Bonnet was in a discontented and somewhat sulky mood, but when
Blackbeard's full plans were made known to him and he found that he
might again resume command of his own vessel, the Revenge, if he chose
to do so, his eyes began to sparkle once more.

Ben Greenway soon resumed his former position with Bonnet, for it did
not take Blackbeard very long to settle up his affairs, and in a very
short time he became tired of the work of conversion; or, to speak more
correctly, of the bore of talking about it. Bonnet was glad to have the
Scotchman back again, although he never ceased to declare his desire to
get rid of this faithful friend and helper; for, when the Revenge again
came into his hands, there were many things to be done, and few people
to help him do it.

"It will be merchandise an' fair trade this time," said Ben, "an' ye'll
find it no' so easy as your piracies, though safer. An' when ye're off
to see the Governor an' hae got your pardon, it'll be a happy day,
Master Bonnet, for ye an' for your daughter, an' for your brother-in-law
an' everybody in Bridgetown wha either knew ye or respected ye."

"No more of that," cried Bonnet. "I did not say I was going to
Bridgetown, or that I wanted anybody there to respect me. It is my
purpose to fit out the Revenge as a privateer and get a commission to
sail in her in the war between Spain and the Allies. This will be much
more to my taste, Ben Greenway, than trading in sugar and hides."

Greenway was very grave.

"There is so little difference," said he, "between a privateer an' a
pirate that it is a great strain on a common mind to keep them separate;
but a commission from the king is better than a commission from the
de'il, an' we'll hope there won't be much o' a war after all is said an'
done."

There was not much intercourse between Blackbeard and Bonnet at Topsail
Inlet. The pirate was on very good terms with the authorities at that
place, who for their own sakes cared not much to interfere with him, and
Bonnet had his own work in hand and industriously engaged in it. He went
to Bath and got his pardon; he procured a clearance for St. Thomas,
where he freely announced his intention to take out a commission as
privateer, and he fitted out his vessel as best he could. Of men he had
not many, but when he left the inlet he sailed down to an island on the
coast, where Blackbeard, having had too many men on his return from
Charles Town, had marooned a large number of the sailors belonging to
his different crews, finding this the easiest way of getting rid of
them. Bonnet took these men on board with the avowed intention of taking
them to St. Thomas, and then he set sail upon the high seas as free and
untrammelled as a fish-hawk sweeping over the surface of a harbour with
clearance papers tied to his leg.

Stede Bonnet had changed very much since he last trod the quarter-deck
of the Revenge as her captain. He was not so important to look at, and
he put on fewer airs of authority, but he issued a great many more
commands. In fact, he had learned much about a sailor's life, of
navigation and the management of a vessel, and was far better able to
command a ship than he had ever been before. He had had a long rest from
the position of a pirate captain, and he had not failed to take
advantage of the lessons which had been involuntarily given him by the
veteran scoundrels who had held him in contempt. He was now, to a great
extent, sailing-master as well as captain of the Revenge; but Ben
Greenway, who was much given to that sort of thing, undertook to offer
Bonnet some advice in regard to his course.

"I am no sailor," said he, "but I ken a chart when I see it, an' it is
my opeenion that there is no need o' your sailin' so far to the east
before ye turn about southward. There is naething much stickin' out from
the coast between here an' St. Thomas."

Bonnet looked at the Scotchman with lofty contempt.

"Perhaps you can tell me," said he, "what there is stickin' out from the
coast between here and Ocracoke Inlet, where you yourself told me that
Blackbeard had gone with the one sloop he kept for himself?"

"Blackbeard!" shouted the Scotchman, "an' what in the de'il have ye got
to do wi' Blackbeard?"

