't ye say naught? Well, then, I'll see if I can't make ye\nsay naught.\" When things had reached such a pass as this Molly would\ngenerally interfere to protect her foster son, and then she and Tom\nwould together fight the old man until they had wrenched the stick or\nthe strap out of his hand. Then old Matt would chase them out of doors\nand around and around the house for maybe half an hour, until his anger\nwas cool, when he would go back again, and for a time the storm would be\nover.\n\nBesides his foster mother, Tom Chist had a very good friend in Parson\nJones, who used to come over every now and then to Abrahamson's hut upon\nthe chance of getting a half dozen fish for breakfast. He always had a\nkind word or two for Tom, who during the winter evenings would go over\nto the good man's house to learn his letters, and to read and write and\ncipher a little, so that by now he was able to spell the words out of\nthe Bible and the almanac, and knew enough to change tuppence into four\nha'pennies.\n\nThis is the sort of boy Tom Chist was, and this is the sort of life he\nled.\n\nIn the late spring or early summer of 1699 Captain Kidd's sloop sailed\ninto the mouth of the Delaware Bay and changed the whole fortune of his\nlife.\n\nAnd this is how you come to the story of Captain Kidd's treasure box.\n\n\nII\n\nOld Matt Abrahamson kept the flat-bottomed boat in which he went fishing\nsome distance down the shore, and in the neighborhood of the old wreck\nthat had been sunk on the Shoals. This was the usual fishing ground of\nthe settlers, and here old Matt's boat generally lay drawn up on the\nsand.\n\nThere had been a thunderstorm that afternoon, and Tom had gone down the\nbeach to bale out the boat in readiness for the morning's fishing.\n\nIt was full moonlight now, as he was returning, and the night sky was\nfull of floating clouds. Now and then there was a dull flash to the\nwestward, and once a muttering growl of thunder, promising another storm\nto come.\n\nAll that day the pirate sloop had been lying just off the shore back of\nthe Capes, and now Tom Chist could see the sails glimmering pallidly in\nthe moonlight, spread for drying after the storm. He was walking up the\nshore homeward when he became aware that at some distance ahead of him\nthere was a ship's boat drawn up on the little narrow beach, and a\ngroup of men clustered about it. He hurried forward with a good deal of\ncuriosity to see who had landed, but it was not until he had come close\nto them that he could distinguish who and what they were. Then he knew\nthat it must be a party who had come off the pirate sloop. They had\nevidently just landed, and two men were lifting out a chest from the\nboat. One of them was a negro, naked to the waist, and the other was a\nwhite man in his shirt sleeves, wearing petticoat breeches, a Monterey\ncap upon his head, a red bandanna handkerchief around his neck, and\ngold earrings in his ears. He had a long, plaited queue hanging down\nhis back, and a great sheath knife dangling from his side. Another man,\nevidently the captain of the party, stood at a little distance as\nthey lifted the chest out of the boat. He had a cane in one hand and a\nlighted lantern in the other, although the moon was shining as bright\nas day. He wore jack boots and a handsome laced coat, and he had a\nlong, drooping mustache that curled down below his chin. He wore a fine,\nfeathered hat, and his long black hair hung down upon his shoulders.\n\nAll this Tom Chist could see in the moonlight that glinted and twinkled\nupon the gilt buttons of his coat.\n\nThey were so busy lifting the chest from the boat that at first they did\nnot observe that Tom Chist had come up and was standing there. It was\nthe white man with the long, plaited queue and the gold earrings that\nspoke to him. \"Boy, what do you want here, boy?\" he said, in a rough,\nhoarse voice. \"Where d'ye come from?\" And then dropping his end of the\nchest, and without giving Tom time to answer, he pointed off down the\nbeach, and said, \"You'd better be going about your own business, if you\nknow what's good for you; and don't you come back, or you'll find what\nyou don't want waiting for you.\"\n\nTom saw in a glance that the pirates were all looking at him, and then,\nwithout saying a word, he turned and walked away. The man who had spoken\nto him followed him threateningly for some little distance, as though\nto see that he had gone away as he was bidden to do. But presently he\nstopped, and Tom hurried on alone, until the boat and the crew and\nall were dropped away behind and lost in the moonlight night. Then he\nhimself stopped also, turned, and looked back whence he had come.\n\nThere had been something very strange in the appearance of the men\nhe had just seen, something very mysterious in their actions, and he\nwondered what it all meant, and what they were going to do. He stood\nfor a little while thus looking and listening. He could see nothing, and\ncould hear only the sound of distant talking. What were they doing on\nthe lonely shore thus at night? Then, following a sudden impulse, he\nturned and cut off across the sand hummocks, skirting around inland, but\nkeeping pretty close to the shore, his object being to spy upon them,\nand to watch what they were about from the back of the low sand hills\nthat fronted the beach.\n\nHe had gone along some distance in his circuitous return when he became\naware of the sound of voices that seemed to be drawing closer to him\nas he came toward the speakers. He stopped and stood listening, and\ninstantly, as he stopped, the voices stopped also. He crouched there\nsilently in the bright, glimmering moonlight, surrounded by the silent\nstretches of sand, and the stillness seemed to press upon him like a\nheavy hand. Then suddenly the sound of a man's voice began again, and as\nTom listened he could hear some one slowly counting. \"Ninety-one,\"\nthe voice began, \"ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five,\nninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one\nhundred and one\"--the slow, monotonous count coming nearer and nearer;\n\"one hundred and two, one hundred and three, one hundred and four,\" and\nso on in its monotonous reckoning.\n\nSuddenly he saw three heads appear above the sand hill, so close to\nhim that he crouched down quickly with a keen thrill, close beside the\nhummock near which he stood. His first fear was that they might have\nseen him in the moonlight; but they had not, and his heart rose again\nas the counting voice went steadily on. \"One hundred and twenty,\" it\nwas saying--\"and twenty-one, and twenty-two, and twenty-three, and\ntwenty-four,\" and then he who was counting came out from behind\nthe little sandy rise into the white and open level of shimmering\nbrightness.\n\nIt was the man with the cane whom Tom had seen some time before the\ncaptain of the party who had landed. He carried his cane under his arm\nnow, and was holding his lantern close to something that he held in his\nhand, and upon which he looked narrowly as he walked with a slow and\nmeasured tread in a perfectly straight line across the sand, counting\neach step as he took it. \"And twenty-five, and twenty-six, and\ntwenty-seven, and twenty-eight, and twenty-nine, and thirty.\"\n\nBehind him walked two other figures; one was the half-naked negro, the\nother the man with the plaited queue and the earrings, whom Tom had seen\nlifting the chest out of the boat. Now they were carrying the heavy box\nbetween them, laboring through the sand with shuffling tread as they\nbore it onward. As he who was counting pronounced the word \"thirty,\"\nthe two men set the chest down on the sand with a grunt, the white\nman panting and blowing and wiping his sleeve across his forehead. And\nimmediately he who counted took out a slip of paper and marked something\ndown upon it. They stood there for a long time, during which Tom lay\nbehind the sand hummock watching them, and for a while the silence was\nuninterrupted. In the perfect stillness Tom could hear the washing of\nthe little waves beating upon the distant beach, and once the far-away\nsound of a laugh from one of those who stood by the ship's boat.\n\nOne, two, three minutes passed, and then the men picked up the chest\nand started on again; and then again the other man began his counting.\n\"Thirty and one, and thirty and two, and thirty and three, and thirty\nand four\"--he walked straight across the level open, still looking\nintently at that which he held in his hand--\"and thirty and five,\nand thirty and six, and thirty and seven,\" and so on, until the three\nfigures disappeared in the little hollow between the two sand hills on\nthe opposite side of the open, and still Tom could hear the sound of the\ncounting voice in the distance.\n\nJust as they disappeared behind the hill there was a sudden faint flash\nof light; and by and by, as Tom lay still listening to the counting,\nhe heard, after a long interval, a far-away muffled rumble of distant\nthunder. He waited for a while, and then arose and stepped to the top\nof the sand hummock behind which he had been lying. He looked all about\nhim, but there was no one else to be seen. Then he stepped down from the\nhummock and followed in the direction which the pirate captain and the\ntwo men carrying the chest had gone. He crept along cautiously, stopping\nnow and then to make sure that he still heard the counting voice, and\nwhen it ceased he lay down upon the sand and waited until it began\nagain.\n\nPresently, so following the pirates, he saw the three figures again in\nthe distance, and, skirting around back of a hill of sand covered with\ncoarse sedge grass, he came to where he overlooked a little open level\nspace gleaming white in the moonlight.\n\nThe three had been crossing the level of sand, and were now not more\nthan twenty-five paces from him. They had again set down the chest, upon\nwhich the white man with the long queue and the gold earrings had seated\nto rest himself, the negro standing close beside him. The moon shone\nas bright as day and full upon his face. It was looking directly at Tom\nChist, every line as keen cut with white lights and black shadows as\nthough it had been carved in ivory and jet. He sat perfectly motionless,\nand Tom drew back with a start, almost thinking he had been discovered.\nHe lay silent, his heart beating heavily in his throat; but there was\nno alarm, and presently he heard the counting begin again, and when he\nlooked once more he saw they were going away straight across the little\nopen. A soft, sliding hillock of sand lay directly in front of them.\nThey did not turn aside, but went straight over it, the leader helping\nhimself up the sandy slope with his cane, still counting and still\nkeeping his eyes fixed upon that which he held in his hand. Then they\ndisappeared again behind the white crest on the other side.\n\nSo Tom followed them cautiously until they had gone almost half a mile\ninland. When next he saw them clearly it was from a little sandy rise\nwhich looked down like the crest of a bowl upon the floor of sand\nbelow. Upon this smooth, white floor the moon beat with almost dazzling\nbrightness.\n\nThe white man who had helped to carry the chest was now kneeling, busied\nat some work, though what it was Tom at first could not see. He was\nwhittling the point of a stick into a long wooden peg, and when, by and\nby, he had finished what he was about, he arose and stepped to where he\nwho seemed to be the captain had stuck his cane upright into the ground\nas though to mark some particular spot. He drew the cane out of the\nsand, thrusting the stick down in its stead. Then he drove the long\npeg down with a wooden mallet which the negro handed to him. The sharp\nrapping of the mallet upon the top of the peg sounded loud the perfect\nstillness, and Tom lay watching and wondering what it all meant. The\nman, with quick-repeated blows, drove the peg farther and farther\ndown into the sand until it showed only two or three inches above the\nsurface. As he finished his work there was another faint flash of light,\nand by and by another smothered rumble of thunder, and Tom, as he looked\nout toward the westward, saw the silver rim of the round and sharply\noutlined thundercloud rising slowly up into the sky and pushing the\nother and broken drifting clouds before it.\n\nThe two white men were now stooping over the peg, the negro man watching\nthem. Then presently the man with the cane started straight away from\nthe peg, carrying the end of a measuring line with him, the other end\nof which the man with the plaited queue held against the top of the peg.\nWhen the pirate captain had reached the end of the measuring line he\nmarked a cross upon the sand, and then again they measured out another\nstretch of space.\n\nSo they measured a distance five times over, and then, from where Tom\nlay, he could see the man with the queue drive another peg just at the\nfoot of a sloping rise of sand that swept up beyond into a tall white\ndune marked sharp and clear against the night sky behind. As soon as\nthe man with the plaited queue had driven the second peg into the ground\nthey began measuring again, and so, still measuring, disappeared in\nanother direction which took them in behind the sand dune where Tom no\nlonger could see what they were doing.\n\nThe negro still sat by the chest where the two had left him, and so\nbright was the moonlight that from where he lay Tom could see the glint\nof it twinkling in the whites of his eyeballs.\n\nPresently from behind the hill there came, for the third time, the sharp\nrapping sound of the mallet driving still another peg, and then after a\nwhile the two pirates emerged from behind the sloping whiteness into the\nspace of moonlight again.\n\nThey came direct to where the chest lay, and the white man and the black\nman lifting it once more, they walked away across the level of open\nsand, and so on behind the edge of the hill and out of Tom's sight.\n\n\nIII\n\nTom Chist could no longer see what the pirates were doing, neither did\nhe dare to cross over the open space of sand that now lay between\nthem and him. He lay there speculating as to what they were about, and\nmeantime the storm cloud was rising higher and higher above the horizon,\nwith louder and louder mutterings of thunder following each dull flash\nfrom out the cloudy, cavernous depths. In the silence he could hear\nan occasional click as of some iron implement, and he opined that the\npirates were burying the chest, though just where they were at work he\ncould neither see nor tell.\n\nStill he lay there watching and listening, and by and by a puff of warm\nair blew across the sand, and a thumping tumble of louder thunder leaped\nfrom out the belly of the storm cloud, which every minute was coming\nnearer and nearer. Still Tom Chist lay watching.\n\nSuddenly, almost unexpectedly, the three figures reappeared from behind\nthe sand hill, the pirate captain leading the way, and the negro and\nwhite man following close behind him. They had gone about halfway across\nthe white, sandy level between the hill and the hummock behind which Tom\nChist lay, when the white man stopped and bent over as though to tie his\nshoe.\n\nThis brought the negro a few steps in front of his companion.\n\nThat which then followed happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so\nswiftly, that Tom Chist had hardly time to realize what it all meant\nbefore it was over. As the negro passed him the white man arose suddenly\nand silently erect, and Tom Chist saw the white moonlight glint upon the\nblade of a great dirk knife which he now held in his hand. He took one,\ntwo silent, catlike steps behind the unsuspecting negro. Then there was\na sweeping flash of the blade in the pallid light, and a blow, the thump\nof which Tom could distinctly hear even from where he lay stretched out\nupon the sand. There was an instant echoing yell from the black man, who\nran stumbling forward, who stopped, who regained his footing, and then\nstood for an instant as though rooted to the spot.\n\nTom had distinctly seen the knife enter his back, and even thought that\nhe had seen the glint of the point as it came out from the breast.\n\nMeantime the pirate captain had stopped, and now stood with his hand\nresting upon his cane looking impassively on.\n\nThen the black man started to run. The white man stood for a while\nglaring after him; then he, too, started after his victim upon the run.\nThe black man was not very far from Tom when he staggered and fell.\nHe tried to rise, then fell forward again, and lay at length. At that\ninstant the first edge of the cloud cut across the moon, and there was a\nsudden darkness; but in the silence Tom heard the sound of another blow\nand a groan, and then presently a voice calling to the pirate captain\nthat it was all over.\n\nHe saw the dim form of the captain crossing the level sand, and then, as\nthe moon sailed out from behind the cloud, he saw the white man standing\nover a black figure that lay motionless upon the sand.\n\nThen Tom Chist scrambled up and ran away, plunging down into the hollow\nof sand that lay in the shadows below. Over the next rise he ran, and\ndown again into the next black hollow, and so on over the sliding,\nshifting ground, panting and gasping. It seemed to him that he could\nhear footsteps following, and in the terror that possessed him he almost\nexpected every instant to feel the cold knife blade slide between his\nown ribs in such a thrust from behind as he had seen given to the poor\nblack man.\n\nSo he ran on like one in a nightmare. His feet grew heavy like lead, he\npanted and gasped, his breath came hot and dry in his throat. But still\nhe ran and ran until at last he found himself in front of old Matt\nAbrahamson's cabin, gasping, panting, and sobbing for breath, his knees\nrelaxed and his thighs trembling with weakness.\n\nAs he opened the door and dashed into the darkened cabin (for both Matt\nand Molly were long ago asleep in bed) there was a flash of light, and\neven as he slammed to the door behind him there was an instant peal of\nthunder, heavy as though a great weight had been dropped upon the roof\nof the sky, so that the doors and windows of the cabin rattled.\n\n\nIV\n\nThen Tom Chist crept to bed, trembling, shuddering, bathed in sweat, his\nheart beating like a trip hammer, and his brain dizzy from that long,\nterror-inspired race through the soft sand in which he had striven to\noutstrip he knew not what pursuing horror.\n\nFor a long, long time he lay awake, trembling and chattering with\nnervous chills, and when he did fall asleep it was only to drop into\nmonstrous dreams in which he once again saw ever enacted, with various\ngrotesque variations, the tragic drama which his waking eyes had beheld\nthe night before.\n\nThen came the dawning of the broad, wet daylight, and before the rising\nof the sun Tom was up and out of doors to find the young day dripping\nwith the rain of overnight.\n\nHis first act was to climb the nearest sand hill and to gaze out toward\nthe offing where the pirate ship had been the day before.\n\nIt was no longer there.\n\nSoon afterward Matt Abrahamson came out of the cabin and he called\nto Tom to go get a bite to eat, for it was time for them to be away\nfishing.\n\nAll that morning the recollection of the night before hung over Tom\nChist like a great cloud of boding trouble. It filled the confined area\nof the little boat and spread over the entire wide spaces of sky and sea\nthat surrounded them. Not for a moment was it lifted. Even when he was\nhauling in his wet and dripping line with a struggling fish at the end\nof it a recurrent memory of what he had seen would suddenly come upon\nhim, and he would groan in spirit at the recollection. He looked at Matt\nAbrahamson's leathery face, at his lantern jaws cavernously and stolidly\nchewing at a tobacco leaf, and it seemed monstrous to him that the old\nman should be so unconscious of the black cloud that wrapped them all\nabout.\n\nWhen the boat reached the shore again he leaped scrambling to the beach,\nand as soon as his dinner was eaten he hurried away to find the Dominie\nJones.\n\nHe ran all the way from Abrahamson's hut to the parson's house, hardly\nstopping once, and when he knocked at the door he was panting and\nsobbing for breath.\n\nThe good man was sitting on the back-kitchen doorstep smoking his\nlong pipe of tobacco out into the sunlight, while his wife within was\nrattling about among the pans and dishes in preparation of their supper,\nof which a strong, porky smell already filled the air.\n\nThen Tom Chist told his story, panting, hurrying, tumbling one word over\nanother in his haste, and Parson Jones listened, breaking every now and\nthen into an ejaculation of wonder. The light in his pipe went out and\nthe bowl turned cold.\n\n\"And I don't see why they should have killed the poor black man,\" said\nTom, as he finished his narrative.\n\n\"Why, that is very easy enough to understand,\" said the good reverend\nman. \"'Twas a treasure box they buried!\"\n\nIn his agitation Mr. Jones had risen from his seat and was now stumping\nup and down, puffing at his empty tobacco pipe as though it were still\nalight.\n\n\"A treasure box!\" cried out Tom.\n\n\"Aye, a treasure box! And that was why they killed the poor black man.\nHe was the only one, d'ye see, besides they two who knew the place\nwhere 'twas hid, and now that they've killed him out of the way, there's\nnobody but themselves knows. The villains--Tut, tut, look at that now!\"\nIn his excitement the dominie had snapped the stem of his tobacco pipe\nin two.\n\n\"Why, then,\" said Tom, \"if that is so, 'tis indeed a wicked, bloody\ntreasure, and fit to bring a curse upon anybody who finds it!\"\n\n\"'Tis more like to bring a curse upon the soul who buried it,\" said\nParson Jones, \"and it may be a blessing to him who finds it. But tell\nme, Tom, do you think you could find the place again where 'twas hid?\"\n\n\"I can't tell that,\" said Tom, \"'twas all in among the sand humps, d'ye\nsee, and it was at night into the bargain. Maybe we could find the marks\nof their feet in the sand,\" he added.\n\n\"'Tis not likely,\" said the reverend gentleman, \"for the storm last\nnight would have washed all that away.\"\n\n\"I could find the place,\" said Tom, \"where the boat was drawn up on the\nbeach.\"\n\n\"Why, then, that's something to start from, Tom,\" said his friend. \"If\nwe can find that, then maybe we can find whither they went from there.\"\n\n\"If I was certain it was a treasure box,\" cried out Tom Chist, \"I would\nrake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to find it.\"\n\n\"'Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack,\" said the Rev. Hilary\nJones.\n\nAs Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton's weight of gloom had\nbeen rolled away from his soul. The next day he and Parson Jones were to\ngo treasure-hunting together; it seemed to Tom as though he could hardly\nwait for the time to come.\n\n\nV\n\nThe next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off together upon\nthe expedition that made Tom's fortune forever. Tom carried a spade over\nhis shoulder and the reverend gentleman walked along beside him with his\ncane.\n\nAs they jogged along up the beach they talked together about the only\nthing they could talk about--the treasure box. \"And how big did you say\n'twas?\" quoth the good gentleman.\n\n\"About so long,\" said Tom Chist, measuring off upon the spade, \"and\nabout so wide, and this deep.\"\n\n\"And what if it should be full of money, Tom?\" said the reverend\ngentleman, swinging his cane around and around in wide circles in the\nexcitement of the thought, as he strode along briskly. \"Suppose it\nshould be full of money, what then?\"\n\n\"By Moses!\" said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend, \"I'd\nbuy a ship for myself, I would, and I'd trade to Injyy and to Chiny to\nmy own boot, I would. Suppose the chist was all full of money, sir, and\nsuppose we should find it; would there be enough in it, d'ye suppose, to\nbuy a ship?\"\n\n\"To be sure there would be enough, Tom, enough and to spare, and a good\nbig lump over.\"\n\n\"And if I find it 'tis mine to keep, is it, and no mistake?\"\n\n\"Why, to be sure it would be yours!\" cried out the parson, in a loud\nvoice. \"To be sure it would be yours!\" He knew nothing of the law, but\nthe doubt of the question began at once to ferment in his brain, and he\nstrode along in silence for a while. \"Whose else would it be but yours\nif you find it?\" he burst out. \"Can you tell me that?\"\n\n\"If ever I have a ship of my own,\" said Tom Chist, \"and if ever I sail\nto Injy in her, I'll fetch ye back the best chist of tea, sir, that ever\nwas fetched from Cochin Chiny.\"\n\nParson Jones burst out laughing. \"Thankee, Tom,\" he said; \"and I'll\nthankee again when I get my chist of tea. But tell me, Tom, didst thou\never hear of the farmer girl who counted her chickens before they were\nhatched?