"Do with that infernal dog?" cried Bonnet, "I have everything to do with
him before I do aught with anybody or anything besides. He stole from me
my possessions, he degraded me from my position, he made me a
laughing-stock to my men, and he even made me blush and bow my head with
shame before my daughter and my brother-in-law, two people in whose
sight I would have stood up grander and bolder than before any others in
the world. He took away from me my sword and he gave me instead a
wretched pen; he made me nothing where I had been everything. He even
ceased to consider me any more than if I had been the dirty deck under
his feet. And then, when he had done with my property and could get no
more good out of it, he cast it to me in charity as a man would toss a
penny to a beggar. Before I sail anywhere else, Ben Greenway," continued
Bonnet, "I sail for Ocracoke Inlet, and when I sight Blackbeard's
miserable little sloop I shall pour broadside after broadside into her
until I sink his wretched craft with his bedizened carcass on board of
it."

"But wi' your men stand by ye?" cried Greenway. "Ye're neither a pirate
nor a vessel o' war to enter into a business like that."

Bonnet swore one of his greatest oaths. "There is no business nor war
for me, Ben Greenway," he cried, "until I have taught that insolent
Blackbeard what manner of man I am."

Ben Greenway was very much disheartened. "If Blackbeard should sink the
Revenge instead of Master Bonnet sinking him," he said to himself, "and
would be kind enough to maroon my old master an' me, it might be the
best for everybody after all. Master Bonnet is vera humble-minded an'
complacent when bad fortune comes upon him, an' it is my opeenion that
on a desert island I could weel manage him for the good o' his soul."

But there were no vessels sunk on that cruise. Blackbeard had gone,
nobody knew where, and after a time Bonnet gave up the search for his
old enemy and turned his bow southward. Now Ben Greenway's countenance
gleamed once more.

"It'll be a glad day at Spanish Town when Mistress Kate shall get my
letter."

"And what have you been writing to her?" cried Bonnet.

"I told her," said Ben Greenway, "how at last ye hae come to your right
mind, an' how ye are a true servant o' the king, wi' your pardon in your
pocket an' your commission waitin' for ye at St. Thomas, an' that,
whatever else ye may do at sea, there'll be no more black flag floatin'
over your head, nor a see-saw plank wobblin' under the feet o' onybody
else. The days o' your piracies are over, an' ye're an honest mon once
more."

"You wrote her that?" said Bonnet, with a frown.

"Ay," said Greenway, "an' I left it in the care o' a good mon, whose
ship is weel on its way to Kingston by this day."

That afternoon Captain Bonnet called all his men together and addressed
them.

He made a very good speech, a better one than that delivered when he
first took real command of the Revenge after sailing out of the river at
Bridgetown, and it was listened to with respectful and earnest interest.
In brief manner he explained to all on board that he had thrown to the
winds all idea of merchandising or privateering; that his pardon and his
ship's clearance were of no value to him except he should happen to get
into some uncomfortable predicament with the law; that he had no idea of
sailing towards St. Thomas, but intended to proceed up the coast to burn
and steal and rob and slay wherever he might find it convenient to do
so; that he had brought the greater part of his crew from the desert
island where Blackbeard had left them because he knew that they were
stout and reckless fellows, just the sort of men he wanted for the
piratical cruise he was about to begin; and that, in order to mislead
any government authorities who by land or sea might seek to interfere
with him, he had changed the name of the good old Revenge to the Royal
James, while its captain, once Stede Bonnet, was now to be known on
board and everywhere else as Captain Thomas, with nothing against him.
He concluded by saying that all that had been done on that ship from the
time she first hoisted the black flag until the present moment was
nothing at all compared to the fire and the blood and the booty which
should follow in the wake of that gallant vessel, the Royal James,
commanded by Captain Thomas.

The men looked at each other, but did not say much. They were all
pirates, although few of them had regularly started out on a piratical
career, and there was nothing new to them in this sort of piratical
dishonour. In the little cruise after Blackbeard their new captain had
shown himself to be a good man, ready with his oaths and very certain
about what he wanted done. So, whenever Stede Bonnet chose to run up the
Jolly Roger, he might do it for all they cared.

Poor Ben Greenway sat apart, his head bowed upon his hands.

"You seem to be in a bad case, old Ben," said Bonnet, gazing down upon
him, "but you throw yourself into needless trouble. As soon as I lay
hold of some craft which I am willing shall go away with a sound hull, I
will put you on board of her and let you go back to the farm. I will
keep you no longer among these wicked people, Ben Greenway, and in this
wicked place."

Ben shook his head. "I started wi' ye an' I stay wi' ye," said he, "an'
I'll follow ye to the vera gates o' hell, but farther than that, Master
Bonnet, I willna go; at the gates o' hell I leave ye!"




CHAPTER XXXV

A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS


For happiness with a flaw in it, it was a very fair happiness which now
hung over the Delaplaine home near Spanish Town. Kate Bonnet's father
was still a pirate, but there was no Captain Vince in hot pursuit of
him, seeking his blood. Kate could sing with the birds and laugh with
Dickory whenever she thought of the death of the wicked enemy. This was
not, it may be thought, a proper joy for a young maiden's heart, but it
came to Kate whether she would or not; the change was so great from the
fear which had possessed her before.

The old home life began again, although it was a very quiet life.
Dickory went into Mr. Delaplaine's counting-house, but it was hard for
the young man to doff the naval uniform which had been bestowed upon him
by Blackbeard, for he knew he looked very well in it, and everybody else
thought so and told him so; but it could not be helped, and with all
convenient speed he discarded his cocked hat and all the rest of it,
and clothed himself in the simple garb of a merchant's clerk, although
it might be said, that in all the West Indies, at that day, there was no
clerk so good-looking as was Dickory. Dame Charter was so thankful that
her boy had come safely through all his troubles, so proud of him, and
so eminently well satisfied with his present position, that she asked
nothing of her particular guardian angel but that Stede Bonnet might
stay away. If, after tiring of piracy, that man came back, as his
relatives wished him to do, the good dame was sure he would make
mischief of some sort, and as like as not in the direction of her
Dickory. If this evil family genius should be lost at sea or should
disappear from the world in some equally painless and undisgraceful
fashion, Dame Charter was sure that she could in a reasonable time quiet
the grief of poor Kate; for what right-minded damsel could fail to
mingle thankfulness with her sorrow that a kind death should relieve a
parent from the sins and disgraces which in life always seemed to open
up in front of him.

About this time there came a letter from Barbadoes, which was of great
interest to everybody in the household. It was from Master Martin
Newcombe, and of course was written to Kate, but she read many portions
of it to the others. The first part of the epistle was not read aloud,
but it was very pleasant for Kate to read it to herself. This man was a
close lover and an ardent one. Whatever had happened to her fortunes,
nothing had interfered with his affection; whatever he had said he still
bravely stood by, and to whatever she had objected in the way of
obstacles he had paid no attention whatever.

In the parts of the letter read to her uncle and the others, Master
Newcombe told how, not having heard from them for so long, he had been
beginning to be greatly troubled, but the arrival of the Black Swan,
which, after touching at Kingston, had continued her course to
Barbadoes, had given him new life and hope; and it was his intention, as
soon as he could arrange his affairs, to come to Jamaica, and there say
by word of mouth and do, in his own person, so much for which a letter
was totally inadequate. The thought of seeing Kate again made him
tremble as he walked through his fields. This was read inadvertently,
and Dickory frowned. Dame Charter frowned too. She had never supposed
that Master Newcombe would come to Spanish Town; she had always looked
upon him as a very worthy young farmer; so worthy that he would not
neglect his interest by travelling about to other islands than his own.
She did not know exactly how her son felt about all this, nor did she
like to ask him, but Dickory saved her the trouble.

"If that Newcombe comes here," he said, "I am going to fight him."

"What!" cried his mother. "You would not do that. That would be
terrible; it would ruin everything."

"Ruin what?" he asked.

His mother answered diplomatically. "It would ruin all your fine
opportunities in this family."

Dickory smiled with a certain sarcastic hardness. "I don't mean," said
he, "that I am going to hack at him with a sword, because neither he nor
I properly know how to use swords, and after the wonderful practice that
I have seen, I would not want to prove myself a bungler even if the
other man were a worse one. No, mother, I mean to fight with him by all
fair means to gain the hand of my dear Kate. I love her, and I am far
more worthy of her than he is. He is not a well-disposed man, being
rough and inconsiderate in his speech." Dickory had never forgiven the
interview by the river bank when he had gone to see Madam Bonnet. "And
as to his being a stout lover, he is none of it. Had he been that, he
would long ago have crossed the little sea between Barbadoes and here."