\"\n\nIt was thus they talked as they hurried along up the beach together,\nand so came to a place at last where Tom stopped short and stood looking\nabout him. \"'Twas just here,\" he said, \"I saw the boat last night. I\nknow 'twas here, for I mind me of that bit of wreck yonder, and that\nthere was a tall stake drove in the sand just where yon stake stands.\"\n\nParson Jones put on his barnacles and went over to the stake toward\nwhich Tom pointed. As soon as he had looked at it carefully he called\nout: \"Why, Tom, this hath been just drove down into the sand. 'Tis\na brand-new stake of wood, and the pirates must have set it here\nthemselves as a mark, just as they drove the pegs you spoke about down\ninto the sand.\"\n\nTom came over and looked at the stake. It was a stout piece of oak\nnearly two inches thick; it had been shaped with some care, and the top\nof it had been painted red. He shook the stake and tried to move it, but\nit had been driven or planted so deeply into the sand that he could not\nstir it. \"Aye, sir,\" he said, \"it must have been set here for a mark,\nfor I'm sure 'twas not here yesterday or the day before.\" He stood\nlooking about him to see if there were other signs of the pirates'\npresence. At some little distance there was the corner of something\nwhite sticking up out of the sand. He could see that it was a scrap of\npaper, and he pointed to it, calling out: \"Yonder is a piece of paper,\nsir. I wonder if they left that behind them?\"\n\nIt was a miraculous chance that placed that paper there. There was only\nan inch of it showing, and if it had not been for Tom's sharp eyes, it\nwould certainly have been overlooked and passed by. The next windstorm\nwould have covered it up, and all that afterward happened never would\nhave occurred. \"Look, sir,\" he said, as he struck the sand from it, \"it\nhath writing on it.\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" said Parson Jones. He adjusted the spectacles a little\nmore firmly astride of his nose as he took the paper in his hand and\nbegan conning it. \"What's all this?\" he said; \"a whole lot of figures\nand nothing else.\" And then he read aloud, \"'Mark--S. S. W. S. by S.'\nWhat d'ye suppose that means, Tom?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir,\" said Tom. \"But maybe we can understand it better if\nyou read on.\"\n\n\"'Tis all a great lot of figures,\" said Parson Jones, \"without a\ngrain of meaning in them so far as I can see, unless they be sailing\ndirections.\" And then he began reading again: \"'Mark--S. S. W. by S. 40,\n72, 91, 130, 151, 177, 202, 232, 256, 271'--d'ye see, it must be sailing\ndirections--'299, 335, 362, 386, 415, 446, 469, 491, 522, 544, 571,\n598'--what a lot of them there be '626, 652, 676, 695, 724, 851, 876,\n905, 940, 967. Peg. S. E. by E. 269 foot. Peg. S. S. W. by S. 427 foot.\nPeg. Dig to the west of this six foot.'\"\n\n\"What's that about a peg?\" exclaimed Tom. \"What's that about a peg? And\nthen there's something about digging, too!\" It was as though a sudden\nlight began shining into his brain. He felt himself growing quickly very\nexcited. \"Read that over again, sir,\" he cried. \"Why, sir, you remember\nI told you they drove a peg into the sand. And don't they say to dig\nclose to it? Read it over again, sir--read it over again!\"\n\n\"Peg?\" said the good gentleman. \"To be sure it was about a peg. Let's\nlook again. Yes, here it is. 'Peg S. E. by E. 269 foot.'\"\n\n\"Aye!\" cried out Tom Chist again, in great excitement. \"Don't you\nremember what I told you, sir, 269 foot? Sure that must be what I saw\n'em measuring with the line.\"\n\nParson Jones had now caught the flame of excitement that was blazing up\nso strongly in Tom's breast. He felt as though some wonderful thing was\nabout to happen to them. \"To be sure, to be sure!\" he called out, in a\ngreat big voice. \"And then they measured out 427 foot south-southwest by\nsouth, and they then drove another peg, and then they buried the box\nsix foot to the west of it. Why, Tom--why, Tom Chist! if we've read this\naright, thy fortune is made.\"\n\nTom Chist stood staring straight at the old gentleman's excited face,\nand seeing nothing but it in all the bright infinity of sunshine. Were\nthey, indeed, about to find the treasure chest? He felt the sun very hot\nupon his shoulders, and he heard the harsh, insistent jarring of a tern\nthat hovered and circled with forked tail and sharp white wings in the\nsunlight just above their heads; but all the time he stood staring into\nthe good old gentleman's face.\n\nIt was Parson Jones who first spoke. \"But what do all these figures\nmean?\" And Tom observed how the paper shook and rustled in the tremor of\nexcitement that shook his hand. He raised the paper to the focus of his\nspectacles and began to read again. \"'Mark 40, 72, 91--'\"\n\n\"Mark?\" cried out Tom, almost screaming. \"Why, that must mean the stake\nyonder; that must be the mark.\" And he pointed to the oaken stick with\nits red tip blazing against the white shimmer of sand behind it.\n\n\"And the 40 and 72 and 91,\" cried the old gentleman, in a voice equally\nshrill--\"why, that must mean the number of steps the pirate was counting\nwhen you heard him.\"\n\n\"To be sure that's what they mean!\" cried Tom Chist. \"That is it, and\nit can be nothing else. Oh, come, sir--come, sir; let us make haste and\nfind it!\"\n\n\"Stay! stay!\" said the good gentleman, holding up his hand; and again\nTom Chist noticed how it trembled and shook. His voice was steady\nenough, though very hoarse, but his hand shook and trembled as\nthough with a palsy. \"Stay! stay! First of all, we must follow these\nmeasurements. And 'tis a marvelous thing,\" he croaked, after a little\npause, \"how this paper ever came to be here.\"\n\n\"Maybe it was blown here by the storm,\" suggested Tom Chist.\n\n\"Like enough; like enough,\" said Parson Jones. \"Like enough, after the\nwretches had buried the chest and killed the poor black man, they were\nso buffeted and bowsed about by the storm that it was shook out of the\nman's pocket, and thus blew away from him without his knowing aught of\nit.\"\n\n\"But let us find the box!\" cried out Tom Chist, flaming with his\nexcitement.\n\n\"Aye, aye,\" said the good man; \"only stay a little, my boy, until we\nmake sure what we're about. I've got my pocket compass here, but we must\nhave something to measure off the feet when we have found the peg. You\nrun across to Tom Brooke's house and fetch that measuring rod he used\nto lay out his new byre. While you're gone I'll pace off the distance\nmarked on the paper with my pocket compass here.\"\n\n\nVI\n\nTom Chist was gone for almost an hour, though he ran nearly all the\nway and back, upborne as on the wings of the wind. When he returned,\npanting, Parson Jones was nowhere to be seen, but Tom saw his footsteps\nleading away inland, and he followed the scuffling marks in the smooth\nsurface across the sand humps and down into the hollows, and by and by\nfound the good gentleman in a spot he at once knew as soon as he laid\nhis eyes upon it.\n\nIt was the open space where the pirates had driven their first peg, and\nwhere Tom Chist had afterward seen them kill the poor black man. Tom\nChist gazed around as though expecting to see some sign of the tragedy,\nbut the space was as smooth and as undisturbed as a floor, excepting\nwhere, midway across it, Parson Jones, who was now stooping over\nsomething on the ground, had trampled it all around about.\n\nWhen Tom Chist saw him he was still bending over, scraping away from\nsomething he had found.\n\nIt was the first peg!\n\nInside of half an hour they had found the second and third pegs, and Tom\nChist stripped off his coat, and began digging like mad down into the\nsand, Parson Jones standing over him watching him. The sun was sloping\nwell toward the west when the blade of Tom Chist's spade struck upon\nsomething hard.\n\nIf it had been his own heart that he had hit in the sand his breast\ncould hardly have thrilled more sharply.\n\nIt was the treasure box!\n\nParson Jones himself leaped down into the hole, and began scraping away\nthe sand with his hands as though he had gone crazy. At last, with some\ndifficulty, they tugged and hauled the chest up out of the sand to the\nsurface, where it lay covered all over with the grit that clung to it.\nIt was securely locked and fastened with a padlock, and it took a good\nmany blows with the blade of the spade to burst the bolt. Parson Jones\nhimself lifted the lid. Tom Chist leaned forward and gazed down into the\nopen box. He would not have been surprised to have seen it filled full\nof yellow gold and bright jewels. It was filled half full of books and\npapers, and half full of canvas bags tied safely and securely around and\naround with cords of string.\n\nParson Jones lifted out one of the bags, and it jingled as he did so. It\nwas full of money.\n\nHe cut the string, and with trembling, shaking hands handed the bag to\nTom, who, in an ecstasy of wonder and dizzy with delight, poured out\nwith swimming sight upon the coat spread on the ground a cataract of\nshining silver money that rang and twinkled and jingled as it fell in a\nshining heap upon the coarse cloth.\n\nParson Jones held up both hands into the air, and Tom stared at what he\nsaw, wondering whether it was all so, and whether he was really awake.\nIt seemed to him as though he was in a dream.\n\nThere were two-and-twenty bags in all in the chest: ten of them full of\nsilver money, eight of them full of gold money, three of them full of\ngold dust, and one small bag with jewels wrapped up in wad cotton and\npaper.\n\n\"'Tis enough,\" cried out Parson Jones, \"to make us both rich men as long\nas we live.\"\n\nThe burning summer sun, though sloping in the sky, beat down upon them\nas hot as fire; but neither of them noticed it. Neither did they notice\nhunger nor thirst nor fatigue, but sat there as though in a trance, with\nthe bags of money scattered on the sand around them, a great pile of\nmoney heaped upon the coat, and the open chest beside them. It was an\nhour of sundown before Parson Jones had begun fairly to examine the\nbooks and papers in the chest.\n\nOf the three books, two were evidently log books of the pirates who had\nbeen lying off the mouth of the Delaware Bay all this time. The other\nbook was written in Spanish, and was evidently the log book of some\ncaptured prize.\n\nIt was then, sitting there upon the sand, the good old gentleman reading\nin his high, cracking voice, that they first learned from the bloody\nrecords in those two books who it was who had been lying inside the Cape\nall this time, and that it was the famous Captain Kidd. Every now and\nthen the reverend gentleman would stop to exclaim, \"Oh, the bloody\nwretch!\" or, \"Oh, the desperate, cruel villains!\" and then would go on\nreading again a scrap here and a scrap there.\n\nAnd all the while Tom Chist sat and listened, every now and then\nreaching out furtively and touching the heap of money still lying upon\nthe coat.\n\nOne might be inclined to wonder why Captain Kidd had kept those bloody\nrecords. He had probably laid them away because they so incriminated\nmany of the great people of the colony of New York that, with the\nbooks in evidence, it would have been impossible to bring the pirate to\njustice without dragging a dozen or more fine gentlemen into the dock\nalong with him. If he could have kept them in his own possession they\nwould doubtless have been a great weapon of defense to protect him from\nthe gallows. Indeed, when Captain Kidd was finally brought to conviction\nand hung, he was not accused of his piracies, but of striking a mutinous\nseaman upon the head with a bucket and accidentally killing him. The\nauthorities did not dare try him for piracy. He was really hung because\nhe was a pirate, and we know that it was the log books that Tom Chist\nbrought to New York that did the business for him; he was accused and\nconvicted of manslaughter for killing of his own ship carpenter with a\nbucket.\n\nSo Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read through these\nterrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile of gold and silver\nmoney beside him, sat and listened to him.\n\nWhat a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were alone,\nwith the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide white stretch of\nsand a desert around them. The sun sank lower and lower, until there was\nonly time to glance through the other papers in the chest.\n\nThey were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor of\ncertain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson Jones, as he\nread over the names, knew of nearly all the gentlemen by hearsay. Aye,\nhere was this gentleman; he thought that name would be among 'em. What?\nHere is Mr. So-and-so. Well, if all they say is true, the villain has\nrobbed one of his own best friends. \"I wonder,\" he said, \"why the\nwretch should have hidden these papers so carefully away with the other\ntreasures, for they could do him no good?\" Then, answering his own\nquestion: \"Like enough because these will give him a hold over the\ngentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a good bargain for\nhis own neck before he gives the bills back to their owners. I tell you\nwhat it is, Tom,\" he continued, \"it is you yourself shall go to New York\nand bargain for the return of these papers. 'Twill be as good as another\nfortune to you.\"\n\nThe majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard\nChillingsworth, Esquire. \"And he is,\" said Parson Jones, \"one of the\nrichest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him with the\nnews of what we have found.\"\n\n\"When shall I go?\" said Tom Chist.\n\n\"You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch,\" said the parson.\nHe had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and was now\nfingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out upon the coat.\n\"I wonder, Tom,\" said he, \"if you could spare me a score or so of these\ndoubloons?\"\n\n\"You shall have fifty score, if you choose,\" said Tom, bursting with\ngratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure.\n\n\"You are as fine a lad as ever I saw, Tom,\" said the parson, \"and I'll\nthank you to the last day of my life.\"\n\nTom scooped up a double handful of silver money. \"Take it sir,\" he\nsaid, \"and you may have as much more as you want of it.\"\n\nHe poured it into the dish that the good man made of his hands, and\nthe parson made a motion as though to empty it into his pocket. Then\nhe stopped, as though a sudden doubt had occurred to him. \"I don't know\nthat 'tis fit for me to take this pirate money, after all,\" he said.\n\n\"But you are welcome to it,\" said Tom.\n\nStill the parson hesitated. \"Nay,\" he burst out, \"I'll not take it; 'tis\nblood money.\" And as he spoke he chucked the whole double handful into\nthe now empty chest, then arose and dusted the sand from his breeches.\nThen, with a great deal of bustling energy, he helped to tie the bags\nagain and put them all back into the chest.\n\nThey reburied the chest in the place whence they had taken it, and then\nthe parson folded the precious paper of directions, placed it carefully\nin his wallet, and his wallet in his pocket. \"Tom,\" he said, for the\ntwentieth time, \"your fortune has been made this day.\"\n\nAnd Tom Chist, as he rattled in his breeches pocket the half dozen\ndoubloons he had kept out of his treasure, felt that what his friend had\nsaid was true.\n\nAs the two went back homeward across the level space of sand Tom Chist\nsuddenly stopped stock-still and stood looking about him. \"'Twas just\nhere,\" he said, digging his heel down into the sand, \"that they killed\nthe poor black man.\"\n\n\"And here he lies buried for all time,\" said Parson Jones; and as he\nspoke he dug his cane down into the sand. Tom Chist shuddered. He would\nnot have been surprised if the ferrule of the cane had struck something\nsoft beneath that level surface. But it did not, nor was any sign of\nthat tragedy ever seen again. For, whether the pirates had carried away\nwhat they had done and buried it elsewhere, or whether the storm in\nblowing the sand had completely leveled off and hidden all sign of that\ntragedy where it was enacted, certain it is that it never came to sight\nagain--at least so far as Tom Chist and the Rev. Hilary Jones ever knew.\n\n\nVII\n\nThis is the story of the treasure box. All that remains now is to\nconclude the story of Tom Chist, and to tell of what came of him in the\nend.\n\nHe did not go back again to live with old Matt Abrahamson. Parson Jones\nhad now taken charge of him and his fortunes, and Tom did not have to go\nback to the fisherman's hut.\n\nOld Abrahamson talked a great deal about it, and would come in his cups\nand harangue good Parson Jones, making a vast protestation of what he\nwould do to Tom--if he ever caught him--for running away. But Tom on all\nthese occasions kept carefully out of his way, and nothing came of the\nold man's threatenings.\n\nTom used to go over to see his foster mother now and then, but always\nwhen the old man was from home. And Molly Abrahamson used to warn him\nto keep out of her father's way. \"He's in as vile a humor as ever I see,\nTom,\" she said; \"he sits sulking all day long, and 'tis my belief he'd\nkill ye if he caught ye.\"\n\nOf course Tom said nothing, even to her, about the treasure, and he and\nthe reverend gentleman kept the knowledge thereof to themselves. About\nthree weeks later Parson Jones managed to get him shipped aboard of a\nvessel bound for New York town, and a few days later Tom Chist landed\nat that place. He had never been in such a town before, and he could\nnot sufficiently wonder and marvel at the number of brick houses, at\nthe multitude of people coming and going along the fine, hard, earthen\nsidewalk, at the shops and the stores where goods hung in the windows,\nand, most of all, the fortifications and the battery at the point,\nat the rows of threatening cannon, and at the scarlet-coated sentries\npacing up and down the ramparts. All this was very wonderful, and so\nwere the clustered boats riding at anchor in the harbor. It was like a\nnew world, so different was it from the sand hills and the sedgy levels\nof Henlopen.\n\nTom Chist took up his lodgings at a coffee house near to the town hall,\nand thence he sent by the postboy a letter written by Parson Jones\nto Master Chillingsworth. In a little while the boy returned with\na message, asking Tom to come up to Mr. Chillingsworth's house that\nafternoon at two o'clock.\n\nTom went thither with a great deal of trepidation, and his heart fell\naway altogether when he found it a fine, grand brick house, three\nstories high, and with wrought-iron letters across the front.\n\nThe counting house was in the same building; but Tom, because of Mr.\nJones's letter, was conducted directly into the parlor, where the great\nrich man was awaiting his coming. He was sitting in a leather-covered\narmchair, smoking a pipe of tobacco, and with a bottle of fine old\nMadeira close to his elbow.\n\nTom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so he\ncut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him from\nHenlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of his\nappearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked.\n\n\"Well, my lad,\" he said, \"and what is this great thing you have to\ntell me that is so mightily wonderful? I got what's-his-name--Mr.\nJones's--letter, and now I am ready to hear what you have to say.\"\n\nBut if he thought but little of his visitor's appearance at first, he\nsoon changed his sentiments toward him, for Tom had not spoken twenty\nwords when Mr. Chillingsworth's whole aspect changed. He straightened\nhimself up in his seat, laid aside his pipe, pushed away his glass of\nMadeira, and bade Tom take a chair.\n\nHe listened without a word as Tom Chist told of the buried treasure, of\nhow he had seen the poor negro murdered, and of how he and Parson\nJones had recovered the chest again. Only once did Mr. Chillingsworth\ninterrupt the narrative. \"And to think,\" he cried, \"that the villain\nthis very day walks about New York town as though he were an honest man,\nruffling it with the best of us! But if we can only get hold of these\nlog books you speak of. Go on; tell me more of this.\"\n\nWhen Tom Chist's narrative was ended, Mr. Chillingsworth's bearing was\nas different as daylight is from dark. He asked a thousand questions,\nall in the most polite and gracious tone imaginable, and not only urged\na glass of his fine old Madeira upon Tom, but asked him to stay\nto supper. There was nobody to be there, he said, but his wife and\ndaughter.\n\nTom, all in a panic at the very thought of the two ladies, sturdily\nrefused to stay even for the dish of tea Mr. Chillingsworth offered him.\n\nHe did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he should\nlive.\n\n\"And now,\" said Mr. Chillingsworth, \"tell me about yourself.\"\n\n\"I have nothing to tell, Your Honor,\" said Tom, \"except that I was\nwashed up out of the sea.\"\n\n\"Washed up out of the sea!\" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. \"Why, how was\nthat? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all.\"\n\nThereupon Tom Chist did as he was bidden, beginning at the very\nbeginning and telling everything just as Molly Abrahamson had often told\nit to him. As he continued, Mr. Chillingsworth's interest changed into\nan appearance of stronger and stronger excitement. Suddenly he jumped up\nout of his chair and began to walk up and down the room.\n\n\"Stop! stop!\" he cried out at last, in the midst of something Tom was\nsaying. \"Stop! stop! Tell me; do you know the name of the vessel that\nwas wrecked, and from which you were washed ashore?\"\n\n\"I've heard it said,\" said Tom Chist, \"'twas the Bristol Merchant.\"\n\n\"I knew it! I knew it!\" exclaimed the great man, in a loud voice,\nflinging his hands up into the air. \"I felt it was so the moment you\nbegan the story. But tell me this, was there nothing found with you with\na mark or a name upon it?\"\n\n\"There was a kerchief,\" said Tom, \"marked with a T and a C.\"\n\n\"Theodosia Chillingsworth!\" cried out the merchant. \"I knew it! I knew\nit! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening as this! Boy!\nboy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own brother's son. His\nname was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business,\nand thou art his son.\" Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting and\ncalling for his wife and daughter to come.\n\nSo Tom Chist--or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called--did\nstay to supper, after all.\n\nThis is the story, and I hope you may like it. For Tom Chist became\nrich and great, as was to be supposed, and he married his pretty cousin\nTheodosia (who had been named for his own mother, drowned in the Bristol\nMerchant).\n\nHe did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to New York\nto live.\n\nAs to Molly and Matt Abrahamson, they both enjoyed a pension of ten\npounds a year for as long as they lived; for now that all was well with\nhim, Tom bore no grudge against the old fisherman for all the drubbings\nhe had suffered.\n\nThe treasure box was brought on to New York, and if Tom Chist did not\nget all the money there was in it (as Parson Jones had opined he would)\nhe got at least a good big lump of it.\n\nAnd it is my belief that those log books did more to get Captain Kidd\narrested in Boston town and hanged in London than anything else that was\nbrought up against him.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V. JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES\n\n\nI\n\nWE, of these times, protected as we are by the laws and by the number\nof people about us, can hardly comprehend such a life as that of the\nAmerican colonies in the early part of the eighteenth century, when\nit was possible for a pirate like Capt. Teach, known as Blackbeard, to\nexist, and for the governor and the secretary of the province in which\nhe lived perhaps to share his plunder, and to shelter and to protect him\nagainst the law.\n\nAt that time the American colonists were in general a rough, rugged\npeople, knowing nothing of the finer things of life. They lived mostly\nin little settlements, separated by long distances from one another,\nso that they could neither make nor enforce laws to protect themselves.\nEach man or little group of men had to depend upon his or their own\nstrength to keep what belonged to them, and to prevent fierce men or\ngroups of men from seizing what did not belong to them.\n\nIt is the natural disposition of everyone to get all that he can. Little\nchildren, for instance, always try to take away from others that which\nthey want, and to keep it for their own. It is only by constant teaching\nthat they learn that they must not do so; that they must not take\nby force what does not belong to them. So it is only by teaching and\ntraining that people learn to be honest and not to take what is not\ntheirs. When this teaching is not sufficient to make a man learn to be\nhonest, or when there is something in the man's nature that makes him\nnot able to learn, then he only lacks the opportunity to seize upon the\nthings he wants, just as he would do if he were a little child.