"Do you mean, you foolish boy," exclaimed Dame Charter, "to say that you
presume to love our Mistress Kate?" And her eyes glowed upon him with
all the warmth of a mother's pride, for this was the wish of her heart,
and never absent from it.

"Ay, mother," said Dickory, "I shall fight for her; I shall show her
that I am worthier than he is and that I love her better. I shall even
strive for her if that mad pirate comes back and tries to overset
everything."

"Oh, do it before that!" cried Dame Charter, anxiety in every wrinkle.
"Do it before that!"

Mr. Delaplaine was a little troubled by the promised visit from
Barbadoes. He had heard of Master Newcombe as being a most estimable
young man, but the fault about him, in his opinion, was that he resided
not in Jamaica. For a long time the good merchant had lived his own
life, with no one to love him, and he now had with him his sister's
child, whom he had come to look upon as a daughter, and he did not wish
to give her up. It was true that it might be possible, under favourable
pressure, to induce young Newcombe to come to Jamaica and settle there,
but this was all very vague. Had he had his own way, he would have
driven from Kate every thought of love or marriage until the time when
his new clerk, Dickory Charter, had become a young merchant of good
standing, worthy of such a wife. Then he might have been willing to give
Kate to Dickory, and Dickory would have given her to him, and they might
have all been happy. That is, if that hare-brained Bonnet did not come
home.

The Delaplaine family did not go much into society at that time, for
people had known about the pirate and his ship, the Revenge, and the
pursuit upon which Captain Vince of the royal corvette Badger had been
sent. They had all heard, too, of the death of Captain Vince, and some
of them were not quite certain whether he had been killed by the pirate
Bonnet or another desperado equally dangerous. Knowing all this,
although if they had not known it they would scarcely have found it out
from the speech of their neighbours, the Delaplaines kept much to
themselves. And they were happy, and the keynote of their happiness was
struck by Kate, whose thankful heart could never forget the death of
Captain Vince.

Mr. Delaplaine made his proper visit to Spanish Town, to carry his
thanks and to tell the Governor how things had happened to him; and the
Governor still showed his interest in Mistress Kate Bonnet, and
expressed his regret that she had not come with her uncle, which was a
very natural wish indeed for a governor of good taste.

This is a chapter of happenings, and the next happening was a letter
from that good man, Ben Greenway, and it told the most wonderful,
splendid, and glorious news that had ever been told under the bright sun
of the beautiful West Indies. It told that Captain Stede Bonnet was no
longer a pirate, and that Kate was no longer a pirate's daughter. These
happy people did not join hands and dance and sing over the great news,
but Kate's joy was so great that she might have done all these things
without knowing it, so thankful was she that once again she had a
father. This rapture so far outshone her relief at the news of the death
of Captain Vince that she almost forgot that that wicked man was safe
and dead. Kate was in such a state of wild delight that she insisted
that her uncle should make another visit to the Governor's house and
take her with him, that she herself might carry the Governor the good
news; and the Governor said such heart-warming things when he heard it
that Kate kissed him in very joy. But as Dickory was not of the party,
this incident was not entered as part of the proceedings.

Now society, both in Spanish Town and Kingston, opened its arms and
insisted that the fair star of Barbadoes should enter them, and there
were parties and dances and dinners, and it might have been supposed
that everybody had been a father or a mother to a prodigal son, so
genial and joyful were the festivities--Kate high above all others.

At some of these social functions Dickory Charter was present, but it is
doubtful whether he was happier when he saw Kate surrounded by gay
admirers or when he was at home imagining what was going on about her.

There was but one cloud in the midst of all this sunshine, and that was
that Mr. Delaplaine, Dame Charter, and her son Dickory could not forget
that it was now in the line of events that Stede Bonnet would soon be
with them, and beyond that all was chaos.