\n\nIn the colonies at that time, as was just said, men were too few and\nscattered to protect themselves against those who had made up their\nminds to take by force that which they wanted, and so it was that men\nlived an unrestrained and lawless life, such as we of these times of\nbetter government can hardly comprehend.\n\nThe usual means of commerce between province and province was by water\nin coasting vessels. These coasting vessels were so defenseless, and the\ndifferent colonial governments were so ill able to protect them,\nthat those who chose to rob them could do it almost without danger to\nthemselves.\n\nSo it was that all the western world was, in those days, infested\nwith armed bands of cruising freebooters or pirates, who used to stop\nmerchant vessels and take from them what they chose.\n\nEach province in those days was ruled over by a royal governor appointed\nby the king. Each governor, at one time, was free to do almost as he\npleased in his own province. He was accountable only to the king and his\ngovernment, and England was so distant that he was really responsible\nalmost to nobody but himself.\n\nThe governors were naturally just as desirous to get rich quickly,\njust as desirous of getting all that they could for themselves, as was\nanybody else only they had been taught and had been able to learn that\nit was not right to be an actual pirate or robber. They wanted to be\nrich easily and quickly, but the desire was not strong enough to lead\nthem to dishonor themselves in their own opinion and in the opinion of\nothers by gratifying their selfishness. They would even have stopped\nthe pirates from doing what they did if they could, but their provincial\ngovernments were too weak to prevent the freebooters from robbing\nmerchant vessels, or to punish them when they came ashore. The provinces\nhad no navies, and they really had no armies; neither were there enough\npeople living within the community to enforce the laws against those\nstronger and fiercer men who were not honest.\n\nAfter the things the pirates seized from merchant vessels were once\nstolen they were altogether lost. Almost never did any owner apply for\nthem, for it would be useless to do so. The stolen goods and merchandise\nlay in the storehouses of the pirates, seemingly without any owner\nexcepting the pirates themselves.\n\nThe governors and the secretaries of the colonies would not dishonor\nthemselves by pirating upon merchant vessels, but it did not seem so\nwicked after the goods were stolen--and so altogether lost--to take a\npart of that which seemed to have no owner.\n\nA child is taught that it is a very wicked thing to take, for instance,\nby force, a lump of sugar from another child; but when a wicked child\nhas seized the sugar from another and taken it around the corner, and\nthat other child from whom he has seized it has gone home crying, it\ndoes not seem so wicked for the third child to take a bite of the sugar\nwhen it is offered to him, even if he thinks it has been taken from some\none else.\n\nIt was just so, no doubt, that it did not seem so wicked to Governor\nEden and Secretary Knight of North Carolina, or to Governor Fletcher of\nNew York, or to other colonial governors, to take a part of the booty\nthat the pirates, such as Blackbeard, had stolen. It did not even seem\nvery wicked to compel such pirates to give up a part of what was not\ntheirs, and which seemed to have no owner.\n\nIn Governor Eden's time, however, the colonies had begun to be more\nthickly peopled, and the laws had gradually become stronger and stronger\nto protect men in the possession of what was theirs. Governor Eden was\nthe last of the colonial governors who had dealings with the pirates,\nand Blackbeard was almost the last of the pirates who, with his banded\nmen, was savage and powerful enough to come and go as he chose among the\npeople whom he plundered.\n\nVirginia, at that time, was the greatest and the richest of all the\nAmerican colonies, and upon the farther side of North Carolina was\nthe province of South Carolina, also strong and rich. It was these two\ncolonies that suffered the most from Blackbeard, and it began to be\nthat the honest men that lived in them could endure no longer to be\nplundered.\n\nThe merchants and traders and others who suffered cried out loudly for\nprotection, so loudly that the governors of these provinces could not\nhelp hearing them.\n\nGovernor Eden was petitioned to act against the pirates, but he would\ndo nothing, for he felt very friendly toward Blackbeard--just as a child\nwho has had a taste of the stolen sugar feels friendly toward the child\nwho gives it to him.\n\nAt last, when Blackbeard sailed up into the very heart of Virginia,\nand seized upon and carried away the daughter of that colony's foremost\npeople, the governor of Virginia, finding that the governor of North\nCarolina would do nothing to punish the outrage, took the matter into\nhis own hands and issued a proclamation offering a reward of one hundred\npounds for Blackbeard, alive or dead, and different sums for the other\npirates who were his followers.\n\nGovernor Spottiswood had the right to issue the proclamation, but he had\nno right to commission Lieutenant Maynard, as he did, to take down an\narmed force into the neighboring province and to attack the pirates in\nthe waters of the North Carolina sounds. It was all a part of the rude\nand lawless condition of the colonies at the time that such a thing\ncould have been done.\n\nThe governor's proclamation against the pirates was issued upon the\neleventh day of November. It was read in the churches the Sunday\nfollowing and was posted upon the doors of all the government custom\noffices in lower Virginia. Lieutenant Maynard, in the boats that Colonel\nParker had already fitted out to go against the pirates, set sail upon\nthe seventeenth of the month for Ocracoke. Five days later the battle\nwas fought.\n\nBlackbeard's sloop was lying inside of Ocracoke Inlet among the\nshoals and sand bars when he first heard of Governor Spottiswood's\nproclamation.\n\nThere had been a storm, and a good many vessels had run into the\ninlet for shelter. Blackbeard knew nearly all of the captains of these\nvessels, and it was from them that he first heard of the proclamation.\n\nHe had gone aboard one of the vessels--a coaster from Boston. The wind\nwas still blowing pretty hard from the southeast. There were maybe a\ndozen vessels lying within the inlet at that time, and the captain of\none of them was paying the Boston skipper a visit when Blackbeard came\naboard. The two captains had been talking together. They instantly\nceased when the pirate came down into the cabin, but he had heard enough\nof their conversation to catch its drift. \"Why d'ye stop?\" he said.\n\"I heard what you said. Well, what then? D'ye think I mind it at all?\nSpottiswood is going to send his bullies down here after me. That's\nwhat you were saying. Well, what then? You don't think I'm afraid of his\nbullies, do you?\"\n\n\"Why, no, Captain, I didn't say you was afraid,\" said the visiting\ncaptain.\n\n\"And what right has he got to send down here against me in North\nCarolina, I should like to ask you?\"\n\n\"He's got none at all,\" said the Boston captain, soothingly. \"Won't you\ntake a taste of Hollands, Captain?\"\n\n\"He's no more right to come blustering down here into Governor Eden's\nprovince than I have to come aboard of your schooner here, Tom Burley,\nand to carry off two or three kegs of this prime Hollands for my own\ndrinking.\"\n\nCaptain Burley--the Boston man--laughed a loud, forced laugh. \"Why,\nCaptain,\" he said, \"as for two or three kegs of Hollands, you won't\nfind that aboard. But if you'd like to have a keg of it for your own\ndrinking, I'll send it to you and be glad enough to do so for old\nacquaintance' sake.\"\n\n\"But I tell you what 'tis, Captain,\" said the visiting skipper to\nBlackbeard, \"they're determined and set against you this time. I tell\nyou, Captain, Governor Spottiswood hath issued a hot proclamation\nagainst you, and 't hath been read out in all the churches. I myself\nsaw it posted in Yorktown upon the customhouse door and read it there\nmyself. The governor offers one hundred pounds for you, and fifty pounds\nfor your officers, and twenty pounds each for your men.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Blackbeard, holding up his glass, \"here, I wish 'em\ngood luck, and when they get their hundred pounds for me they'll be in a\npoor way to spend it. As for the Hollands,\" said he, turning to Captain\nBurley, \"I know what you've got aboard here and what you haven't. D'ye\nsuppose ye can blind me? Very well, you send over two kegs, and I'll let\nyou go without search.\" The two captains were very silent. \"As for that\nLieutenant Maynard you're all talking about,\" said Blackbeard, \"why, I\nknow him very well. He was the one who was so busy with the pirates down\nMadagascar way. I believe you'd all like to see him blow me out of the\nwater, but he can't do it. There's nobody in His Majesty's service I'd\nrather meet than Lieutenant Maynard. I'd teach him pretty briskly that\nNorth Carolina isn't Madagascar.\"\n\nOn the evening of the twenty-second the two vessels under command of\nLieutenant Maynard came into the mouth of Ocracoke Inlet and there\ndropped anchor. Meantime the weather had cleared, and all the vessels\nbut one had gone from the inlet. The one vessel that remained was a New\nYorker. It had been there over a night and a day, and the captain and\nBlackbeard had become very good friends.\n\nThe same night that Maynard came into the inlet a wedding was held on\nthe shore. A number of men and women came up the beach in oxcarts and\nsledges; others had come in boats from more distant points and across\nthe water.\n\nThe captain of the New Yorker and Blackbeard went ashore together a\nlittle after dark. The New Yorker had been aboard of the pirate's sloop\nfor all the latter part of the afternoon, and he and Blackbeard had been\ndrinking together in the cabin. The New York man was now a little tipsy,\nand he laughed and talked foolishly as he and Blackbeard were rowed\nashore. The pirate sat grim and silent.\n\nIt was nearly dark when they stepped ashore on the beach. The New York\ncaptain stumbled and fell headlong, rolling over and over, and the crew\nof the boat burst out laughing.\n\nThe people had already begun to dance in an open shed fronting upon the\nshore. There were fires of pine knots in front of the building, lighting\nup the interior with a red glare. A negro was playing a fiddle somewhere\ninside, and the shed was filled with a crowd of grotesque dancing\nfigures--men and women. Now and then they called with loud voices as\nthey danced, and the squeaking of the fiddle sounded incessantly through\nthe noise of outcries and the stamp and shuffling of feet.\n\nCaptain Teach and the New York captain stood looking on. The New York\nman had tilted himself against a post and stood there holding one arm\naround it, supporting himself. He waved the other hand foolishly in time\nto the music, now and then snapping his thumb and finger.\n\nThe young woman who had just been married approached the two. She had\nbeen dancing, and she was warm and red, her hair blowzed about her head.\n\"Hi, Captain, won't you dance with me?\" she said to Blackbeard.\n\nBlackbeard stared at her. \"Who be you?\" he said.\n\nShe burst out laughing. \"You look as if you'd eat a body,\" she cried.\n\nBlackbeard's face gradually relaxed. \"Why, to be sure, you're a brazen\none, for all the world,\" he said. \"Well, I'll dance with you, that I\nwill. I'll dance the heart out of you.\"\n\nHe pushed forward, thrusting aside with his elbow the newly made\nhusband. The man, who saw that Blackbeard had been drinking, burst out\nlaughing, and the other men and women who had been standing around drew\naway, so that in a little while the floor was pretty well cleared. One\ncould see the negro now; he sat on a barrel at the end of the room.\nHe grinned with his white teeth and, without stopping in his fiddling,\nscraped his bow harshly across the strings, and then instantly changed\nthe tune to a lively jig. Blackbeard jumped up into the air and clapped\nhis heels together, giving, as he did so, a sharp, short yell. Then\nhe began instantly dancing grotesquely and violently. The woman danced\nopposite to him, this way and that, with her knuckles on her hips.\nEverybody burst out laughing at Blackbeard's grotesque antics. They\nlaughed again and again, clapping their hands, and the negro scraped\naway on his fiddle like fury. The woman's hair came tumbling down her\nback. She tucked it back, laughing and panting, and the sweat ran down\nher face. She danced and danced. At last she burst out laughing and\nstopped, panting. Blackbeard again jumped up in the air and clapped his\nheels. Again he yelled, and as he did so, he struck his heels upon the\nfloor and spun around. Once more everybody burst out laughing, clapping\ntheir hands, and the negro stopped fiddling.\n\nNear by was a shanty or cabin where they were selling spirits, and by\nand by Blackbeard went there with the New York captain, and presently\nthey began drinking again. \"Hi, Captain!\" called one of the men,\n\"Maynard's out yonder in the inlet. Jack Bishop's just come across from\nt'other side. He says Mr. Maynard hailed him and asked for a pilot to\nfetch him in.\"\n\n\"Well, here's luck to him, and he can't come in quick enough for me!\"\ncried out Blackbeard in his hoarse, husky voice.\n\n\"Well, Captain,\" called a voice, \"will ye fight him to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" shouted the pirate, \"if he can get in to me, I'll try to give\n'em what they seek, and all they want of it into the bargain. As for\na pilot, I tell ye what 'tis--if any man hereabouts goes out there to\npilot that villain in 'twill be the worst day's work he ever did in all\nof his life. 'Twon't be fit for him to live in these parts of America if\nI am living here at the same time.\" There was a burst of laughter.\n\n\"Give us a toast, Captain! Give us something to drink to! Aye, Captain,\na toast! A toast!\" a half dozen voices were calling out at the same\ntime.\n\n\"Well,\" cried out the pirate captain, \"here's to a good, hot fight\nto-morrow, and the best dog on top! 'Twill be, Bang! bang!--this way!\"\n\nHe began pulling a pistol out of his pocket, but it stuck in the lining,\nand he struggled and tugged at it. The men ducked and scrambled away\nfrom before him, and then the next moment he had the pistol out of\nhis pocket. He swung it around and around. There was perfect silence.\nSuddenly there was a flash and a stunning report, and instantly a crash\nand tinkle of broken glass. One of the men cried out, and began picking\nand jerking at the back of his neck. \"He's broken that bottle all down\nmy neck,\" he called out.\n\n\"That's the way 'twill be,\" said Blackbeard.\n\n\"Lookee,\" said the owner of the place, \"I won't serve out another drop\nif 'tis going to be like that. If there's any more trouble I'll blow out\nthe lantern.\"\n\nThe sound of the squeaking and scraping of the fiddle and the shouts and\nthe scuffling feet still came from the shed where the dancing was going\non.\n\n\"Suppose you get your dose to-morrow, Captain,\" some one called out,\n\"what then?\"\n\n\"Why, if I do,\" said Blackbeard, \"I get it, and that's all there is of\nit.\"\n\n\"Your wife'll be a rich widdy then, won't she?\" cried one of the men;\nand there was a burst of laughter.\n\n\"Why,\" said the New York captain,--\"why, has a--a bloody p-pirate like\nyou a wife then--a--like any honest man?\"\n\n\"She'll be no richer than she is now,\" said Blackbeard.\n\n\"She knows where you've hid your money, anyways. Don't she, Captain?\"\ncalled out a voice.\n\n\"The civil knows where I've hid my money,\" said Blackbeard, \"and I know\nwhere I've hid it; and the longest liver of the twain will git it all.\nAnd that's all there is of it.\"\n\nThe gray of early day was beginning to show in the east when Blackbeard\nand the New York captain came down to the landing together. The New York\ncaptain swayed and toppled this way and that as he walked, now falling\nagainst Blackbeard, and now staggering away from him.\n\n\nII\n\nEarly in the morning--perhaps eight o'clock--Lieutenant Maynard sent a\nboat from the schooner over to the settlement, which lay some four\nor five miles distant. A number of men stood lounging on the landing,\nwatching the approach of the boat. The men rowed close up to the wharf,\nand there lay upon their oars, while the boatswain of the schooner,\nwho was in command of the boat, stood up and asked if there was any man\nthere who could pilot them over the shoals.\n\nNobody answered, but all stared stupidly at him. After a while one of\nthe men at last took his pipe out of his mouth. \"There ben't any pilot\nhere, master,\" said he; \"we ben't pilots.\"\n\n\"Why, what a story you do tell!\" roared the boatswain. \"D'ye suppose\nI've never been down here before, not to know that every man about here\nknows the passes of the shoals?\"\n\nThe fellow still held his pipe in his hand. He looked at another one of\nthe men. \"Do you know the passes in over the shoals, Jem?\" said he.\n\nThe man to whom he spoke was a young fellow with long, shaggy, sunburnt\nhair hanging over his eyes in an unkempt mass. He shook his head,\ngrunting, \"Na--I don't know naught about t' shoals.\"\n\n\"'Tis Lieutenant Maynard of His Majesty's navy in command of them\nvessels out there,\" said the boatswain. \"He'll give any man five pound\nto pilot him in.\" The men on the wharf looked at one another, but still\nno one spoke, and the boatswain stood looking at them. He saw that they\ndid not choose to answer him. \"Why,\" he said, \"I believe you've not got\nright wits--that's what I believe is the matter with you. Pull me up\nto the landing, men, and I'll go ashore and see if I can find anybody\nthat's willing to make five pound for such a little bit of piloting as\nthat.\"\n\nAfter the boatswain had gone ashore the loungers still stood on the\nwharf, looking down into the boat, and began talking to one another for\nthe men below to hear them. \"They're coming in,\" said one, \"to blow poor\nBlackbeard out of the water.\" \"Aye,\" said another, \"he's so peaceable,\ntoo, he is; he'll just lay still and let 'em blow and blow, he will.\"\n\"There's a young fellow there,\" said another of the men; \"he don't look\nfit to die yet, he don't. Why, I wouldn't be in his place for a thousand\npound.\" \"I do suppose Blackbeard's so afraid he don't know how to see,\"\nsaid the first speaker.\n\nAt last one of the men in the boat spoke up. \"Maybe he don't know how to\nsee,\" said he, \"but maybe we'll blow some daylight into him afore we get\nthrough with him.\"\n\nSome more of the settlers had come out from the shore to the end of the\nwharf, and there was now quite a crowd gathering there, all looking at\nthe men in the boat. \"What do them Virginny 'baccy-eaters do down here\nin Caroliny, anyway?\" said one of the newcomers. \"They've got no call to\nbe down here in North Caroliny waters.\"\n\n\"Maybe you can keep us away from coming, and maybe you can't,\" said a\nvoice from the boat.\n\n\"Why,\" answered the man on the wharf, \"we could keep you away easy\nenough, but you ben't worth the trouble, and that's the truth.\"\n\nThere was a heavy iron bolt lying near the edge of the landing. One of\nthe men upon the wharf slyly thrust it out with the end of his foot. It\nhung for a moment and then fell into the boat below with a crash. \"What\nd'ye mean by that?\" roared the man in charge of the boat. \"What d'ye\nmean, ye villains? D'ye mean to stave a hole in us?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said the man who had pushed it, \"you saw 'twasn't done a purpose,\ndidn't you?\"\n\n\"Well, you try it again, and somebody'll get hurt,\" said the man in the\nboat, showing the butt end of his pistol.\n\nThe men on the wharf began laughing. Just then the boatswain came down\nfrom the settlement again, and out along the landing. The threatened\nturbulence quieted as he approached, and the crowd moved sullenly aside\nto let him pass. He did not bring any pilot with him, and he jumped down\ninto the stern of the boat, saying, briefly, \"Push off.\" The crowd of\nloungers stood looking after them as they rowed away, and when the\nboat was some distance from the landing they burst out into a volley\nof derisive yells. \"The villains!\" said the boatswain, \"they are all in\nleague together. They wouldn't even let me go up into the settlement to\nlook for a pilot.\"\n\nThe lieutenant and his sailing master stood watching the boat as\nit approached. \"Couldn't you, then, get a pilot, Baldwin?\" said Mr.\nMaynard, as the boatswain scrambled aboard.\n\n\"No, I couldn't, sir,\" said the man. \"Either they're all banded\ntogether, or else they're all afraid of the villains. They wouldn't even\nlet me go up into the settlement to find one.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Mr. Maynard, \"we'll make shift to work in as best we\nmay by ourselves. 'Twill be high tide against one o'clock. We'll run in\nthen with sail as far as we can, and then we'll send you ahead with the\nboat to sound for a pass, and we'll follow with the sweeps. You know the\nwaters pretty well, you say.\"\n\n\"They were saying ashore that the villain hath forty men aboard,\" said\nthe boatswain.(2)\n\n     (2) The pirate captain had really only twenty-five men\n     aboard of his ship at the time of the battle.\n\nLieutenant Maynard's force consisted of thirty-five men in the schooner\nand twenty-five men in the sloop. He carried neither cannons nor\ncarronades, and neither of his vessels was very well fitted for the\npurpose for which they were designed. The schooner, which he himself\ncommanded, offered almost no protection to the crew. The rail was not\nmore than a foot high in the waist, and the men on the deck were almost\nentirely exposed. The rail of the sloop was perhaps a little higher, but\nit, too, was hardly better adapted for fighting. Indeed, the lieutenant\ndepended more upon the moral force of official authority to overawe\nthe pirates than upon any real force of arms or men. He never believed,\nuntil the very last moment, that the pirates would show any real fight.\nIt is very possible that they might not have done so had they not\nthought that the lieutenant had actually no legal right supporting him\nin his attack upon them in North Carolina waters.\n\nIt was about noon when anchor was hoisted, and, with the schooner\nleading, both vessels ran slowly in before a light wind that had begun\nto blow toward midday. In each vessel a man stood in the bows, sounding\ncontinually with lead and line. As they slowly opened up the harbor\nwithin the inlet, they could see the pirate sloop lying about three\nmiles away. There was a boat just putting off from it to the shore.\n\nThe lieutenant and his sailing master stood together on the roof of\nthe cabin deckhouse. The sailing master held a glass to his eye. \"She\ncarries a long gun, sir,\" he said, \"and four carronades. She'll be hard\nto beat, sir, I do suppose, armed as we are with only light arms for\nclose fighting.\"\n\nThe lieutenant laughed. \"Why, Brookes,\" he said, \"you seem to think\nforever of these men showing fight. You don't know them as I know them.\nThey have a deal of bluster and make a deal of noise, but when you seize\nthem and hold them with a strong hand, there's naught of fight left in\nthem. 'Tis like enough there'll not be so much as a musket fired to-day.\nI've had to do with 'em often enough before to know my gentlemen well\nby this time.\" Nor, as was said, was it until the very last that the\nlieutenant could be brought to believe that the pirates had any stomach\nfor a fight.\n\nThe two vessels had reached perhaps within a mile of the pirate sloop\nbefore they found the water too shoal to venture any farther with\nthe sail. It was then that the boat was lowered as the lieutenant had\nplanned, and the boatswain went ahead to sound, the two vessels, with\ntheir sails still hoisted but empty of wind, pulling in after with\nsweeps.\n\nThe pirate had also hoisted sail, but lay as though waiting for the\napproach of the schooner and the sloop.\n\nThe boat in which the boatswain was sounding had run in a considerable\ndistance ahead of the two vessels, which were gradually creeping up with\nthe sweeps until they had reached to within less than half a mile of the\npirates--the boat with the boatswain maybe a quarter of a mile closer.\nSuddenly there was a puff of smoke from the pirate sloop, and then\nanother and another, and the next moment there came the three reports of\nmuskets up the wind.\n\n\"By zounds!\" said the lieutenant. \"I do believe they're firing on the\nboat!\" And then he saw the boat turn and begin pulling toward them.\n\nThe boat with the boatswain aboard came rowing rapidly. Again there were\nthree or four puffs of smoke and three or four subsequent reports from\nthe distant vessel. Then, in a little while, the boat was alongside, and\nthe boatswain came scrambling aboard. \"Never mind hoisting the boat,\"\nsaid the lieutenant; \"we'll just take her in tow. Come aboard as quick\nas you can.\" Then, turning to the sailing master, \"Well, Brookes, you'll\nhave to do the best you can to get in over the shoals under half sail.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" said the master, \"we'll be sure to run aground.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir,\" said the lieutenant, \"you heard my orders. If we run\naground we run aground, and that's all there is of it.\"\n\n\"I sounded as far as maybe a little over a fathom,\" said the mate, \"but\nthe villains would let me go no nearer. I think I was in the channel,\nthough. 'Tis more open inside, as I mind me of it. There's a kind of\na hole there, and if we get in over the shoals just beyond where I was\nwe'll be all right.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, you take the wheel, Baldwin,\" said the lieutenant,\n\"and do the best you can for us.\"\n\nLieutenant Maynard stood looking out forward at the pirate vessel, which\nthey were now steadily nearing under half sail. He could see that there\nwere signs of bustle aboard and of men running around upon the deck.\nThen he walked aft and around the cabin. The sloop was some distance\nastern. It appeared to have run aground, and they were trying to push it\noff with the sweeps. The lieutenant looked down into the water over\nthe stern, and saw that the schooner was already raising the mud in her\nwane. Then he went forward along the deck. His men were crouching down\nalong by the low rail, and there was a tense quietness of expectation\nabout them. The lieutenant looked them over as he passed them.\n\"Johnson,\" he said, \"do you take the lead and line and go forward and\nsound a bit.\" Then to the others: \"Now, my men, the moment we run her\naboard, you get aboard of her as quick as you can, do you understand?\nDon't wait for the sloop or think about her, but just see that the\ngrappling irons are fast, and then get aboard. If any man offers to\nresist you, shoot him down. Are you ready, Mr. Cringle?\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir,\" said the gunner.\n\n\"Very well, then, be ready, men; we'll be aboard 'em in a minute or\ntwo.\"\n\n\"There's less than a fathom of water here, sir,\" sang out Johnson from\nthe bows. As he spoke there was a sudden soft jar and jerk, then the\nschooner was still. They were aground. \"Push her off to the lee there!\nLet go your sheets!\" roared the boatswain from the wheel. \"Push her off\nto the lee.\" He spun the wheel around as he spoke. A half a dozen men\nsprang up, seized the sweeps, and plunged them into the water. Others\nran to help them, but the sweeps only sank into the mud without moving\nthe schooner. The sails had fallen off and they were flapping and\nthumping and clapping in the wind. Others of the crew had scrambled\nto their feet and ran to help those at the sweeps. The lieutenant had\nwalked quickly aft again. They were very close now to the pirate sloop,\nand suddenly some one hailed him from aboard of her. When he turned he\nsaw that there was a man standing up on the rail of the pirate sloop,\nholding by the back stays. \"Who are you?\" he called, from the distance,\n\"and whence come you? What do you seek here? What d'ye mean, coming down\non us this way?\"\n\nThe lieutenant heard somebody say, \"That's Blackbeard hisself.\" And he\nlooked with great interest at the distant figure.\n\nThe pirate stood out boldly against the cloudy sky. Somebody seemed to\nspeak to him from behind. He turned his head and then he turned round\nagain. \"We're only peaceful merchantmen!\" he called out. \"What authority\nhave you got to come down upon us this way? If you'll come aboard I'll\nshow you my papers and that we're only peaceful merchantmen.\"\n\n\"The villains!\" said the lieutenant to the master, who stood beside\nhim. \"They're peaceful merchantmen, are they! They look like peaceful\nmerchantmen, with four carronades and a long gun aboard!\" Then he called\nout across the water, \"I'll come aboard with my schooner as soon as I\ncan push her off here.\"\n\n\"If you undertake to come aboard of me,\" called the pirate, \"I'll shoot\ninto you. You've got no authority to board me, and I won't have you do\nit. If you undertake it 'twill be at your own risk, for I'll neither ask\nquarter of you nor give none.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the lieutenant, \"if you choose to try that, you may do\nas you please; for I'm coming aboard of you as sure as heaven.\"\n\n\"Push off the bow there!\" called the boatswain at the wheel. \"Look\nalive! Why don't you push off the bow?\"\n\n\"She's hard aground!\" answered the gunner. \"We can't budge her an inch.\"\n\n\"If they was to fire into us now,\" said the sailing master, \"they'd\nsmash us to pieces.\"\n\n\"They won't fire into us,\" said the lieutenant. \"They won't dare to.\"\nHe jumped down from the cabin deckhouse as he spoke, and went forward to\nurge the men in pushing off the boat. It was already beginning to move.\n\nAt that moment the sailing master suddenly called out, \"Mr. Maynard! Mr.\nMaynard! they're going to give us a broadside!\"\n\nAlmost before the words were out of his mouth, before Lieutenant Maynard\ncould turn, there came a loud and deafening crash, and then instantly\nanother, and a third, and almost as instantly a crackling and rending of\nbroken wood. There were clean yellow splinters flying everywhere. A man\nfell violently against the lieutenant, nearly overturning him, but he\ncaught at the stays and so saved himself. For one tense moment he stood\nholding his breath. Then all about him arose a sudden outcry of groans\nand shouts and oaths. The man who had fallen against him was lying face\ndown upon the deck. His thighs were quivering, and a pool of blood was\nspreading and running out from under him. There were other men down, all\nabout the deck. Some were rising; some were trying to rise; some only\nmoved.\n\nThere was a distant sound of yelling and cheering and shouting. It was\nfrom the pirate sloop. The pirates were rushing about upon her decks.\nThey had pulled the cannon back, and, through the grunting sound of\nthe groans about him, the lieutenant could distinctly hear the thud and\npunch of the rammers, and he knew they were going to shoot again.\n\nThe low rail afforded almost no shelter against such a broadside, and\nthere was nothing for it but to order all hands below for the time\nbeing.\n\n\"Get below!\" roared out the lieutenant. \"All hands get below and lie\nsnug for further orders!\" In obedience the men ran scrambling below into\nthe hold, and in a little while the decks were nearly clear except\nfor the three dead men and some three or four wounded. The boatswain,\ncrouching down close to the wheel, and the lieutenant himself were the\nonly others upon deck. Everywhere there were smears and sprinkles of\nblood. \"Where's Brookes?\" the lieutenant called out.\n\n\"He's hurt in the arm, sir, and he's gone below,\" said the boatswain.\n\nThereupon the lieutenant himself walked over to the forecastle hatch,\nand, hailing the gunner, ordered him to get up another ladder, so that\nthe men could be run up on deck if the pirates should undertake to come\naboard. At that moment the boatswain at the wheel called out that the\nvillains were going to shoot again, and the lieutenant, turning, saw the\ngunner aboard of the pirate sloop in the act of touching the iron to the\ntouchhole. He stooped down. There was another loud and deafening crash\nof cannon, one, two, three--four--the last two almost together--and\nalmost instantly the boatswain called out, \"'Tis the sloop, sir! look at\nthe sloop!\"\n\nThe sloop had got afloat again, and had been coming up to the aid of the\nschooner, when the pirates fired their second broadside now at her. When\nthe lieutenant looked at her she was quivering with the impact of the\nshot, and the next moment she began falling off to the wind, and he\ncould see the wounded men rising and falling and struggling upon her\ndecks.\n\nAt the same moment the boatswain called out that the enemy was coming\naboard, and even as he spoke the pirate sloop came drifting out from the\ncloud of smoke that enveloped her, looming up larger and larger as she\ncame down upon them. The lieutenant still crouched down under the rail,\nlooking out at them. Suddenly, a little distance away, she came about,\nbroadside on, and then drifted. She was close aboard now. Something came\nflying through the air--another and another. They were bottles. One of\nthem broke with a crash upon the deck. The others rolled over to\nthe farther rail. In each of them a quick-match was smoking. Almost\ninstantly there was a flash and a terrific report, and the air was full\nof the whiz and singing of broken particles of glass and iron. There was\nanother report, and then the whole air seemed full of gunpowder smoke.\n\"They're aboard of us!\" shouted the boatswain, and even as he spoke the\nlieutenant roared out, \"All hands to repel boarders!\" A second later\nthere came the heavy, thumping bump of the vessels coming together.\n\nLieutenant Maynard, as he called out the order, ran forward through the\nsmoke, snatching one of his pistols out of his pocket and the cutlass\nout of its sheath as he did so. Behind him the men were coming, swarming\nup from below. There was a sudden stunning report of a pistol, and then\nanother and another, almost together. There was a groan and the fall of\na heavy body, and then a figure came jumping over the rail, with two or\nthree more directly following. The lieutenant was in the midst of the\ngun powder smoke, when suddenly Blackbeard was before him. The pirate\ncaptain had stripped himself naked to the waist. His shaggy black hair\nwas falling over his eyes, and he looked like a demon fresh from the\npit, with his frantic face. Almost with the blindness of instinct the\nlieutenant thrust out his pistol, firing it as he did so. The pirate\nstaggered back: he was down--no; he was up again. He had a pistol in\neach hand; but there was a stream of blood running down his naked\nribs. Suddenly, the mouth of a pistol was pointing straight at the\nlieutenant's head. He ducked instinctively, striking upward with his\ncutlass as he did so. There was a stunning, deafening report almost in\nhis ear. He struck again blindly with his cutlass. He saw the flash of a\nsword and flung up his guard almost instinctively, meeting the crash\nof the descending blade. Somebody shot from behind him, and at the same\nmoment he saw some one else strike the pirate. Blackbeard staggered\nagain, and this time there was a great gash upon his neck. Then one of\nMaynard's own men tumbled headlong upon him. He fell with the man, but\nalmost instantly he had scrambled to his feet again, and as he did so he\nsaw that the pirate sloop had drifted a little away from them, and that\ntheir grappling irons had evidently parted. His hand was smarting as\nthough struck with the lash of a whip. He looked around him; the pirate\ncaptain was nowhere to be seen--yes, there he was, lying by the rail. He\nraised himself upon his elbow, and the lieutenant saw that he was trying\nto point a pistol at him, with an arm that wavered and swayed blindly,\nthe pistol nearly falling from his fingers. Suddenly his other elbow\ngave way and he fell down upon his face. He tried to raise himself--he\nfell down again. There was a report and a cloud of smoke, and when it\ncleared away Blackbeard had staggered up again. He was a terrible figure\nhis head nodding down upon his breast. Somebody shot again, and then the\nswaying figure toppled and fell. It lay still for a moment--then rolled\nover--then lay still again.\n\nThere was a loud splash of men jumping overboard, and then, almost\ninstantly, the cry of \"Quarter! quarter!\" The lieutenant ran to the\nedge of the vessel. It was as he had thought: the grappling irons of the\npirate sloop had parted, and it had drifted away. The few pirates who\nhad been left aboard of the schooner had jumped overboard and were now\nholding up their hands. \"Quarter!\" they cried. \"Don't shoot!--quarter!\"\nAnd the fight was over.\n\nThe lieutenant looked down at his hand, and then he saw, for the first\ntime, that there was a great cutlass gash across the back of it, and\nthat his arm and shirt sleeve were wet with blood. He went aft, holding\nthe wrist of his wounded hand. The boatswain was still at the wheel. \"By\nzounds!\" said the lieutenant, with a nervous, quavering laugh, \"I didn't\nknow there was such fight in the villains.\"\n\nHis wounded and shattered sloop was again coming up toward him under\nsail, but the pirates had surrendered, and the fight was over.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI. BLUESKIN THE PIRATE\n\n\nI\n\nCAPE MAY and Cape Henlopen form, as it were, the upper and lower jaws of\na gigantic mouth, which disgorges from its monstrous gullet the cloudy\nwaters of the Delaware Bay into the heaving, sparkling blue-green of\nthe Atlantic Ocean. From Cape Henlopen as the lower jaw there juts out a\nlong, curving fang of high, smooth-rolling sand dunes, cutting sharp and\nclean against the still, blue sky above silent, naked, utterly deserted,\nexcepting for the squat, white-walled lighthouse standing upon the crest\nof the highest hill. Within this curving, sheltering hook of sand hills\nlie the smooth waters of Lewes Harbor, and, set a little back from the\nshore, the quaint old town, with its dingy wooden houses of clapboard\nand shingle, looks sleepily out through the masts of the shipping lying\nat anchor in the harbor, to the purple, clean-cut, level thread of the\nocean horizon beyond.\n\nLewes is a queer, odd, old-fashioned little town, smelling fragrant of\nsalt marsh and sea breeze. It is rarely visited by strangers. The people\nwho live there are the progeny of people who have lived there for many\ngenerations, and it is the very place to nurse, and preserve, and care\nfor old legends and traditions of bygone times, until they grow from\nbits of gossip and news into local history of considerable size. As in\nthe busier world men talk of last year's elections, here these old bits,\nand scraps, and odds and ends of history are retailed to the listener\nwho cares to listen--traditions of the War of 1812, when Beresford's\nfleet lay off the harbor threatening to bombard the town; tales of the\nRevolution and of Earl Howe's warships, tarrying for a while in the\nquiet harbor before they sailed up the river to shake old Philadelphia\ntown with the thunders of their guns at Red Bank and Fort Mifflin.\n\nWith these substantial and sober threads of real history, other and more\nlurid colors are interwoven into the web of local lore--legends of the\ndark doings of famous pirates, of their mysterious, sinister comings and\ngoings, of treasures buried in the sand dunes and pine barrens back of\nthe cape and along the Atlantic beach to the southward.\n\nOf such is the story of Blueskin, the pirate.\n\n\nII\n\nIt was in the fall and the early winter of the year 1750, and again\nin the summer of the year following, that the famous pirate, Blueskin,\nbecame especially identified with Lewes as a part of its traditional\nhistory.\n\nFor some time--for three or four years--rumors and reports of Blueskin's\ndoings in the West Indies and off the Carolinas had been brought in now\nand then by sea captains. There was no more cruel, bloody, desperate,\ndevilish pirate than he in all those pirate-infested waters. All kinds\nof wild and bloody stories were current concerning him, but it never\noccurred to the good folk of Lewes that such stories were some time to\nbe a part of their own history.\n\nBut one day a schooner came drifting into Lewes harbor--shattered,\nwounded, her forecastle splintered, her foremast shot half away, and\nthree great tattered holes in her mainsail. The mate with one of the\ncrew came ashore in the boat for help and a doctor. He reported that the\ncaptain and the cook were dead and there were three wounded men aboard.\nThe story he told to the gathering crowd brought a very peculiar thrill\nto those who heard it. They had fallen in with Blueskin, he said, off\nFenwick's Island (some twenty or thirty miles below the capes), and\nthe pirates had come aboard of them; but, finding that the cargo of the\nschooner consisted only of cypress shingles and lumber, had soon quitted\ntheir prize. Perhaps Blueskin was disappointed at not finding a more\nvaluable capture; perhaps the spirit of deviltry was hotter in him that\nmorning than usual; anyhow, as the pirate craft bore away she fired\nthree broadsides at short range into the helpless coaster. The captain\nhad been killed at the first fire, the cook had died on the way up,\nthree of the crew were wounded, and the vessel was leaking fast, betwixt\nwind and water.\n\nSuch was the mate's story. It spread like wildfire, and in half an hour\nall the town was in a ferment. Fenwick's Island was very near home;\nBlueskin might come sailing into the harbor at any minute and then--! In\nan hour Sheriff Jones had called together most of the able-bodied men\nof the town, muskets and rifles were taken down from the chimney places,\nand every preparation was made to defend the place against the pirates,\nshould they come into the harbor and attempt to land.\n\nBut Blueskin did not come that day, nor did he come the next or the\nnext. But on the afternoon of the third the news went suddenly flying\nover the town that the pirates were inside the capes. As the report\nspread the people came running--men, women, and children--to the green\nbefore the tavern, where a little knot of old seamen were gathered\ntogether, looking fixedly out toward the offing, talking in low voices.\nTwo vessels, one bark-rigged, the other and smaller a sloop, were slowly\ncreeping up the bay, a couple of miles or so away and just inside the\ncape. There appeared nothing remarkable about the two crafts, but the\nlittle crowd that continued gathering upon the green stood looking\nout across the bay at them none the less anxiously for that. They were\nsailing close-hauled to the wind, the sloop following in the wake of her\nconsort as the pilot fish follows in the wake of the shark.\n\nBut the course they held did not lie toward the harbor, but rather bore\naway toward the Jersey shore, and by and by it began to be apparent that\nBlueskin did not intend visiting the town. Nevertheless, those who stood\nlooking did not draw a free breath until, after watching the two pirates\nfor more than an hour and a half, they saw them--then about six miles\naway--suddenly put about and sail with a free wind out to sea again.\n\n\"The bloody villains have gone!\" said old Captain Wolfe, shutting his\ntelescope with a click.\n\nBut Lewes was not yet quit of Blueskin. Two days later a half-breed from\nIndian River bay came up, bringing the news that the pirates had sailed\ninto the inlet--some fifteen miles below Lewes--and had careened the\nbark to clean her.\n\nPerhaps Blueskin did not care to stir up the country people against him,\nfor the half-breed reported that the pirates were doing no harm, and\nthat what they took from the farmers of Indian River and Rehoboth they\npaid for with good hard money.\n\nIt was while the excitement over the pirates was at its highest fever\nheat that Levi West came home again.\n\n\nIII\n\nEven in the middle of the last century the grist mill, a couple of miles\nfrom Lewes, although it was at most but fifty or sixty years old, had\nall a look of weather-beaten age, for the cypress shingles, of which it\nwas built, ripen in a few years of wind and weather to a silvery, hoary\ngray, and the white powdering of flour lent it a look as though the\ndust of ages had settled upon it, making the shadows within dim, soft,\nmysterious. A dozen willow trees shaded with dappling, shivering ripples\nof shadow the road before the mill door, and the mill itself, and the\nlong, narrow, shingle-built, one-storied, hip-roofed dwelling house.\nAt the time of the story the mill had descended in a direct line of\nsuccession to Hiram White, the grandson of old Ephraim White, who had\nbuilt it, it was said, in 1701.\n\nHiram White was only twenty-seven years old, but he was already in local\nrepute as a \"character.\" As a boy he was thought to be half-witted or\n\"natural,\" and, as is the case with such unfortunates in small country\ntowns where everybody knows everybody, he was made a common sport and\njest for the keener, crueler wits of the neighborhood. Now that he was\ngrown to the ripeness of manhood he was still looked upon as being--to\nuse a quaint expression--\"slack,\" or \"not jest right.\" He was heavy,\nawkward, ungainly and loose-jointed, and enormously, prodigiously\nstrong. He had a lumpish, thick-featured face, with lips heavy and\nloosely hanging, that gave him an air of stupidity, half droll, half\npathetic. His little eyes were set far apart and flat with his face, his\neyebrows were nearly white and his hair was of a sandy, colorless\nkind. He was singularly taciturn, lisping thickly when he did talk,\nand stuttering and hesitating in his speech, as though his words moved\nfaster than his mind could follow. It was the custom for local wags to\nurge, or badger, or tempt him to talk, for the sake of the ready laugh\nthat always followed the few thick, stammering words and the stupid\ndrooping of the jaw at the end of each short speech. Perhaps Squire\nHall was the only one in Lewes Hundred who misdoubted that Hiram was\nhalf-witted. He had had dealings with him and was wont to say that\nwhoever bought Hiram White for a fool made a fool's bargain. Certainly,\nwhether he had common wits or no, Hiram had managed his mill to pretty\ngood purpose and was fairly well off in the world as prosperity went in\nsouthern Delaware and in those days. No doubt, had it come to the pinch,\nhe might have bought some of his tormentors out three times over.\n\nHiram White had suffered quite a financial loss some six months before,\nthrough that very Blueskin who was now lurking in Indian River inlet.\nHe had entered into a \"venture\" with Josiah Shippin, a Philadelphia\nmerchant, to the tune of seven hundred pounds sterling. The money had\nbeen invested in a cargo of flour and corn meal which had been shipped\nto Jamaica by the bark Nancy Lee. The Nancy Lee had been captured by the\npirates off Currituck Sound, the crew set adrift in the longboat, and\nthe bark herself and all her cargo burned to the water's edge.\n\nFive hundred of the seven hundred pounds invested in the unfortunate\n\"venture\" was money bequeathed by Hiram's father, seven years before, to\nLevi West.\n\nEleazer White had been twice married, the second time to the widow West.\nShe had brought with her to her new home a good-looking, long-legged,\nblack-eyed, black-haired ne'er-do-well of a son, a year or so younger\nthan Hiram. He was a shrewd, quick-witted lad, idle, shiftless, willful,\nill-trained perhaps, but as bright and keen as a pin. He was the very\nopposite to poor, dull Hiram. Eleazer White had never loved his son; he\nwas ashamed of the poor, slack-witted oaf. Upon the other hand, he was\nvery fond of Levi West, whom he always called \"our Levi,\" and whom he\ntreated in every way as though he were his own son. He tried to train\nthe lad to work in the mill, and was patient beyond what the patience\nof most fathers would have been with his stepson's idleness and\nshiftlessness. \"Never mind,\" he was used to say. \"Levi'll come all\nright. Levi's as bright as a button.\"\n\nIt was one of the greatest blows of the old miller's life when Levi ran\naway to sea. In his last sickness the old man's mind constantly turned\nto his lost stepson. \"Mebby he'll come back again,\" said he, \"and if he\ndoes I want you to be good to him, Hiram. I've done my duty by you and\nhave left you the house and mill, but I want you to promise that if Levi\ncomes back again you'll give him a home and a shelter under this roof if\nhe wants one.\" And Hiram had promised to do as his father asked.\n\nAfter Eleazer died it was found that he had bequeathed five hundred\npounds to his \"beloved stepson, Levi West,\" and had left Squire Hall as\ntrustee.\n\nLevi West had been gone nearly nine years and not a word had been heard\nfrom him; there could be little or no doubt that he was dead.\n\nOne day Hiram came into Squire Hall's office with a letter in his hand.\nIt was the time of the old French war, and flour and corn meal were\nfetching fabulous prices in the British West Indies. The letter Hiram\nbrought with him was from a Philadelphia merchant, Josiah Shippin, with\nwhom he had had some dealings. Mr. Shippin proposed that Hiram should\njoin him in sending a \"venture\" of flour and corn meal to Kingston,\nJamaica. Hiram had slept upon the letter overnight and now he brought\nit to the old Squire. Squire Hall read the letter, shaking his head the\nwhile. \"Too much risk, Hiram!\" said he. \"Mr Shippin wouldn't have asked\nyou to go into this venture if he could have got anybody else to do\nso. My advice is that you let it alone. I reckon you've come to me\nfor advice?