And over the seas sailed the good ship the Royal James, Captain Thomas
in command.




CHAPTER XXXVI

THE TIDE DECIDES


It was now September, and the weather was beautiful on the North
Carolina coast. Captain Thomas (late Bonnet) of the Royal James (late
Revenge) had always enjoyed cool nights and invigorating morning air,
and therefore it was that he said to his faithful servitor, Ben
Greenway, when first he stepped out upon the deck as his vessel lay
comfortably anchored in a little cove in the Cape Fear River, that he
did not remember ever having been in a more pleasant harbour. This
well-tried pirate captain--Stede Bonnet, as we shall call him,
notwithstanding his assumption of another name--was in a genial mood as
he drank in the morning air.

From his point of view he had a right to be genial; he had a right to be
pleased with the scenery and the air; he had a right to swear at the
Scotchman, and to ask him why he did not put on a merrier visage on such
a sparkling morning, for since he had first started out as Captain
Thomas of the Royal James he had been a most successful pirate. He had
sailed up the Virginia coast; he had burned, he had sunk, he had robbed,
he had slain; he had gone up the Delaware Bay, and the people in ships
and the people on the coasts trembled even when they heard that his
black flag had been sighted.

No man could now say that the former captain of the Revenge was not an
accomplished and seasoned desperado. Even the great Blackbeard would not
have cared to give him nicknames, nor dared to play his blithesome
tricks upon him; he was now no more Captain Nightcap to any man. His
crew of hairy ruffians had learned to understand that he knew what he
wanted, and, more than that, he knew how to order it done. They listened
to his great oaths and they respected him. This powerful pirate now
commanded a small fleet, for in the cove where lay his flag-ship also
lay two good-sized sloops, manned by their own crews, which he had
captured in Delaware Bay and had brought down with him to this quiet
spot, a few miles up the Cape Fear River, where now he was repairing his
own ship, which had had a hard time of it since she had again come into
his hands.

For many a long day the sound of the hammer and the saw had mingled with
the song of the birds, and Captain Bonnet felt that in a day or two he
might again sail out upon the sea, conveying his two prizes to some
convenient mart, while he, with his good ship, freshened and restored,
would go in search of more victories, more booty, and more blood.

"Greenway, I tell you," said Bonnet, continuing his remarks, "you are
too glum; you've got the only long face in all this, my fleet. Even
those poor fellows who man my prizes are not so solemn, although they
know not, when I have done with them, whether I shall maroon them to
quietly starve or shall sink them in their own vessels."

"But I hae no such reason to be cheerful," said Ben. "I hae bound mysel'
to stand by ye till ye hae gone to the de'il, an' I hae no chance o'
freein' mysel' from my responsibeelities by perishin' on land or in the
sea."

"If anything could make me glum, Ben Greenway, it would be you," said
the other; "but I am getting used to you, and some of these days when I
have captured a ship laden with Scotch liquors and Scotch plaids I
believe that you will turn pirate yourself for the sake of your share of
the prizes."

"Which is likely to be on the same mornin' that ye turn to be an honest
mon," said Ben; "but I am no' in the way o' expectin' miracles."

On went the pounding and the sawing and the hammering and the swearing
and the singing of birds, although the latter were a little farther away
than they had been, and in the course of the day the pirate captain,
erect, scrutinizing, and blasphemous, went over his ship,
superintending the repairs. In a day or two everything would be
finished, and then he and his two prizes could up sail and away. It was
a beautiful harbour in which he lay, but he was getting tired of it.

There were great prospects before our pirate captain. Perhaps he might
have the grand good fortune to fall in with that low-born devil,
Blackbeard, who, when last he had been heard from, commanded but a small
vessel, fearing no attack upon this coast. What a proud and glorious
moment it would be when a broadside and another and another should be
poured in upon his little craft from the long guns of the Royal James.