\" Hiram shook his head. \"Ye haven't? What have ye come for,\nthen?\"\n\n\"Seven hundred pounds,\" said Hiram.\n\n\"Seven hundred pounds!\" said Squire Hall. \"I haven't got seven hundred\npounds to lend you, Hiram.\"\n\n\"Five hundred been left to Levi--I got hundred--raise hundred more on\nmortgage,\" said Hiram.\n\n\"Tut, tut, Hiram,\" said Squire Hall, \"that'll never do in the world.\nSuppose Levi West should come back again, what then? I'm responsible for\nthat money. If you wanted to borrow it now for any reasonable venture,\nyou should have it and welcome, but for such a wildcat scheme--\"\n\n\"Levi never come back,\" said Hiram--\"nine years gone Levi's dead.\"\n\n\"Mebby he is,\" said Squire Hall, \"but we don't know that.\"\n\n\"I'll give bond for security,\" said Hiram.\n\nSquire Hall thought for a while in silence. \"Very well, Hiram,\" said he\nby and by, \"if you'll do that. Your father left the money, and I don't\nsee that it's right for me to stay his son from using it. But if it is\nlost, Hiram, and if Levi should come back, it will go well to ruin ye.\"\n\nSo Hiram White invested seven hundred pounds in the Jamaica venture and\nevery farthing of it was burned by Blueskin, off Currituck Sound.\n\n\nIV\n\nSally Martin was said to be the prettiest girl in Lewes Hundred, and\nwhen the rumor began to leak out that Hiram White was courting her the\nwhole community took it as a monstrous joke. It was the common thing to\ngreet Hiram himself with, \"Hey, Hiram; how's Sally?\" Hiram never made\nanswer to such salutation, but went his way as heavily, as impassively,\nas dully as ever.\n\nThe joke was true. Twice a week, rain or shine, Hiram White never\nfailed to scrape his feet upon Billy Martin's doorstep. Twice a week, on\nSundays and Thursdays, he never failed to take his customary seat by the\nkitchen fire. He rarely said anything by way of talk; he nodded to the\nfarmer, to his wife, to Sally and, when he chanced to be at home, to her\nbrother, but he ventured nothing further. There he would sit from half\npast seven until nine o'clock, stolid, heavy, impassive, his dull eyes\nfollowing now one of the family and now another, but always coming back\nagain to Sally. It sometimes happened that she had other company--some\nof the young men of the neighborhood. The presence of such seemed to\nmake no difference to Hiram; he bore whatever broad jokes might be\ncracked upon him, whatever grins, whatever giggling might follow those\njokes, with the same patient impassiveness. There he would sit, silent,\nunresponsive; then, at the first stroke of nine o'clock, he would rise,\nshoulder his ungainly person into his overcoat, twist his head into\nhis three-cornered hat, and with a \"Good night, Sally, I be going now,\"\nwould take his departure, shutting the door carefully to behind him.\n\nNever, perhaps, was there a girl in the world had such a lover and such\na courtship as Sally Martin.\n\n\nV\n\nIt was one Thursday evening in the latter part of November, about a week\nafter Blueskin's appearance off the capes, and while the one subject of\ntalk was of the pirates being in Indian River inlet. The air was still\nand wintry; a sudden cold snap had set in and skims of ice had formed\nover puddles in the road; the smoke from the chimneys rose straight in\nthe quiet air and voices sounded loud, as they do in frosty weather.\n\nHiram White sat by the dim light of a tallow dip, poring laboriously\nover some account books. It was not quite seven o'clock, and he never\nstarted for Billy Martin's before that hour. As he ran his finger slowly\nand hesitatingly down the column of figures, he heard the kitchen door\nbeyond open and shut, the noise of footsteps crossing the floor and the\nscraping of a chair dragged forward to the hearth. Then came the sound\nof a basket of corncobs being emptied on the smoldering blaze and then\nthe snapping and crackling of the reanimated fire. Hiram thought nothing\nof all this, excepting, in a dim sort of way, that it was Bob, the negro\nmill hand, or old black Dinah, the housekeeper, and so went on with his\ncalculations.\n\nAt last he closed the books with a snap and, smoothing down his hair,\narose, took up the candle, and passed out of the room into the kitchen\nbeyond.\n\nA man was sitting in front of the corncob fire that flamed and blazed in\nthe great, gaping, sooty fireplace. A rough overcoat was flung over the\nchair behind him and his hands were spread out to the roaring warmth.\nAt the sound of the lifted latch and of Hiram's entrance he turned his\nhead, and when Hiram saw his face he stood suddenly still as though\nturned to stone. The face, marvelously altered and changed as it was,\nwas the face of his stepbrother, Levi West. He was not dead; he had\ncome home again. For a time not a sound broke the dead, unbroken silence\nexcepting the crackling of the blaze in the fireplace and the sharp\nticking of the tall clock in the corner. The one face, dull and stolid,\nwith the light of the candle shining upward over its lumpy features,\nlooked fixedly, immovably, stonily at the other, sharp, shrewd,\ncunning--the red wavering light of the blaze shining upon the high cheek\nbones, cutting sharp on the nose and twinkling in the glassy turn of the\nblack, ratlike eyes. Then suddenly that face cracked, broadened, spread\nto a grin. \"I have come back again, Hi,\" said Levi, and at the sound of\nthe words the speechless spell was broken.\n\nHiram answered never a word, but he walked to the fireplace, set the\ncandle down upon the dusty mantelshelf among the boxes and bottles, and,\ndrawing forward a chair upon the other side of the hearth, sat down.\n\nHis dull little eyes never moved from his stepbrother's face. There was\nno curiosity in his expression, no surprise, no wonder. The heavy under\nlip dropped a little farther open and there was more than usual of\ndull, expressionless stupidity upon the lumpish face; but that was all.\n\nAs was said, the face upon which he looked was strangely, marvelously\nchanged from what it had been when he had last seen it nine years\nbefore, and, though it was still the face of Levi West, it was a very\ndifferent Levi West than the shiftless ne'er-do-well who had run away to\nsea in the Brazilian brig that long time ago. That Levi West had been\na rough, careless, happy-go-lucky fellow; thoughtless and selfish, but\nwith nothing essentially evil or sinister in his nature. The Levi West\nthat now sat in a rush-bottom chair at the other side of the fireplace\nhad that stamped upon his front that might be both evil and sinister.\nHis swart complexion was tanned to an Indian copper. On one side of his\nface was a curious discoloration in the skin and a long, crooked, cruel\nscar that ran diagonally across forehead and temple and cheek in a\nwhite, jagged seam. This discoloration was of a livid blue, about the\ntint of a tattoo mark. It made a patch the size of a man's hand, lying\nacross the cheek and the side of the neck. Hiram could not keep his eyes\nfrom this mark and the white scar cutting across it.\n\nThere was an odd sort of incongruity in Levi's dress; a pair of heavy\ngold earrings and a dirty red handkerchief knotted loosely around his\nneck, beneath an open collar, displaying to its full length the lean,\nsinewy throat with its bony \"Adam's apple,\" gave to his costume somewhat\nthe smack of a sailor. He wore a coat that had once been of fine\nplum color--now stained and faded--too small for his lean length, and\nfurbished with tarnished lace. Dirty cambric cuffs hung at his wrists\nand on his fingers were half a dozen and more rings, set with stones\nthat shone, and glistened, and twinkled in the light of the fire. The\nhair at either temple was twisted into a Spanish curl, plastered flat to\nthe cheek, and a plaited queue hung halfway down his back.\n\nHiram, speaking never a word, sat motionless, his dull little eyes\ntraveling slowly up and down and around and around his stepbrother's\nperson.\n\nLevi did not seem to notice his scrutiny, leaning forward, now with\nhis palms spread out to the grateful warmth, now rubbing them slowly\ntogether. But at last he suddenly whirled his chair around, rasping\non the floor, and faced his stepbrother. He thrust his hand into his\ncapacious coat pocket and brought out a pipe which he proceeded to fill\nfrom a skin of tobacco. \"Well, Hi,\" said he, \"d'ye see I've come back\nhome again?\"\n\n\"Thought you was dead,\" said Hiram, dully.\n\nLevi laughed, then he drew a red-hot coal out of the fire, put it upon\nthe bowl of the pipe and began puffing out clouds of pungent smoke.\n\"Nay, nay,\" said he; \"not dead--not dead by odds. But [puff] by the\nEternal Holy, Hi, I played many a close game [puff] with old Davy Jones,\nfor all that.\"\n\nHiram's look turned inquiringly toward the jagged scar and Levi caught\nthe slow glance. \"You're lookin' at this,\" said he, running his finger\ndown the crooked seam. \"That looks bad, but it wasn't so close as\nthis\"--laying his hand for a moment upon the livid stain. \"A cooly devil\noff Singapore gave me that cut when we fell foul of an opium junk in the\nChina Sea four years ago last September. This,\" touching the disfiguring\nblue patch again, \"was a closer miss, Hi. A Spanish captain fired a\npistol at me down off Santa Catharina. He was so nigh that the powder\nwent under the skin and it'll never come out again. ---- his eyes--he\nhad better have fired the pistol into his own head that morning. But\nnever mind that. I reckon I'm changed, ain't I, Hi?\"\n\nHe took his pipe out of his mouth and looked inquiringly at Hiram, who\nnodded.\n\nLevi laughed. \"Devil doubt it,\" said he, \"but whether I'm changed or no,\nI'll take my affidavy that you are the same old half-witted Hi that\nyou used to be. I remember dad used to say that you hadn't no more than\nenough wits to keep you out of the rain. And, talking of dad, Hi, I\nhearn tell he's been dead now these nine years gone. D'ye know what I've\ncome home for?\"\n\nHiram shook his head.\n\n\"I've come for that five hundred pounds that dad left me when he died,\nfor I hearn tell of that, too.\"\n\nHiram sat quite still for a second or two and then he said, \"I put that\nmoney out to venture and lost it all.\"\n\nLevi's face fell and he took his pipe out of his mouth, regarding Hiram\nsharply and keenly. \"What d'ye mean?\" said he presently.\n\n\"I thought you was dead--and I put--seven hundred pounds--into Nancy\nLee--and Blueskin burned her--off Currituck.\"\n\n\"Burned her off Currituck!\" repeated Levi. Then suddenly a light seemed\nto break upon his comprehension. \"Burned by Blueskin!\" he repeated,\nand thereupon flung himself back in his chair and burst into a short,\nboisterous fit of laughter. \"Well, by the Holy Eternal, Hi, if that\nisn't a piece of your tarnal luck. Burned by Blueskin, was it?\" He\npaused for a moment, as though turning it over in his mind. Then he\nlaughed again. \"All the same,\" said he presently, \"d'ye see, I can't\nsuffer for Blueskin's doings. The money was willed to me, fair and true,\nand you have got to pay it, Hiram White, burn or sink, Blueskin or no\nBlueskin.\" Again he puffed for a moment or two in reflective silence.\n\"All the same, Hi,\" said he, once more resuming the thread of talk, \"I\ndon't reckon to be too hard on you. You be only half-witted, anyway, and\nI sha'n't be too hard on you. I give you a month to raise that money,\nand while you're doing it I'll jest hang around here. I've been in\ntrouble, Hi, d'ye see. I'm under a cloud and so I want to keep here, as\nquiet as may be. I'll tell ye how it came about: I had a set-to with a\nland pirate in Philadelphia, and somebody got hurt. That's the reason\nI'm here now, and don't you say anything about it. Do you understand?\"\n\nHiram opened his lips as though it was his intent to answer, then seemed\nto think better of it and contented himself by nodding his head.\n\nThat Thursday night was the first for a six-month that Hiram White did\nnot scrape his feet clean at Billy Martin's doorstep.\n\n\nVI\n\nWithin a week Levi West had pretty well established himself among his\nold friends and acquaintances, though upon a different footing from\nthat of nine years before, for this was a very different Levi from that\nother. Nevertheless, he was none the less popular in the barroom of the\ntavern and at the country store, where he was always the center of a\ngroup of loungers. His nine years seemed to have been crowded full of\nthe wildest of wild adventures and happenings, as well by land as by\nsea, and, given an appreciative audience, he would reel off his yarns by\nthe hour, in a reckless, devil-may-care fashion that set agape even old\nsea dogs who had sailed the western ocean since boyhood. Then he seemed\nalways to have plenty of money, and he loved to spend it at the tavern\ntap-room, with a lavishness that was at once the wonder and admiration\nof gossips.\n\nAt that time, as was said, Blueskin was the one engrossing topic of\ntalk, and it added not a little to Levi's prestige when it was found\nthat he had actually often seen that bloody, devilish pirate with his\nown eyes. A great, heavy, burly fellow, Levi said he was, with a beard\nas black as a hat--a devil with his sword and pistol afloat, but not so\nblack as he was painted when ashore. He told of many adventures in which\nBlueskin figured and was then always listened to with more than usual\ngaping interest.\n\nAs for Blueskin, the quiet way in which the pirates conducted themselves\nat Indian River almost made the Lewes folk forget what he could do when\nthe occasion called. They almost ceased to remember that poor shattered\nschooner that had crawled with its ghastly dead and groaning wounded\ninto the harbor a couple of weeks since. But if for a while they forgot\nwho or what Blueskin was, it was not for long.\n\nOne day a bark from Bristol, bound for Cuba and laden with a valuable\ncargo of cloth stuffs and silks, put into Lewes harbor to take in water.\nThe captain himself came ashore and was at the tavern for two or\nthree hours. It happened that Levi was there and that the talk was\nof Blueskin. The English captain, a grizzled old sea dog, listened to\nLevi's yarns with not a little contempt. He had, he said, sailed in the\nChina Sea and the Indian Ocean too long to be afraid of any hog-eating\nYankee pirate such as this Blueskin. A junk full of coolies armed with\nstink-pots was something to speak of, but who ever heard of the likes of\nBlueskin falling afoul of anything more than a Spanish canoe or a Yankee\ncoaster?\n\nLevi grinned. \"All the same, my hearty,\" said he, \"if I was you I'd\ngive Blueskin a wide berth. I hear that he's cleaned the vessel that was\ncareened awhile ago, and mebby he'll give you a little trouble if you\ncome too nigh him.\"\n\nTo this the Englishman only answered that Blueskin might be----, and\nthat the next afternoon, wind and weather permitting, he intended to\nheave anchor and run out to sea.\n\nLevi laughed again. \"I wish I might be here to see what'll happen,\" said\nhe, \"but I'm going up the river to-night to see a gal and mebby won't be\nback again for three or four days.\"\n\nThe next afternoon the English bark set sail as the captain promised,\nand that night Lewes town was awake until almost morning, gazing at a\nbroad red glare that lighted up the sky away toward the southeast. Two\ndays afterward a negro oysterman came up from Indian River with news\nthat the pirates were lying off the inlet, bringing ashore bales of\ngoods from their larger vessel and piling the same upon the beach under\ntarpaulins. He said that it was known down at Indian River that Blueskin\nhad fallen afoul of an English bark, had burned her and had murdered the\ncaptain and all but three of the crew, who had joined with the pirates.\n\nThe excitement over this terrible happening had only begun to subside\nwhen another occurred to cap it. One afternoon a ship's boat, in which\nwere five men and two women, came rowing into Lewes harbor. It was the\nlongboat of the Charleston packet, bound for New York, and was commanded\nby the first mate. The packet had been attacked and captured by the\npirates about ten leagues south by east of Cape Henlopen. The pirates\nhad come aboard of them at night and no resistance had been offered.\nPerhaps it was that circumstance that saved the lives of all, for no\nmurder or violence had been done. Nevertheless, officers, passengers\nand crew had been stripped of everything of value and set adrift in\nthe boats and the ship herself had been burned. The longboat had become\nseparated from the others during the night and had sighted Henlopen a\nlittle after sunrise.\n\nIt may be here said that Squire Hall made out a report of these two\noccurrences and sent it up to Philadelphia by the mate of the packet.\nBut for some reason it was nearly four weeks before a sloop of war was\nsent around from New York. In the meanwhile, the pirates had disposed\nof the booty stored under the tarpaulins on the beach at Indian River\ninlet, shipping some of it away in two small sloops and sending the rest\nby wagons somewhere up the country.\n\n\nVII\n\nLevi had told the English captain that he was going up-country to visit\none of his lady friends. He was gone nearly two weeks. Then once more\nhe appeared, as suddenly, as unexpectedly, as he had done when he first\nreturned to Lewes. Hiram was sitting at supper when the door opened and\nLevi walked in, hanging up his hat behind the door as unconcernedly as\nthough he had only been gone an hour. He was in an ugly, lowering humor\nand sat himself down at the table without uttering a word, resting his\nchin upon his clenched fist and glowering fixedly at the corn cake while\nDinah fetched him a plate and knife and fork.\n\nHis coming seemed to have taken away all of Hiram's appetite. He pushed\naway his plate and sat staring at his stepbrother, who presently fell\nto at the bacon and eggs like a famished wolf. Not a word was said until\nLevi had ended his meal and filled his pipe. \"Look'ee, Hiram,\" said he,\nas he stooped over the fire and raked out a hot coal. \"Look'ee, Hiram!\nI've been to Philadelphia, d'ye see, a-settlin' up that trouble I told\nyou about when I first come home. D'ye understand? D'ye remember? D'ye\nget it through your skull?\" He looked around over his shoulder, waiting\nas though for an answer. But getting none, he continued: \"I expect two\ngentlemen here from Philadelphia to-night. They're friends of mine and\nare coming to talk over the business and ye needn't stay at home, Hi.\nYou can go out somewhere, d'ye understand?\" And then he added with a\ngrin, \"Ye can go to see Sally.\"\n\nHiram pushed back his chair and arose. He leaned with his back against\nthe side of the fireplace. \"I'll stay at home,\" said he presently.\n\n\"But I don't want you to stay at home, Hi,\" said Levi. \"We'll have to\ntalk business and I want you to go!\"\n\n\"I'll stay at home,\" said Hiram again.\n\nLevi's brow grew as black as thunder. He ground his teeth together and\nfor a moment or two it seemed as though an explosion was coming. But he\nswallowed his passion with a gulp. \"You're a----pig-headed, half-witted\nfool,\" said he. Hiram never so much as moved his eyes. \"As for you,\"\nsaid Levi, whirling round upon Dinah, who was clearing the table, and\nglowering balefully upon the old negress, \"you put them things down and\ngit out of here. Don't you come nigh this kitchen again till I tell\nye to. If I catch you pryin' around may I be----, eyes and liver, if I\ndon't cut your heart out.\"\n\nIn about half an hour Levi's friends came; the first a little, thin,\nwizened man with a very foreign look. He was dressed in a rusty black\nsuit and wore gray yarn stockings and shoes with brass buckles. The\nother was also plainly a foreigner. He was dressed in sailor fashion,\nwith petticoat breeches of duck, a heavy pea-jacket, and thick boots,\nreaching to the knees. He wore a red sash tied around his waist, and\nonce, as he pushed back his coat, Hiram saw the glitter of a pistol\nbutt. He was a powerful, thickset man, low-browed and bull-necked, his\ncheek, and chin, and throat closely covered with a stubble of blue-black\nbeard. He wore a red kerchief tied around his head and over it a cocked\nhat, edged with tarnished gilt braid.\n\nLevi himself opened the door to them. He exchanged a few words outside\nwith his visitors, in a foreign language of which Hiram understood\nnothing. Neither of the two strangers spoke a word to Hiram: the little\nman shot him a sharp look out of the corners of his eyes and the burly\nruffian scowled blackly at him, but beyond that neither vouchsafed him\nany regard.\n\nLevi drew to the shutters, shot the bolt in the outer door, and tilted\na chair against the latch of the one that led from the kitchen into the\nadjoining room. Then the three worthies seated themselves at the table\nwhich Dinah had half cleared of the supper china, and were presently\ndeeply engrossed over a packet of papers which the big, burly man had\nbrought with him in the pocket of his pea-jacket. The confabulation was\nconducted throughout in the same foreign language which Levi had used\nwhen first speaking to them--a language quite unintelligible to Hiram's\nears. Now and then the murmur of talk would rise loud and harsh over\nsome disputed point; now and then it would sink away to whispers.\n\nTwice the tall clock in the corner whirred and sharply struck the\nhour, but throughout the whole long consultation Hiram stood silent,\nmotionless as a stock, his eyes fixed almost unwinkingly upon the three\nheads grouped close together around the dim, flickering light of the\ncandle and the papers scattered upon the table.\n\nSuddenly the talk came to an end, the three heads separated and the\nthree chairs were pushed back, grating harshly. Levi rose, went to the\ncloset and brought thence a bottle of Hiram's apple brandy, as coolly\nas though it belonged to himself. He set three tumblers and a crock of\nwater upon the table and each helped himself liberally.\n\nAs the two visitors departed down the road, Levi stood for a while at\nthe open door, looking after the dusky figures until they were swallowed\nin the darkness. Then he turned, came in, shut the door, shuddered, took\na final dose of the apple brandy and went to bed, without, since his\nfirst suppressed explosion, having said a single word to Hiram.\n\nHiram, left alone, stood for a while, silent, motionless as ever, then\nhe looked slowly about him, gave a shake of the shoulders as though to\narouse himself, and taking the candle, left the room, shutting the door\nnoiselessly behind him.\n\n\nVIII\n\nThis time of Levi West's unwelcome visitation was indeed a time of\nbitter trouble and tribulation to poor Hiram White. Money was of very\ndifferent value in those days than it is now, and five hundred pounds\nwas in its way a good round lump--in Sussex County it was almost a\nfortune. It was a desperate struggle for Hiram to raise the amount of\nhis father's bequest to his stepbrother. Squire Hall, as may have been\ngathered, had a very warm and friendly feeling for Hiram, believing in\nhim when all others disbelieved; nevertheless, in the matter of money\nthe old man was as hard and as cold as adamant. He would, he said, do\nall he could to help Hiram, but that five hundred pounds must and should\nbe raised--Hiram must release his security bond. He would loan him, he\nsaid, three hundred pounds, taking a mortgage upon the mill. He would\nhave lent him four hundred but that there was already a first mortgage\nof one hundred pounds upon it, and he would not dare to put more than\nthree hundred more atop of that.\n\nHiram had a considerable quantity of wheat which he had bought upon\nspeculation and which was then lying idle in a Philadelphia storehouse.\nThis he had sold at public sale and at a very great sacrifice; he\nrealized barely one hundred pounds upon it. The financial horizon looked\nvery black to him; nevertheless, Levi's five hundred pounds was raised,\nand paid into Squire Hall's hands, and Squire Hall released Hiram's\nbond.\n\nThe business was finally closed on one cold, gray afternoon in the early\npart of December. As Hiram tore his bond across and then tore it across\nagain and again, Squire Hall pushed back the papers upon his desk and\ncocked his feet upon its slanting top. \"Hiram,\" said he, abruptly,\n\"Hiram, do you know that Levi West is forever hanging around Billy\nMartin's house, after that pretty daughter of his?\"\n\nSo long a space of silence followed the speech that the Squire began to\nthink that Hiram might not have heard him. But Hiram had heard. \"No,\"\nsaid he, \"I didn't know it.\"\n\n\"Well, he is,\" said Squire Hall. \"It's the talk of the whole\nneighborhood. The talk's pretty bad, too. D'ye know that they say that\nshe was away from home three days last week, nobody knew where? The\nfellow's turned her head with his sailor's yarns and his traveler's\nlies.\"\n\nHiram said not a word, but he sat looking at the other in stolid\nsilence. \"That stepbrother of yours,\" continued the old Squire\npresently, \"is a rascal--he is a rascal, Hiram, and I mis-doubt he's\nsomething worse. I hear he's been seen in some queer places and with\nqueer company of late.\"\n\nHe stopped again, and still Hiram said nothing. \"And look'ee, Hiram,\"\nthe old man resumed, suddenly, \"I do hear that you be courtin' the girl,\ntoo; is that so?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hiram, \"I'm courtin' her, too.\"\n\n\"Tut! tut!\" said the Squire, \"that's a pity, Hiram. I'm afraid your\ncakes are dough.\"\n\nAfter he had left the Squire's office, Hiram stood for a while in the\nstreet, bareheaded, his hat in his hand, staring unwinkingly down at\nthe ground at his feet, with stupidly drooping lips and lackluster eyes.\nPresently he raised his hand and began slowly smoothing down the sandy\nshock of hair upon his forehead. At last he aroused himself with a\nshake, looked dully up and down the street, and then, putting on his\nhat, turned and walked slowly and heavily away.\n\nThe early dusk of the cloudy winter evening was settling fast, for\nthe sky was leaden and threatening. At the outskirts of the town Hiram\nstopped again and again stood for a while in brooding thought. Then,\nfinally, he turned slowly, not the way that led homeward, but taking the\nroad that led between the bare and withered fields and crooked fences\ntoward Billy Martin's.\n\nIt would be hard to say just what it was that led Hiram to seek Billy\nMartin's house at that time of day--whether it was fate or ill fortune.\nHe could not have chosen a more opportune time to confirm his own\nundoing. What he saw was the very worst that his heart feared.\n\nAlong the road, at a little distance from the house, was a mock-orange\nhedge, now bare, naked, leafless. As Hiram drew near he heard footsteps\napproaching and low voices. He drew back into the fence corner and there\nstood, half sheltered by the stark network of twigs. Two figures passed\nslowly along the gray of the roadway in the gloaming. One was his\nstepbrother, the other was Sally Martin. Levi's arm was around her, he\nwas whispering into her ear, and her head rested upon his shoulder.\n\nHiram stood as still, as breathless, as cold as ice. They stopped upon\nthe side of the road just beyond where he stood. Hiram's eyes never\nleft them. There for some time they talked together in low voices,\ntheir words now and then reaching the ears of that silent, breathless\nlistener.\n\nSuddenly there came the clattering of an opening door, and then Betty\nMartin's voice broke the silence, harshly, shrilly: \"Sal!--Sal!--Sally\nMartin! You, Sally Martin! Come in yere. Where be ye?\"\n\nThe girl flung her arms around Levi's neck and their lips met in one\nquick kiss. The next moment she was gone, flying swiftly, silently, down\nthe road past where Hiram stood, stooping as she ran. Levi stood looking\nafter her until she was gone; then he turned and walked away whistling.\n\nHis whistling died shrilly into silence in the wintry distance, and\nthen at last Hiram came stumbling out from the hedge. His face had never\nlooked before as it looked then.\n\n\nIX\n\nHiram was standing in front of the fire with his hands clasped behind\nhis back. He had not touched the supper on the table. Levi was eating\nwith an appetite. Suddenly he looked over his plate at his stepbrother.\n\n\"How about that five hundred pounds, Hiram?\" said he. \"I gave ye a month\nto raise it and the month ain't quite up yet, but I'm goin' to leave\nthis here place day after to-morrow--by next day at the furd'st--and I\nwant the money that's mine.\"\n\n\"I paid it to Squire Hall to-day and he has it fer ye,\" said Hiram,\ndully.\n\nLevi laid down his knife and fork with a clatter. \"Squire Hall!\" said\nhe, \"what's Squire Hall got to do with it? Squire Hall didn't have the\nuse of that money. It was you had it and you have got to pay it back to\nme, and if you don't do it, by G----, I'll have the law on you, sure as\nyou're born.\"\n\n\"Squire Hall's trustee--I ain't your trustee,\" said Hiram, in the same\ndull voice.\n\n\"I don't know nothing about trustees,\" said Levi, \"or anything about\nlawyer business, either. What I want to know is, are you going to pay me\nmy money or no?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Hiram, \"I ain't--Squire Hall'll pay ye; you go to him.\"\n\nLevi West's face grew purple red. He pushed back, his chair grating\nharshly. \"You--bloody land pirate!\" he said, grinding his teeth\ntogether. \"I see through your tricks. You're up to cheating me out of\nmy money. You know very well that Squire Hall is down on me, hard and\nbitter--writin' his----reports to Philadelphia and doing all he can to\nstir up everybody agin me and to bring the bluejackets down on me. I\nsee through your tricks as clear as glass, but ye shatn't trick me. I'll\nhave my money if there's law in the land--ye bloody, unnatural thief ye,\nwho'd go agin our dead father's will!\"\n\nThen--if the roof had fallen in upon him, Levi West could not have been\nmore amazed--Hiram suddenly strode forward, and, leaning half across the\ntable with his fists clenched, fairly glared into Levi's eyes. His face,\ndull, stupid, wooden, was now fairly convulsed with passion. The great\nveins stood out upon his temples like knotted whipcords, and when\nhe spoke his voice was more a breathless snarl than the voice of a\nChristian man.\n\n\"Ye'll have the law, will ye?\" said he. \"Ye'll--have the law, will ye?\nYou're afeared to go to law--Levi West--you try th' law--and see how ye\nlike it. Who 're you to call me thief--ye bloody, murderin' villain ye!\nYou're the thief--Levi West--you come here and stole my daddy from me ye\ndid. You make me ruin--myself to pay what oughter to been mine then--ye\nye steal the gal I was courtin', to boot.\" He stopped and his lips\nrithed for words to say. \"I know ye,\" said he, grinding his teeth. \"I\nknow ye! And only for what my daddy made me promise I'd a-had you up to\nthe magistrate's before this.\"\n\nThen, pointing with quivering finger: \"There's the door--you see it! Go\nout that there door and don't never come into it again--if ye do--or\nif ye ever come where I can lay eyes on ye again--by th' Holy Holy I'll\nhale ye up to the Squire's office and tell all I know and all I've seen.\nOh, I'll give ye your belly-fill of law if--ye want th' law! Git out of\nthe house, I say!\"\n\nAs Hiram spoke Levi seemed to shrink together. His face changed from its\ncopper color to a dull, waxy yellow. When the other ended he answered\nnever a word. But he pushed back his chair, rose, put on his hat and,\nwith a furtive, sidelong look, left the house, without stopping to\nfinish the supper which he had begun. He never entered Hiram White's\ndoor again.\n\n\nX\n\nHiram had driven out the evil spirit from his home, but the mischief\nthat it had brewed was done and could not be undone. The next day it\nwas known that Sally Martin had run away from home, and that she had run\naway with Levi West. Old Billy Martin had been in town in the morning\nwith his rifle, hunting for Levi and threatening if he caught him to\nhave his life for leading his daughter astray.\n\nAnd, as the evil spirit had left Hiram's house, so had another and a\ngreater evil spirit quitted its harborage. It was heard from Indian\nRiver in a few days more that Blueskin had quitted the inlet and had\nsailed away to the southeast; and it was reported, by those who seemed\nto know, that he had finally quitted those parts.\n\nIt was well for himself that Blueskin left when he did, for not three\ndays after he sailed away the Scorpion sloop-of-war dropped anchor\nin Lewes harbor. The New York agent of the unfortunate packet and a\ngovernment commissioner had also come aboard the Scorpion.\n\nWithout loss of time, the officer in command instituted a keen and\nsearching examination that brought to light some singularly curious\nfacts. It was found that a very friendly understanding must have existed\nfor some time between the pirates and the people of Indian River, for,\nin the houses throughout that section, many things--some of considerable\nvalue--that had been taken by the pirates from the packet, were\ndiscovered and seized by the commissioner. Valuables of a suspicious\nnature had found their way even into the houses of Lewes itself.\n\nThe whole neighborhood seemed to have become more or less tainted by the\npresence of the pirates.\n\nEven poor Hiram White did not escape the suspicions of having had\ndealings with them. Of course the examiners were not slow in discovering\nthat Levi West had been deeply concerned with Blueskin's doings.\n\nOld Dinah and black Bob were examined, and not only did the story of\nLevi's two visitors come to light, but also the fact that Hiram was\npresent and with them while they were in the house disposing of the\ncaptured goods to their agent.\n\nOf all that he had endured, nothing seemed to cut poor Hiram so deeply\nand keenly as these unjust suspicions. They seemed to bring the last\nbitter pang, hardest of all to bear.\n\nLevi had taken from him his father's love; he had driven him, if not to\nruin, at least perilously close to it. He had run away with the girl he\nloved, and now, through him, even Hiram's good name was gone.\n\nNeither did the suspicions against him remain passive; they became\nactive.\n\nGoldsmiths' bills, to the amount of several thousand pounds, had been\ntaken in the packet and Hiram was examined with an almost inquisitorial\ncloseness and strictness as to whether he had or had not knowledge of\ntheir whereabouts.\n\nUnder his accumulated misfortunes, he grew not only more dull, more\ntaciturn, than ever, but gloomy, moody, brooding as well. For hours he\nwould sit staring straight before him into the fire, without moving so\nmuch as a hair.\n\nOne night--it was a bitterly cold night in February, with three inches\nof dry and gritty snow upon the ground--while Hiram sat thus brooding,\nthere came, of a sudden, a soft tap upon the door.\n\nLow and hesitating as it was, Hiram started violently at the sound. He\nsat for a while, looking from right to left. Then suddenly pushing back\nhis chair, he arose, strode to the door, and flung it wide open.\n\nIt was Sally Martin.\n\nHiram stood for a while staring blankly at her. It was she who first\nspoke. \"Won't you let me come in, Hi?\" said she. \"I'm nigh starved with\nthe cold and I'm fit to die, I'm so hungry. For God's sake, let me come\nin.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hiram, \"I'll let you come in, but why don't you go home?\"\n\nThe poor girl was shivering and chattering with the cold; now she began\ncrying, wiping her eyes with the corner of a blanket in which her head\nand shoulders were wrapped. \"I have been home, Hiram,\" she said, \"but\ndad, he shut the door in my face. He cursed me just awful, Hi--I wish I\nwas dead!\"\n\n\"You better come in,\" said Hiram. \"It's no good standing out there in\nthe cold.\" He stood aside and the girl entered, swiftly, gratefully.\n\nAt Hiram's bidding black Dinah presently set some food before Sally and\nshe fell to eating ravenously, almost ferociously. Meantime, while she\nate, Hiram stood with his back to the fire, looking at her face that\nface once so round and rosy, now thin, pinched, haggard.\n\n\"Are you sick, Sally?\" said he presently.\n\n\"No,\" said she, \"but I've had pretty hard times since I left home, Hi.\"\nThe tears sprang to her eyes at the recollection of her troubles, but\nshe only wiped them hastily away with the back of her hand, without\nstopping in her eating.\n\nA long pause of dead silence followed. Dinah sat crouched together on a\ncricket at the other side of the hearth, listening with interest. Hiram\ndid not seem to see her. \"Did you go off with Levi?\" said he at last,\nspeaking abruptly. The girl looked up furtively under her brows. \"You\nneedn't be afeared to tell,\" he added.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she at last, \"I did go off with him, Hi.\"\n\n\"Where've you been?\"\n\nAt the question, she suddenly laid down her knife and fork.\n\n\"Don't you ask me that, Hi,\" said she, agitatedly, \"I can't tell you\nthat. You don't know Levi, Hiram; I darsn't tell you anything he don't\nwant me to. If I told you where I been he'd hunt me out, no matter where\nI was, and kill me. If you only knew what I know about him, Hiram, you\nwouldn't ask anything about him.\"\n\nHiram stood looking broodingly at her for a long time; then at last he\nagain spoke. \"I thought a sight of you onc't, Sally,\" said he.\n\nSally did not answer immediately, but, after a while, she suddenly\nlooked up. \"Hiram,\" said she, \"if I tell ye something will you promise\non your oath not to breathe a word to any living soul?\" Hiram nodded.\n\"Then I'll tell you, but if Levi finds I've told he'll murder me as\nsure as you're standin' there. Come nigher--I've got to whisper it.\" He\nleaned forward close to her where she sat. She looked swiftly from right\nto left; then raising her lips she breathed into his ear: \"I'm an honest\nwoman, Hi. I was married to Levi West before I run away.\"\n\n\nXI\n\nThe winter had passed, spring had passed, and summer had come. Whatever\nHiram had felt, he had made no sign of suffering. Nevertheless,\nhis lumpy face had begun to look flabby, his cheeks hollow, and his\nloose-jointed body shrunk more awkwardly together into its clothes. He\nwas often awake at night, sometimes walking up and down his room until\nfar into the small hours.\n\nIt was through such a wakeful spell as this that he entered into the\ngreatest, the most terrible, happening of his life.\n\nIt was a sulphurously hot night in July. The air was like the breath of\na furnace, and it was a hard matter to sleep with even the easiest\nmind and under the most favorable circumstances. The full moon shone in\nthrough the open window, laying a white square of light upon the floor,\nand Hiram, as he paced up and down, up and down, walked directly through\nit, his gaunt figure starting out at every turn into sudden brightness\nas he entered the straight line of misty light.\n\nThe clock in the kitchen whirred and rang out the hour of twelve, and\nHiram stopped in his walk to count the strokes.\n\nThe last vibration died away into silence, and still he stood\nmotionless, now listening with a new and sudden intentness, for, even as\nthe clock rang the last stroke, he heard soft, heavy footsteps, moving\nslowly and cautiously along the pathway before the house and directly\nbelow the open window. A few seconds more and he heard the creaking of\nrusty hinges. The mysterious visitor had entered the mill. Hiram crept\nsoftly to the window and looked out. The moon shone full on the dusty,\nshingled face of the old mill, not thirty steps away, and he saw that\nthe door was standing wide open. A second or two of stillness followed,\nand then, as he still stood looking intently, he saw the figure of a man\nsuddenly appear, sharp and vivid, from the gaping blackness of the open\ndoorway. Hiram could see his face as clear as day. It was Levi West, and\nhe carried an empty meal bag over his arm.\n\nLevi West stood looking from right to left for a second or two, and then\nhe took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Then\nhe softly closed the door behind him and left the mill as he had come,\nand with the same cautious step. Hiram looked down upon him as he passed\nclose to the house and almost directly beneath. He could have touched\nhim with his hand.\n\nFifty or sixty yards from the house Levi stopped and a second figure\narose from the black shadow in the angle of the worm fence and joined\nhim. They stood for a while talking together, Levi pointing now and then\ntoward the mill. Then the two turned, and, climbing over the fence,\ncut across an open field and through the tall, shaggy grass toward the\nsoutheast.\n\nHiram straightened himself and drew a deep breath, and the moon, shining\nfull upon his face, snowed it twisted, convulsed, as it had been when\nhe had fronted his stepbrother seven months before in the kitchen. Great\nbeads of sweat stood on his brow and he wiped them away with his sleeve.\nThen, coatless, hatless as he was, he swung himself out of the window,\ndropped upon the grass, and, without an instant of hesitation, strode\noff down the road in the direction that Levi West had taken.\n\nAs he climbed the fence where the two men had climbed it he could see\nthem in the pallid light, far away across the level, scrubby meadow\nland, walking toward a narrow strip of pine woods.\n\nA little later they entered the sharp-cut shadows beneath the trees and\nwere swallowed in the darkness.\n\nWith fixed eyes and close-shut lips, as doggedly, as inexorably as\nthough he were a Nemesis hunting his enemy down, Hiram followed their\nfootsteps across the stretch of moonlit open. Then, by and by, he also\nwas in the shadow of the pines. Here, not a sound broke the midnight\nhush. His feet made no noise upon the resinous softness of the ground\nbelow. In that dead, pulseless silence he could distinctly hear the\ndistant voices of Levi and his companion, sounding loud and resonant in\nthe hollow of the woods. Beyond the woods was a cornfield, and presently\nhe heard the rattling of the harsh leaves as the two plunged into the\ntasseled jungle. Here, as in the woods, he followed them, step by step,\nguided by the noise of their progress through the canes.\n\nBeyond the cornfield ran a road that, skirting to the south of Lewes,\nled across a wooden bridge to the wide salt marshes that stretched\nbetween the town and the distant sand hills. Coming out upon this road\nHiram found that he had gained upon those he followed, and that they\nnow were not fifty paces away, and he could see that Levi's companion\ncarried over his shoulder what looked like a bundle of tools.\n\nHe waited for a little while to let them gain their distance and for the\nsecond time wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve; then, without ever\nonce letting his eyes leave them, he climbed the fence to the roadway.\n\nFor a couple of miles or more he followed the two along the white, level\nhighway, past silent, sleeping houses, past barns, sheds, and haystacks,\nlooming big in the moonlight, past fields, and woods, and clearings,\npast the dark and silent skirts of the town, and so, at last, out upon\nthe wide, misty salt marshes, which seemed to stretch away interminably\nthrough the pallid light, yet were bounded in the far distance by the\nlong, white line of sand hills.\n\nAcross the level salt marshes he followed them, through the rank sedge\nand past the glassy pools in which his own inverted image stalked\nbeneath as he stalked above; on and on, until at last they had reached\na belt of scrub pines, gnarled and gray, that fringed the foot of the\nwhite sand hills.\n\nHere Hiram kept within the black network of shadow. The two whom he\nfollowed walked more in the open, with their shadows, as black as ink,\nwalking along in the sand beside them, and now, in the dead, breathless\nstillness, might be heard, dull and heavy, the distant thumping,\npounding roar of the Atlantic surf, beating on the beach at the other\nside of the sand hills, half a mile away.\n\nAt last the two rounded the southern end of the white bluff, and when\nHiram, following, rounded it also, they were no longer to be seen.\n\nBefore him the sand hill rose, smooth and steep, cutting in a sharp\nridge against the sky. Up this steep hill trailed the footsteps of those\nhe followed, disappearing over the crest. Beyond the ridge lay a round,\nbowl-like hollow, perhaps fifty feet across and eighteen or twenty feet\ndeep, scooped out by the eddying of the winds into an almost perfect\ncircle. Hiram, slowly, cautiously, stealthily, following their trailing\nline of footmarks, mounted to the top of the hillock and peered down\ninto the bowl beneath. The two men were sitting upon the sand, not far\nfrom the tall, skeleton-like shaft of a dead pine tree that rose, stark\nand gray, from the sand in which it may once have been buried, centuries\nago.\n\n\nXII\n\nLevi had taken off his coat and waistcoat and was fanning himself with\nhis hat. He was sitting upon the bag he had brought from the mill and\nwhich he had spread out upon the sand. His companion sat facing him. The\nmoon shone full upon him and Hiram knew him instantly--he was the same\nburly, foreign-looking ruffian who had come with the little man to the\nmill that night to see Levi. He also had his hat off and was wiping his\nforehead and face with a red handkerchief. Beside him lay the bundle of\ntools he had brought--a couple of shovels, a piece of rope, and a long,\nsharp iron rod.\n\nThe two men were talking together, but Hiram could not understand what\nthey said, for they spoke in the same foreign language that they had\nbefore used. But he could see his stepbrother point with his finger, now\nto the dead tree and now to the steep, white face of the opposite side\nof the bowl-like hollow.\n\nAt last, having apparently rested themselves, the conference, if\nconference it was, came to an end, and Levi led the way, the other\nfollowing, to the dead pine tree. Here he stopped and began searching,\nas though for some mark; then, having found that which he looked for,\nhe drew a tapeline and a large brass pocket compass from his pocket. He\ngave one end of the tape line to his companion, holding the other\nwith his thumb pressed upon a particular part of the tree. Taking his\nbearings by the compass, he gave now and then some orders to the other,\nwho moved a little to the left or the right as he bade. At last he gave\na word of command, and, thereupon, his companion drew a wooden peg from\nhis pocket and thrust it into the sand. From this peg as a base they\nagain measured, taking bearings by the compass, and again drove a peg.\nFor a third time they repeated their measurements and then, at last,\nseemed to have reached the point which they aimed for.\n\nHere Levi marked a cross with his heel upon the sand.\n\nHis companion brought him the pointed iron rod which lay beside the\nshovels, and then stood watching as Levi thrust it deep into the sand,\nagain and again, as though sounding for some object below. It was some\nwhile before he found that for which he was seeking, but at last the\nrod struck with a jar upon some hard object below. After making sure\nof success by one or two additional taps with the rod, Levi left it\nremaining where it stood, brushing the sand from his hands. \"Now fetch\nthe shovels, Pedro,\" said he, speaking for the first time in English.\n\nThe two men were busy for a long while, shoveling away the sand. The\nobject for which they were seeking lay buried some six feet deep, and\nthe work was heavy and laborious, the shifting sand sliding back, again\nand again, into the hole. But at last the blade of one of the shovels\nstruck upon some hard substance and Levi stooped and brushed away the\nsand with the palm of his hand.\n\nLevi's companion climbed out of the hole which they had dug and tossed\nthe rope which he had brought with the shovels down to the other. Levi\nmade it fast to some object below and then himself mounted to the level\nof the sand above. Pulling together, the two drew up from the hole a\nheavy iron-bound box, nearly three feet long and a foot wide and deep.\n\nLevi's companion stooped and began untying the rope which had been\nlashed to a ring in the lid.\n\nWhat next happened happened suddenly, swiftly, terribly. Levi drew back\na single step, and shot one quick, keen look to right and to left. He\npassed his hand rapidly behind his back, and the next moment Hiram saw\nthe moonlight gleam upon the long, sharp, keen blade of a knife. Levi\nraised his arm. Then, just as the other arose from bending over the\nchest, he struck, and struck again, two swift, powerful blows. Hiram\nsaw the blade drive, clean and sharp, into the back, and heard the\nhilt strike with a dull thud against the ribs--once, twice. The burly,\nblack-bearded wretch gave a shrill, terrible cry and fell staggering\nback. Then, in an instant, with another cry, he was up and clutched Levi\nwith a clutch of despair by the throat and by the arm. Then followed a\nstruggle, short, terrible, silent. Not a sound was heard but the deep,\npanting breath and the scuffling of feet in the sand, upon which there\nnow poured and dabbled a dark-purple stream. But it was a one-sided\nstruggle and lasted only for a second or two. Levi wrenched his arm\nloose from the wounded man's grasp, tearing his shirt sleeve from the\nwrist to the shoulder as he did so. Again and again the cruel knife was\nlifted, and again and again it fell, now no longer bright, but stained\nwith red.\n\nThen, suddenly, all was over. Levi's companion dropped to the sand\nwithout a sound, like a bundle of rags. For a moment he lay limp and\ninert; then one shuddering spasm passed over him and he lay silent and\nstill, with his face half buried in the sand.\n\nLevi, with the knife still gripped tight in his hand, stood leaning over\nhis victim, looking down upon his body. His shirt and hand, and even\nhis naked arm, were stained and blotched with blood. The moon lit up his\nface and it was the face of a devil from hell.\n\nAt last he gave himself a shake, stooped and wiped his knife and hand\nand arm upon the loose petticoat breeches of the dead man. He thrust his\nknife back into its sheath, drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the\nchest. In the moonlight Hiram could see that it was filled mostly with\npaper and leather bags, full, apparently of money.\n\nAll through this awful struggle and its awful ending Hiram lay, dumb\nand motionless, upon the crest of the sand hill, looking with a horrid\nfascination upon the death struggle in the pit below. Now Hiram arose.\nThe sand slid whispering down from the crest as he did so, but Levi\nwas too intent in turning over the contents of the chest to notice the\nslight sound.\n\nHiram's face was ghastly pale and drawn. For one moment he opened his\nlips as though to speak, but no word came. So, white, silent, he\nstood for a few seconds, rather like a statue than a living man, then,\nsuddenly, his eyes fell upon the bag, which Levi had brought with him,\nno doubt, to carry back the treasure for which he and his companion were\nin search, and which still lay spread out on the sand where it had been\nflung. Then, as though a thought had suddenly flashed upon him, his\nwhole expression changed, his lips closed tightly together as though\nfearing an involuntary sound might escape, and the haggard look\ndissolved from his face.\n\nCautiously, slowly, he stepped over the edge of the sand hill and down\nthe slanting face. His coming was as silent as death, for his feet made\nno noise as he sank ankle-deep in the yielding surface. So, stealthily,\nstep by step, he descended, reached the bag, lifted it silently. Levi,\nstill bending over the chest and searching through the papers within,\nwas not four feet away. Hiram raised the bag in his hands. He must have\nmade some slight rustle as he did so, for suddenly Levi half turned his\nhead. But he was one instant too late. In a flash the bag was over his\nhead--shoulders--arms--body.\n\nThen came another struggle, as fierce, as silent, as desperate as that\nother--and as short. Wiry, tough, and strong as he was, with a lean,\nsinewy, nervous vigor, fighting desperately for his life as he was, Levi\nhad no chance against the ponderous strength of his stepbrother. In any\ncase, the struggle could not have lasted long; as it was, Levi stumbled\nbackward over the body of his dead mate and fell, with Hiram upon him.\nMaybe he was stunned by the fall; maybe he felt the hopelessness of\nresistance, for he lay quite still while Hiram, kneeling upon him, drew\nthe rope from the ring of the chest and, without uttering a word, bound\nit tightly around both the bag and the captive within, knotting it again\nand again and drawing it tight. Only once was a word spoken. \"If you'll\nlemme go,\" said a muffled voice from the bag, \"I'll give you five\nthousand pounds--it's in that there box.\" Hiram answered never a word,\nbut continued knotting the rope and drawing it tight.\n\n\nXIII\n\nThe Scorpion sloop-of-war lay in Lewes harbor all that winter and\nspring, probably upon the slim chance of a return of the pirates. It was\nabout eight o'clock in the morning and Lieutenant Maynard was sitting\nin Squire Hall's office, fanning himself with his hat and talking in a\ndesultory fashion. Suddenly the dim and distant noise of a great crowd\nwas heard from without, coming nearer and nearer. The Squire and his\nvisitor hurried to the door. The crowd was coming down the street\nshouting, jostling, struggling, some on the footway, some in the\nroadway. Heads were at the doors and windows, looking down upon them.\nNearer they came, and nearer; then at last they could see that the\npress surrounded and accompanied one man. It was Hiram White, hatless,\ncoatless, the sweat running down his face in streams, but stolid and\nsilent as ever. Over his shoulder he carried a bag, tied round and round\nwith a rope. It was not until the crowd and the man it surrounded had\ncome quite near that the Squire and the lieutenant saw that a pair\nof legs in gray-yarn stockings hung from the bag. It was a man he was\ncarrying.\n\nHiram had lugged his burden five miles that morning without help and\nwith scarcely a rest on the way.\n\nHe came directly toward the Squire's office and, still sun rounded and\nhustled by the crowd, up the steep steps to the office within. He flung\nhis burden heavily upon the floor without a word and wiped his streaming\nforehead.\n\nThe Squire stood with his knuckles on his desk, staring first at Hiram\nand then at the strange burden he had brought. A sudden hush fell upon\nall, though the voices of those without sounded as loud and turbulent as\never. \"What is it, Hiram?\" said Squire Hall at last.\n\nThen for the first time Hiram spoke, panting thickly. \"It's a bloody\nmurderer,\" said he, pointing a quivering finger at the motionless\nfigure.\n\n\"Here, some of you!\" called out the Squire. \"Come! Untie this man! Who\nis he?\" A dozen willing fingers quickly unknotted the rope and the bag\nwas slipped from the head and body.\n\nHair and face and eyebrows and clothes were powdered with meal, but,\nin spite of all and through all the innocent whiteness, dark spots and\nblotches and smears of blood showed upon head and arm and shirt. Levi\nraised himself upon his elbow and looked scowlingly around at the\namazed, wonderstruck faces surrounding him.\n\n\"Why, it's Levi West!\" croaked the Squire, at last finding his voice.\n\nThen, suddenly, Lieutenant Maynard pushed forward, before the others\ncrowded around the figure on the floor, and, clutching Levi by the hair,\ndragged his head backward so as to better see his face. \"Levi West!\"\nsaid he in a loud voice. \"Is this the Levi West you've been telling\nme of? Look at that scar and the mark on his cheek! THIS IS BLUESKIN\nHIMSELF.\"\n\n\nXIV\n\nIn the chest which Blueskin had dug up out of the sand were found not\nonly the goldsmiths' bills taken from the packet, but also many\nother valuables belonging to the officers and the passengers of the\nunfortunate ship.\n\nThe New York agents offered Hiram a handsome reward for his efforts\nin recovering the lost bills, but Hiram declined it, positively and\nfinally. \"All I want,\" said he, in his usual dull, stolid fashion, \"is\nto have folks know I'm honest.\" Nevertheless, though he did not accept\nwhat the agents of the packet offered, fate took the matter into its\nown hands and rewarded him not unsubstantially. Blueskin was taken to\nEngland in the Scorpion. But he never came to trial. While in Newgate\nhe hanged himself to the cell window with his own stockings. The news\nof his end was brought to Lewes in the early autumn and Squire Hall\ntook immediate measures to have the five hundred pounds of his father's\nlegacy duly transferred to Hiram.\n\nIn November Hiram married the pirate's widow.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII. CAPTAIN SCARFIELD\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nThe author of this narrative cannot recall that, in any history of the\nfamous pirates, he has ever read a detailed and sufficient account\nof the life and death of Capt. John Scarfield. Doubtless some data\nconcerning his death and the destruction of his schooner might be\ngathered from the report of Lieutenant Mainwaring, now filed in the\narchives of the Navy Department, out beyond such bald and bloodless\nnarrative the author knows of nothing, unless it be the little chap-book\nhistory published by Isaiah Thomas in Newburyport about the year\n1821-22, entitled, \"A True History of the Life and Death of Captain Jack\nScarfield.\" This lack of particularity in the history of one so notable\nin his profession it is the design of the present narrative in a measure\nto supply, and, if the author has seen fit to cast it in the form of a\nfictional story, it is only that it may make more easy reading for those\nwho see fit to follow the tale from this to its conclusion.\n\n\nI\n\nELEAZER COOPER, or Captain Cooper, as was his better-known title in\nPhiladelphia, was a prominent member of the Society of Friends. He was\nan overseer of the meeting and an occasional speaker upon particular\noccasions. When at home from one of his many voyages he never failed to\noccupy his seat in the meeting both on First Day and Fifth Day, and he\nwas regarded by his fellow townsmen as a model of business integrity and\nof domestic responsibility.\n\nMore incidental to this history, however, it is to be narrated that\nCaptain Cooper was one of those trading skippers who carried their own\nmerchandise in their own vessels which they sailed themselves, and on\nwhose decks they did their own bartering. His vessel was a swift, large\nschooner, the Eliza Cooper, of Philadelphia, named for his wife. His\ncruising grounds were the West India Islands, and his merchandise\nwas flour and corn meal ground at the Brandywine Mills at Wilmington,\nDelaware.\n\nDuring the War of 1812 he had earned, as was very well known, an\nextraordinary fortune in this trading; for flour and corn meal sold at\nfabulous prices in the French, Spanish, Dutch, and Danish islands, cut\noff, as they were, from the rest of the world by the British blockade.\n\nThe running of this blockade was one of the most hazardous maritime\nventures possible, but Captain Cooper had met with such unvaried\nsuccess, and had sold his merchandise at such incredible profit that,\nat the end of the war, he found himself to have become one of the\nwealthiest merchants of his native city.\n\nIt was known at one time that his balance in the Mechanics' Bank was\ngreater than that of any other individual depositor upon the books, and\nit was told of him that he had once deposited in the bank a chest of\nforeign silver coin, the exchanged value of which, when translated\ninto American currency, was upward of forty-two thousand dollars--a\nprodigious sum of money in those days.\n\nIn person, Captain Cooper was tall and angular of frame. His face was\nthin and severe, wearing continually an unsmiling, mask-like expression\nof continent and unruffled sobriety. His manner was dry and taciturn,\nand his conduct and life were measured to the most absolute accord with\nthe teachings of his religious belief.\n\nHe lived in an old-fashioned house on Front Street below Spruce--as\npleasant, cheerful a house as ever a trading captain could return to.\nAt the back of the house a lawn sloped steeply down toward the river. To\nthe south stood the wharf and storehouses; to the north an orchard and\nkitchen garden bloomed with abundant verdure. Two large chestnut trees\nsheltered the porch and the little space of lawn, and when you sat under\nthem in the shade you looked down the slope between two rows of box\nbushes directly across the shining river to the Jersey shore.\n\nAt the time of our story--that is, about the year 1820--this property\nhad increased very greatly in value, but it was the old home of the\nCoopers, as Eleazer Cooper was entirely rich enough to indulge his fancy\nin such matters. Accordingly, as he chose to live in the same\nhouse where his father and his grandfather had dwelt before him, he\nperemptorily, if quietly, refused all offers looking toward the purchase\nof the lot of ground--though it was now worth five or six times its\nformer value.\n\nAs was said, it was a cheerful, pleasant home, impressing you when you\nentered it with the feeling of spotless and all-pervading cleanliness--a\ncleanliness that greeted you in the shining brass door-knocker; that\nentertained you in the sitting room with its stiff, leather-covered\nfurniture, the brass-headed tacks whereof sparkled like so many\nstars--a cleanliness that bade you farewell in the spotless stretch of\nsand-sprinkled hallway, the wooden floor of which was worn into knobs\naround the nail heads by the countless scourings and scrubbings to which\nit had been subjected and which left behind them an all-pervading faint,\nfragrant odor of soap and warm water.\n\nEleazer Cooper and his wife were childless, but one inmate made the\ngreat, silent, shady house bright with life. Lucinda Fairbanks, a niece\nof Captain Cooper's by his only sister, was a handsome, sprightly girl\nof eighteen or twenty, and a great favorite in the Quaker society of the\ncity.\n\nIt remains only to introduce the final and, perhaps, the most important\nactor of the narrative Lieut. James Mainwaring. During the past twelve\nmonths or so he had been a frequent visitor at the Cooper house. At\nthis time he was a broad-shouldered, red-cheeked, stalwart fellow\nof twenty-six or twenty-eight. He was a great social favorite, and\npossessed the added romantic interest of having been aboard the\nConstitution when she fought the Guerriere, and of having, with his own\nhands, touched the match that fired the first gun of that great battle.\n\nMainwaring's mother and Eliza Cooper had always been intimate friends,\nand the coming and going of the young man during his leave of absence\nwere looked upon in the house as quite a matter of course. Half a dozen\ntimes a week he would drop in to execute some little commission for the\nladies, or, if Captain Cooper was at home, to smoke a pipe of tobacco\nwith him, to sip a dram of his famous old Jamaica rum, or to play a\nrubber of checkers of an evening. It is not likely that either of the\nolder people was the least aware of the real cause of his visits; still\nless did they suspect that any passages of sentiment had passed between\nthe young people.\n\nThe truth was that Mainwaring and the young lady were very deeply in\nlove. It was a love that they were obliged to keep a profound secret,\nfor not only had Eleazer Cooper held the strictest sort of testimony\nagainst the late war--a testimony so rigorous as to render it altogether\nunlikely that one of so military a profession as Mainwaring practiced\ncould hope for his consent to a suit for marriage, but Lucinda could not\nhave married one not a member of the Society of Friends without losing\nher own birthright membership therein. She herself might not attach much\nweight to such a loss of membership in the Society, but her fear of, and\nher respect for, her uncle led her to walk very closely in her path\nof duty in this respect. Accordingly she and Mainwaring met as they\ncould--clandestinely--and the stolen moments were very sweet. With equal\nsecrecy Lucinda had, at the request of her lover, sat for a miniature\nportrait to Mrs. Gregory, which miniature, set in a gold medallion,\nMainwaring, with a mild, sentimental pleasure, wore hung around his neck\nand beneath his shirt frill next his heart.\n\nIn the month of April of the year 1820 Mainwaring received orders\nto report at Washington. During the preceding autumn the West India\npirates, and notably Capt. Jack Scarfield, had been more than usually\nactive, and the loss of the packet Marblehead (which, sailing from\nCharleston, South Carolina, was never heard of more) was attributed\nto them. Two other coasting vessels off the coast of Georgia had been\nlooted and burned by Scarfield, and the government had at last aroused\nitself to the necessity of active measures for repressing these pests of\nthe West India waters.\n\nMainwaring received orders to take command of the Yankee, a swift,\nlight-draught, heavily armed brig of war, and to cruise about the Bahama\nIslands and to capture and destroy all the pirates' vessels he could\nthere discover.\n\nOn his way from Washington to New York, where the Yankee was then\nwaiting orders, Mainwaring stopped in Philadelphia to bid good-by to his\nmany friends in that city. He called at the old Cooper house. It was\non a Sunday afternoon. The spring was early and the weather extremely\npleasant that day, being filled with a warmth almost as of summer. The\napple trees were already in full bloom and filled all the air with their\nfragrance. Everywhere there seemed to be the pervading hum of bees, and\nthe drowsy, tepid sunshine was very delightful.\n\nAt that time Eleazer was just home from an unusually successful voyage\nto Antigua. Mainwaring found the family sitting under one of the still\nleafless chestnut trees, Captain Cooper smoking his long clay pipe and\nlazily perusing a copy of the National Gazette. Eleazer listened with\na great deal of interest to what Mainwaring had to say of his proposed\ncruise. He himself knew a great deal about the pirates, and, singularly\nunbending from his normal, stiff taciturnity, he began telling of what\nhe knew, particularly of Captain Scarfield--in whom he appeared to take\nan extraordinary interest.\n\nVastly to Mainwaring's surprise, the old Quaker assumed the position\nof a defendant of the pirates, protesting that the wickedness of the\naccused was enormously exaggerated. He declared that he knew some of the\nfreebooters very well and that at the most they were poor, misdirected\nwretches who had, by easy gradation, slid into their present evil ways,\nfrom having been tempted by the government authorities to enter into\nprivateering in the days of the late war. He conceded that Captain\nScarfield had done many cruel and wicked deeds, but he averred that he\nhad also performed many kind and benevolent actions. The world made no\nnote of these latter, but took care only to condemn the evil that had\nbeen done. He acknowledged that it was true that the pirate had allowed\nhis crew to cast lots for the wife and the daughter of the skipper of\nthe Northern Rose, but there were none of his accusers who told how,\nat the risk of his own life and the lives of all his crew, he had given\nsuccor to the schooner Halifax, found adrift with all hands down with\nyellow fever. There was no defender of his actions to tell how he and\nhis crew of pirates had sailed the pest-stricken vessel almost into the\nrescuing waters of Kingston harbor. Eleazer confessed that he could not\ndeny that when Scarfield had tied the skipper of the Baltimore Belle\nnaked to the foremast of his own brig he had permitted his crew of\ncutthroats (who were drunk at the time) to throw bottles at the helpless\ncaptive, who died that night of the wounds he had received. For this\nhe was doubtless very justly condemned, but who was there to praise him\nwhen he had, at the risk of his life and in the face of the authorities,\ncarried a cargo of provisions which he himself had purchased at Tampa\nBay to the Island of Bella Vista after the great hurricane of 1818? In\nthis notable adventure he had barely escaped, after a two days' chase,\nthe British frigate Ceres, whose captain, had a capture been effected,\nwould instantly have hung the unfortunate man to the yardarm in spite of\nthe beneficent mission he was in the act of conducting.\n\nIn all this Eleazer had the air of conducting the case for the\ndefendant. As he talked he became more and more animated and voluble.\nThe light went out in his tobacco pipe, and a hectic spot appeared\nin either thin and sallow cheek. Mainwaring sat wondering to hear the\nseverely peaceful Quaker preacher defending so notoriously bloody and\ncruel a cutthroat pirate as Capt. Jack Scarfield. The warm and innocent\nsurroundings, the old brick house looking down upon them, the odor\nof apple blossoms and the hum of bees seemed to make it all the more\nincongruous. And still the elderly Quaker skipper talked on and on with\nhardly an interruption, till the warm sun slanted to the west and the\nday began to decline.\n\nThat evening Mainwaring stayed to tea and when he parted from Lucinda\nFairbanks it was after nightfall, with a clear, round moon shining in\nthe milky sky and a radiance pallid and unreal enveloping the old house,\nthe blooming apple trees, the sloping lawn and the shining river beyond.\nHe implored his sweetheart to let him tell her uncle and aunt of their\nacknowledged love and to ask the old man's consent to it, but she would\nnot permit him to do so. They were so happy as they were. Who knew but\nwhat her uncle might forbid their fondness? Would he not wait a little\nlonger? Maybe it would all come right after a while. She was so fond, so\ntender, so tearful at the nearness of their parting that he had not\nthe heart to insist. At the same time it was with a feeling almost of\ndespair that he realized that he must now be gone--maybe for the space\nof two years--without in all that time possessing the right to call her\nhis before the world.\n\nWhen he bade farewell to the older people it was with a choking feeling\nof bitter disappointment. He yet felt the pressure of her cheek against\nhis shoulder, the touch of soft and velvet lips to his own. But what\nwere such clandestine endearments compared to what might, perchance, be\nhis--the right of calling her his own when he was far away and upon the\ndistant sea? And, besides, he felt like a coward who had shirked his\nduty.\n\nBut he was very much in love. The next morning appeared in a drizzle of\nrain that followed the beautiful warmth of the day before. He had the\ncoach all to himself, and in the damp and leathery solitude he drew out\nthe little oval picture from beneath his shirt frill and looked long and\nfixedly with a fond and foolish joy at the innocent face, the blue eyes,\nthe red, smiling lips depicted upon the satinlike, ivory surface.\n\n\nII\n\nFor the better part of five months Mainwaring cruised about in the\nwaters surrounding the Bahama Islands. In that time he ran to earth and\ndispersed a dozen nests of pirates. He destroyed no less than fifteen\npiratical crafts of all sizes, from a large half-decked whaleboat to a\nthree-hundred-ton barkentine. The name of the Yankee became a terror\nto every sea wolf in the western tropics, and the waters of the Bahama\nIslands became swept almost clean of the bloody wretches who had so\nlately infested it.\n\nBut the one freebooter of all others whom he sought--Capt. Jack\nScarfield--seemed to evade him like a shadow, to slip through his\nfingers like magic. Twice he came almost within touch of the famous\nmarauder, both times in the ominous wrecks that the pirate captain had\nleft behind him. The first of these was the water-logged remains of a\nburned and still smoking wreck that he found adrift in the great Bahama\nchannel. It was the Water Witch, of Salem, but he did not learn her\ntragic story until, two weeks later, he discovered a part of her crew\nat Port Maria, on the north coast of Jamaica. It was, indeed, a dreadful\nstory to which he listened. The castaways said that they of all the\nvessel's crew had been spared so that they might tell the commander of\nthe Yankee, should they meet him, that he might keep what he found, with\nCaptain Scarfield's compliments, who served it up to him hot cooked.\n\nThree weeks later he rescued what remained of the crew of the shattered,\nbloody hulk of the Baltimore Belle, eight of whose crew, headed by the\ncaptain, had been tied hand and foot and heaved overboard. Again, there\nwas a message from Captain Scarfield to the commander of the Yankee that\nhe might season what he found to suit his own taste.\n\nMainwaring was of a sanguine disposition, with fiery temper. He swore,\nwith the utmost vehemence, that either he or John Scarfield would have\nto leave the earth.\n\nHe had little suspicion of how soon was to befall the ominous\nrealization of his angry prophecy.\n\nAt that time one of the chief rendezvous of the pirates was the little\nisland of San Jose, one of the southernmost of the Bahama group. Here,\nin the days before the coming of the Yankee, they were wont to put in\nto careen and clean their vessels and to take in a fresh supply of\nprovisions, gunpowder, and rum, preparatory to renewing their attacks\nupon the peaceful commerce circulating up and down outside the islands,\nor through the wide stretches of the Bahama channel.\n\nMainwaring had made several descents upon this nest of freebooters.\nHe had already made two notable captures, and it was here he hoped\neventually to capture Captain Scarfield himself.\n\nA brief description of this one-time notorious rendezvous of freebooters\nmight not be out of place. It consisted of a little settlement of those\nwattled and mud-smeared houses such as you find through the West Indies.\nThere were only three houses of a more pretentious sort, built of wood.\nOne of these was a storehouse, another was a rum shop, and a third a\nhouse in which dwelt a mulatto woman, who was reputed to be a sort\nof left-handed wife of Captain Scarfield's. The population was almost\nentirely black and brown. One or two Jews and a half dozen Yankee\ntraders, of hardly dubious honesty, comprised the entire white\npopulation. The rest consisted of a mongrel accumulation of negroes\nand mulattoes and half-caste Spaniards, and of a multitude of black or\nyellow women and children. The settlement stood in a bight of the beach\nforming a small harbor and affording a fair anchorage for small vessels,\nexcepting it were against the beating of a southeasterly gale. The\nhouses, or cabins, were surrounded by clusters of coco palms and growths\nof bananas, and a long curve of white beach, sheltered from the large\nAtlantic breakers that burst and exploded upon an outer bar, was drawn\nlike a necklace around the semi-circle of emerald-green water.\n\nSuch was the famous pirates' settlement of San Jose--a paradise of\nnature and a hell of human depravity and wickedness--and it was to this\nspot that Mainwaring paid another visit a few days after rescuing the\ncrew of the Baltimore Belle from her shattered and sinking wreck.\n\nAs the little bay with its fringe of palms and its cluster of wattle\nhuts opened up to view, Mainwaring discovered a vessel lying at anchor\nin the little harbor. It was a large and well-rigged schooner of two\nhundred and fifty or three hundred tons burden. As the Yankee rounded to\nunder the stern of the stranger and dropped anchor in such a position\nas to bring her broadside battery to bear should the occasion\nrequire, Mainwaring set his glass to his eye to read the name he could\ndistinguish beneath the overhang of her stern. It is impossible to\ndescribe his infinite surprise when, the white lettering starting out in\nthe circle of the glass, he read, The Eliza Cooper, of Philadelphia.\n\nHe could not believe the evidence of his senses. Certainly this sink of\niniquity was the last place in the world he would have expected to have\nfallen in with Eleazer Cooper.\n\nHe ordered out the gig and had himself immediately rowed over to the\nschooner. Whatever lingering doubts he might have entertained as to the\nidentity of the vessel were quickly dispelled when he beheld Captain\nCooper himself standing at the gangway to meet him. The impassive face\nof the friend showed neither surprise nor confusion at what must have\nbeen to him a most unexpected encounter.\n\nBut when he stepped upon the deck of the Eliza Cooper and looked about\nhim, Mainwaring could hardly believe the evidence of his senses at\nthe transformation that he beheld. Upon the main deck were eight\ntwelve-pound carronade neatly covered with tarpaulin; in the bow a Long\nTom, also snugly stowed away and covered, directed a veiled and muzzled\nsnout out over the bowsprit.\n\nIt was entirely impossible for Mainwaring to conceal his astonishment at\nso unexpected a sight, and whether or not his own thoughts lent color\nto his imagination, it seemed to him that Eleazer Cooper concealed under\nthe immobility of his countenance no small degree of confusion.\n\nAfter Captain Cooper had led the way into the cabin and he and the\nyounger man were seated over a pipe of tobacco and the invariable bottle\nof fine old Jamaica rum, Mainwaring made no attempt to refrain\nfrom questioning him as to the reason for this singular and ominous\ntransformation.\n\n\"I am a man of peace, James Mainwaring,\" Eleazer replied, \"but there are\nmen of blood in these waters, and an appearance of great strength is of\nuse to protect the innocent from the wicked. If I remained in appearance\nthe peaceful trader I really am, how long does thee suppose I could\nremain unassailed in this place?\"\n\nIt occurred to Mainwaring that the powerful armament he had beheld was\nrather extreme to be used merely as a preventive. He smoked for a while\nin silence and then he suddenly asked the other point-blank whether, if\nit came to blows with such a one as Captain Scarfield, would he make a\nfight of it?\n\nThe Quaker trading captain regarded him for a while in silence. His\nlook, it seemed to Mainwaring, appeared to be dubitative as to how far\nhe dared to be frank. \"Friend James,\" he said at last, \"I may as well\nacknowledge that my officers and crew are somewhat worldly. Of a truth\nthey do not hold the same testimony as I. I am inclined to think that\nif it came to the point of a broil with those men of iniquity, my\nindividual voice cast for peace would not be sufficient to keep my crew\nfrom meeting violence with violence. As for myself, thee knows who I am\nand what is my testimony in these matters.\"\n\nMainwaring made no comment as to the extremely questionable manner in\nwhich the Quaker proposed to beat the devil about the stump. Presently\nhe asked his second question:\n\n\"And might I inquire,\" he said, \"what you are doing here and why you\nfind it necessary to come at all into such a wicked, dangerous place as\nthis?\"\n\n\"Indeed, I knew thee would ask that question of me,\" said the Friend,\n\"and I will be entirely frank with thee. These men of blood are, after\nall, but human beings, and as human beings they need food. I have at\npresent upon this vessel upward of two hundred and fifty barrels of\nflour which will bring a higher price here than anywhere else in the\nWest Indies. To be entirely frank with thee, I will tell thee that I\nwas engaged in making a bargain for the sale of the greater part of my\nmerchandise when the news of thy approach drove away my best customer.\"\n\nMainwaring sat for a while in smoking silence. What the other had told\nhim explained many things he had not before understood. It explained why\nCaptain Cooper got almost as much for his flour and corn meal now that\npeace had been declared as he had obtained when the war and the blockade\nwere in full swing. It explained why he had been so strong a defender\nof Captain Scarfield and the pirates that afternoon in the garden.\nMeantime, what was to be done? Eleazer confessed openly that he dealt\nwith the pirates. What now was his--Mainwaring's--duty in the case? Was\nthe cargo of the Eliza Cooper contraband and subject to confiscation?\nAnd then another question framed itself in his mind: Who was this\ncustomer whom his approach had driven away?\n\nAs though he had formulated the inquiry into speech the other began\ndirectly to speak of it. \"I know,\" he said, \"that in a moment thee will\nask me who was this customer of whom I have just now spoken. I have no\ndesire to conceal his name from thee. It was the man who is known as\nCaptain Jack or Captain John Scarfield.\"\n\nMainwaring fairly started from his seat. \"The devil you say!\" he cried.\n\"And how long has it been,\" he asked, \"since he left you?\"\n\nThe Quaker skipper carefully refilled his pipe, which he had by now\nsmoked out. \"I would judge,\" he said, \"that it is a matter of four or\nfive hours since news was brought overland by means of swift runners\nof thy approach. Immediately the man of wickedness disappeared.\" Here\nEleazer set the bowl of his pipe to the candle flame and began puffing\nout voluminous clouds of smoke. \"I would have thee understand, James\nMainwaring,\" he resumed, \"that I am no friend of this wicked and sinful\nman. His safety is nothing to me. It is only a question of buying upon\nhis part and of selling upon mine. If it is any satisfaction to thee I\nwill heartily promise to bring thee news if I hear anything of the man\nof Belial. I may furthermore say that I think it is likely thee will\nhave news more or less directly of him within the space of a day. If\nthis should happen, however, thee will have to do thy own fighting\nwithout help from me, for I am no man of combat nor of blood and will\ntake no hand in it either way.\"\n\nIt struck Mainwaring that the words contained some meaning that did not\nappear upon the surface. This significance struck him as so ambiguous\nthat when he went aboard the Yankee he confided as much of his\nsuspicions as he saw fit to his second in command, Lieutenant Underwood.\nAs night descended he had a double watch set and had everything prepared\nto repel any attack or surprise that might be attempted.\n\n\nIII\n\nNighttime in the tropics descends with a surprising rapidity. At one\nmoment the earth is shining with the brightness of the twilight; the\nnext, as it were, all things are suddenly swallowed into a gulf of\ndarkness. The particular night of which this story treats was not\nentirely clear; the time of year was about the approach of the rainy\nseason, and the tepid, tropical clouds added obscurity to the darkness\nof the sky, so that the night fell with even more startling quickness\nthan usual. The blackness was very dense. Now and then a group of\ndrifting stars swam out of a rift in the vapors, but the night was\ncuriously silent and of a velvety darkness.\n\nAs the obscurity had deepened, Mainwaring had ordered lanthorns to be\nlighted and slung to the shrouds and to the stays, and the faint yellow\nof their illumination lighted the level white of the snug little war\nvessel, gleaming here and there in a starlike spark upon the brass\ntrimmings and causing the rows of cannons to assume curiously gigantic\nproportions.\n\nFor some reason Mainwaring was possessed by a strange, uneasy feeling.\nHe walked restlessly up and down the deck for a time, and then, still\nfull of anxieties for he knew not what, went into his cabin to finish\nwriting up his log for the day. He unstrapped his cutlass and laid it\nupon the table, lighted his pipe at the lanthorn and was about preparing\nto lay aside his coat when word was brought to him that the captain of\nthe trading schooner was come alongside and had some private information\nto communicate to him.\n\nMainwaring surmised in an instant that the trader's visit related\nsomehow to news of Captain Scarfield, and as immediately, in the relief\nof something positive to face, all of his feeling of restlessness\nvanished like a shadow of mist. He gave orders that Captain Cooper\nshould be immediately shown into the cabin, and in a few moments\nthe tall, angular form of the Quaker skipper appeared in the narrow,\nlanthorn-lighted space.\n\nMainwaring at once saw that his visitor was strangely agitated and\ndisturbed. He had taken off his hat, and shining beads of perspiration\nhad gathered and stood clustered upon his forehead. He did not reply to\nMainwaring's greeting; he did not, indeed, seem to hear it; but he came\ndirectly forward to the table and stood leaning with one hand upon the\nopen log book in which the lieutenant had just been writing. Mainwaring\nhad reseated himself at the head of the table, and the tall figure of\nthe skipper stood looking down at him as from a considerable height.\n\n\"James Mainwaring,\" he said, \"I promised thee to report if I had news of\nthe pirate. Is thee ready now to hear my news?\"\n\nThere was something so strange in his agitation that it began to infect\nMainwaring with a feeling somewhat akin to that which appeared to\ndisturb his visitor. \"I know not what you mean, sir!\" he cried, \"by\nasking if I care to hear your news. At this moment I would rather have\nnews of that scoundrel than to have anything I know of in the world.\"\n\n\"Thou would? Thou would?\" cried the other, with mounting agitation. \"Is\nthee in such haste to meet him as all that? Very well; very well, then.\nSuppose I could bring thee face to face with him--what then? Hey? Hey?\nFace to face with him, James Mainwaring!\"\n\nThe thought instantly flashed into Mainwaring's mind that the pirate\nhad returned to the island; that perhaps at that moment he was somewhere\nnear at hand.\n\n\"I do not understand you, sir,\" he cried. \"Do you mean to tell me that\nyou know where the villain is? If so, lose no time in informing me, for\nevery instant of delay may mean his chance of again escaping.\"\n\n\"No danger of that!\" the other declared, vehemently. \"No danger of that!\nI'll tell thee where he is and I'll bring thee to him quick enough!\"\nAnd as he spoke he thumped his fist against the open log book. In the\nvehemence of his growing excitement his eyes appeared to shine green\nin the lanthorn light, and the sweat that had stood in beads upon his\nforehead was now running in streams down his face. One drop hung like\na jewel to the tip of his beaklike nose. He came a step nearer to\nMainwaring and bent forward toward him, and there was something so\nstrange and ominous in his bearing that the lieutenant instinctively\ndrew back a little where he sat.\n\n\"Captain Scarfield sent something to you,\" said Eleazer, almost in a\nraucous voice, \"something that you will be surprised to see.\" And the\nlapse in his speech from the Quaker \"thee\" to the plural \"you\" struck\nMainwaring as singularly strange.\n\nAs he was speaking Eleazer was fumbling in a pocket of his long-tailed\ndrab coat, and presently he brought something forth that gleamed in the\nlanthorn light.\n\nThe next moment Mainwaring saw leveled directly in his face the round\nand hollow nozzle of a pistol.\n\nThere was an instant of dead silence and then, \"I am the man you seek!\"\nsaid Eleazer Cooper, in a tense and breathless voice.\n\nThe whole thing had happened so instantaneously and unexpectedly that\nfor the moment Mainwaring sat like one petrified. Had a thunderbolt\nfallen from the silent sky and burst at his feet he could not have been\nmore stunned. He was like one held in the meshes of a horrid nightmare,\nand he gazed as through a mist of impossibility into the lineaments\nof the well-known, sober face now transformed as from within into the\naspect of a devil. That face, now ashy white, was distorted into a\ndiabolical grin. The teeth glistened in the lamplight. The brows,\ntwisted into a tense and convulsed frown, were drawn down into black\nshadows, through which the eyes burned a baleful green like the eyes\nof a wild animal driven to bay. Again he spoke in the same breathless\nvoice. \"I am John Scarfield! Look at me, then, if you want to see\na pirate!\" Again there was a little time of silence, through which\nMainwaring heard his watch ticking loudly from where it hung against the\nbulkhead. Then once more the other began speaking. \"You would chase me\nout of the West Indies, would you? G------ --you! What are you come\nto now? You are caught in your own trap, and you'll squeal loud enough\nbefore you get out of it. Speak a word or make a movement and I'll blow\nyour brains out against the partition behind you! Listen to what I say\nor you are a dead man. Sing out an order instantly for my mate and my\nbos'n to come here to the cabin, and be quick about it, for my finger's\non the trigger, and it's only a pull to shut your mouth forever.\"\n\nIt was astonishing to Mainwaring, in afterward thinking about it all,\nhow quickly his mind began to recover its steadiness after that first\nastonishing shock. Even as the other was speaking he discovered that his\nbrain was becoming clarified to a wonderful lucidity; his thoughts were\nbecoming rearranged, and with a marvelous activity and an alertness\nhe had never before experienced. He knew that if he moved to escape or\nuttered any outcry he would be instantly a dead man, for the circle of\nthe pistol barrel was directed full against his forehead and with the\nsteadiness of a rock. If he could but for an instant divert that fixed\nand deadly attention he might still have a chance for life. With the\nthought an inspiration burst into his mind and he instantly put it into\nexecution; thought, inspiration, and action, as in a flash, were one. He\nmust make the other turn aside his deadly gaze, and instantly he roared\nout in a voice that stunned his own ears: \"Strike, bos'n! Strike,\nquick!\"\n\nTaken by surprise, and thinking, doubtless, that another enemy stood\nbehind him, the pirate swung around like a flash with his pistol leveled\nagainst the blank boarding. Equally upon the instant he saw the trick\nthat had been played upon him and in a second flash had turned again.\nThe turn and return had occupied but a moment of time, but that moment,\nthanks to the readiness of his own invention, had undoubtedly saved\nMainwaring's life. As the other turned away his gaze for that brief\ninstant Mainwaring leaped forward and upon him. There was a flashing\nflame of fire as the pistol was discharged and a deafening detonation\nthat seemed to split his brain. For a moment, with reeling senses, he\nsupposed himself to have been shot, the next he knew he had escaped.\nWith the energy of despair he swung his enemy around and drove him with\nprodigious violence against the corner of the table. The pirate emitted\na grunting cry and then they fell together, Mainwaring upon the top, and\nthe pistol clattered with them to the floor in their fall. Even as\nhe fell, Mainwaring roared in a voice of thunder, \"All hands repel\nboarders!\" And then again, \"All hands repel boarders!\"\n\nWhether hurt by the table edge or not, the fallen pirate struggled as\nthough possessed of forty devils, and in a moment or two Mainwaring saw\nthe shine of a long, keen knife that he had drawn from somewhere about\nhis person. The lieutenant caught him by the wrist, but the other's\nmuscles were as though made of steel. They both fought in despairing\nsilence, the one to carry out his frustrated purposes to kill, the other\nto save his life. Again and again Mainwaring felt that the knife had\nbeen thrust against him, piercing once his arm, once his shoulder, and\nagain his neck. He felt the warm blood streaming down his arm and body\nand looked about him in despair. The pistol lay near upon the deck of\nthe cabin. Still holding the other by the wrist as he could, Mainwaring\nsnatched up the empty weapon and struck once and again at the bald,\nnarrow forehead beneath him. A third blow he delivered with all the\nforce he could command, and then with a violent and convulsive throe the\nstraining muscles beneath him relaxed and grew limp and the fight was\nwon.\n\nThrough all the struggle he had been aware of the shouts of voices, of\ntrampling of feet and discharge of firearms, and the thought came to\nhim, even through his own danger, that the Yankee was being assaulted\nby the pirates. As he felt the struggling form beneath him loosen and\ndissolve into quietude, he leaped up, and snatching his cutlass, which\nstill lay upon the table, rushed out upon the deck, leaving the stricken\nform lying twitching upon the floor behind him.\n\nIt was a fortunate thing that he had set double watches and prepared\nhimself for some attack from the pirates, otherwise the Yankee would\ncertainly have been lost. As it was, the surprise was so overwhelming\nthat the pirates, who had been concealed in the large whaleboat that had\ncome alongside, were not only able to gain a foothold upon the deck,\nbut for a time it seemed as though they would drive the crew of the brig\nbelow the hatches.\n\nBut as Mainwaring, streaming with blood, rushed out upon the deck, the\npirates became immediately aware that their own captain must have\nbeen overpowered, and in an instant their desperate energy began to\nevaporate. One or two jumped overboard; one, who seemed to be the mate,\nfell dead from a pistol shot, and then, in the turn of a hand, there was\na rush of a retreat and a vision of leaping forms in the dusky light of\nthe lanthorns and a sound of splashing in the water below.\n\nThe crew of the Yankee continued firing at the phosphorescent wakes of\nthe swimming bodies, but whether with effect it was impossible at the\ntime to tell.\n\n\nIV\n\nThe pirate captain did not die immediately. He lingered for three or\nfour days, now and then unconscious, now and then semi-conscious, but\nalways deliriously wandering. All the while he thus lay dying, the\nmulatto woman, with whom he lived in this part of his extraordinary dual\nexistence, nursed and cared for him with such rude attentions as the\nsurroundings afforded. In the wanderings of his mind the same duality\nof life followed him. Now and then he would appear the calm, sober,\nself-contained, well-ordered member of a peaceful society that his\nfriends in his faraway home knew him to be; at other times the nether\npart of his nature would leap up into life like a wild beast, furious\nand gnashing. At the one time he talked evenly and clearly of peaceful\nthings; at the other time he blasphemed and hooted with fury.\n\nSeveral times Mainwaring, though racked by his own wounds, sat beside\nthe dying man through the silent watches of the tropical nights.\nOftentimes upon these occasions as he looked at the thin, lean face\nbabbling and talking so aimlessly, he wondered what it all meant. Could\nit have been madness--madness in which the separate entities of good and\nbad each had, in its turn, a perfect and distinct existence? He chose to\nthink that this was the case. Who, within his inner consciousness, does\nnot feel that same ferine, savage man struggling against the stern,\nadamantine bonds of morality and decorum? Were those bonds burst\nasunder, as it was with this man, might not the wild beast rush forth,\nas it had rushed forth in him, to rend and to tear? Such were the\nquestions that Mainwaring asked himself. And how had it all come about?\nBy what easy gradations had the respectable Quaker skipper descended\nfrom the decorum of his home life, step by step, into such a gulf of\niniquity? Many such thoughts passed through Mainwaring's mind, and he\npondered them through the still reaches of the tropical nights while he\nsat watching the pirate captain struggle out of the world he had so long\nburdened. At last the poor wretch died, and the earth was well quit of\none of its torments.\n\nA systematic search was made through the island for the scattered crew,\nbut none was captured. Either there were some secret hiding places upon\nthe island (which was not very likely) or else they had escaped in boats\nhidden somewhere among the tropical foliage. At any rate they were gone.\n\nNor, search as he would, could Mainwaring find a trace of any of the\npirate treasure. After the pirate's death and under close questioning,\nthe weeping mulatto woman so far broke down as to confess in broken\nEnglish that Captain Scarfield had taken a quantity of silver money\naboard his vessel, but either she was mistaken or else the pirates had\ntaken it thence again and had hidden it somewhere else.\n\nNor would the treasure ever have been found but for a most fortuitous\naccident. Mainwaring had given orders that the Eliza Cooper was to be\nburned, and a party was detailed to carry the order into execution. At\nthis the cook of the Yankee came petitioning for some of the Wilmington\nand Brandywine flour to make some plum duff upon the morrow, and\nMainwaring granted his request in so far that he ordered one of the\nmen to knock open one of the barrels of flour and to supply the cook's\ndemands.\n\nThe crew detailed to execute this modest order in connection with the\ndestruction of the pirate vessel had not been gone a quarter of an hour\nwhen word came back that the hidden treasure had been found.\n\nMainwaring hurried aboard the Eliza Cooper, and there in the midst of\nthe open flour barrel he beheld a great quantity of silver coin buried\nin and partly covered by the white meal. A systematic search was now\nmade. One by one the flour barrels were heaved up from below and burst\nopen on the deck and their contents searched, and if nothing but the\nmeal was found it was swept overboard. The breeze was whitened with\nclouds of flour, and the white meal covered the surface of the ocean for\nyards around.\n\nIn all, upward of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars was found\nconcealed beneath the innocent flour and meal. It was no wonder the\npirate captain was so successful, when he could upon an instant's notice\ntransform himself from a wolf of the ocean to a peaceful Quaker trader\nselling flour to the hungry towns and settlements among the scattered\nislands of the West Indies, and so carrying his bloody treasure safely\ninto his quiet Northern home.\n\nIn concluding this part of the narrative it may be added that a wide\nstrip of canvas painted black was discovered in the hold of the Eliza\nCooper. Upon it, in great white letters, was painted the name, \"The\nBloodhound.\" Undoubtedly this was used upon occasions to cover the real\nand peaceful title of the trading schooner, just as its captain had, in\nreverse, covered his sanguine and cruel life by a thin sheet of morality\nand respectability.\n\nThis is the true story of the death of Capt. Jack Scarfield.\n\nThe Newburyport chap-book, of which I have already spoken, speaks only\nof how the pirate disguised himself upon the ocean as a Quaker trader.\n\nNor is it likely that anyone ever identified Eleazer Cooper with the\npirate, for only Mainwaring of all the crew of the Yankee was exactly\naware of the true identity of Captain Scarfield. All that was ever known\nto the world was that Eleazer Cooper had been killed in a fight with the\npirates.\n\nIn a little less than a year Mainwaring was married to Lucinda\nFairbanks. As to Eleazer Cooper's fortune, which eventually came into\nthe possession of Mainwaring through his wife, it was many times a\nsubject of speculation to the lieutenant how it had been earned. There\nwere times when he felt well assured that a part of it at least was the\nfruit of piracy, but it was entirely impossible to guess how much more\nwas the result of legitimate trading.\n\nFor a little time it seemed to Mainwaring that he should give it all up,\nbut this was at once so impracticable and so quixotic that he presently\nabandoned it, and in time his qualms and misdoubts faded away and he\nsettled himself down to enjoy that which had come to him through his\nmarriage.\n\nIn time the Mainwarings removed to New York, and ultimately the fortune\nthat the pirate Scarfield had left behind him was used in part to\nfound the great shipping house of Mainwaring & Bigot, whose famous\ntransatlantic packet ships were in their time the admiration of the\nwhole world.","title":"Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates: Fiction, Fact & Fancy Concerning the Buccaneers & Marooners of the Spanish Main","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":72688}