Bonnet was still standing, reflecting, with bright eyes, upon this
dazzling future, and wondering what would be the best way of letting the
dastardly Blackbeard know whose guns they were which had sunk his ship,
when a boat was seen coming around the headland. This was one of his own
boats, which had been posted as a sentinel, and which now brought the
news that two vessels were coming in at the mouth of the river, but that
as the distance was great and the night was coming on they could not
decide what manner of craft they were.

This information made everybody jump, on board the Royal James, and the
noise of the sawing and the hammering ceased as completely as had the
songs of the birds. In a few minutes that quick and able mariner,
Bonnet, had sent three armed boats down the river to reconnoitre. If the
vessels entering the river were merchantmen, they should not be allowed
to get away; but if they were enemies, although it was difficult to
understand how enemies could make their appearance in these quiet
waters, they must be attended to, either by fight or flight.

When the three boats came back, and it was late before they appeared,
every man upon the Royal James was crowded along her side to hear the
news, and even the people on the prizes knew that something had
happened, and stood upon every point of vantage, hoping that in some way
they could find out what it was.

The news brought by the boats was to the effect that two vessels, not
sailing as merchantmen and well armed and manned, were now ashore on
sand-bars, not very far above the mouth of the river. Now Bonnet swore
bravely. If the work upon his vessels had been finished he would up
anchor and away and sail past these two grounded ships, whatever they
were and whatever they came for. He would sail past them and take with
him his two prizes; he would glide out to sea with the tide, and he
would laugh at them as he left them behind. But the Royal James was not
ready to sail.

The tide was now low; five hours afterward, when it should be high,
those two ships, whatever they were, would float again, and the Royal
James, whatever her course of action should be, would be cut off from
the mouth of the river. This was a greater risk than even a pirate as
bold as Bonnet would wish to run, and so there was no sleep that night
on the Royal James. The blows of the hammers and the sounds of the saws
made a greater noise than they had ever done before, so that the night
birds were frightened and flew shrieking away. Every man worked with all
the energy that was in him, for each hairy rascal had reason to believe
that if the vessel they were on did not get out of the river before the
two armed strangers should be afloat there might be hard times ahead for
them. Even Ben Greenway was aroused. "The de'il shall not get him any
sooner than can be helped," he said to himself, and he hammered and
sawed with the rest of them.

On his stout and well-armed sloop the Henry, Mr. William Rhett, of
Charles Town, South Carolina, paced anxiously all night. Frequently from
the sand-bar on which his vessel was grounded he called over to his
other sloop, also fast grounded, giving orders and asking questions. On
both vessels everybody was at work, getting ready for action when the
tide should rise.

Some weeks before the wails and complaints of a tortured sea-coast had
come down from the Jersey shores to South Carolina, asking for help at
the only place along that coast whence help could come. A pirate named
Thomas was working his way southward, spreading terror before him and
leaving misery behind. These appeals touched the hearts of the people of
Charles Town, already sore from the injuries and insults inflicted upon
them by Blackbeard in those days when Bonnet sat silently on the pirate
ship, doing nothing and learning much.

There was no hesitancy; for their own sake and for the sake of their
commerce, this new pirate must not come to Charles Town harbour, and an
expedition of two vessels, heavily armed and well manned and commanded
by Mr. William Rhett, was sent northward up the coast to look for the
pirate named Thomas and to destroy him and his ship. Mr. Rhett was not a
military man, nor did he belong to the navy. He was a citizen capable of
commanding soldiers, and as such he went forth to destroy the pirate
Thomas.

Mr. Rhett met people enough along the coast who told him where he might
find the pirate, but he found no one to tell him how to navigate the
dangerous waters of the Cape Fear River, and so it was that soon after
entering that fine stream he and his consort found themselves aground.

Mr. Rhett was quite sure that he had discovered the lair of the big game
he was looking for. Just before dark, three boats, well filled with men,
had appeared from up the river, and they had looked so formidable that
everything had been made ready to resist an attack from them. They
retired, but every now and then during the night, when there was quiet
for a few minutes, there would come down the river on the wind the sound
of distant hammering and the noise of saws.

It was after midnight before the Henry and the Sea Nymph floated free,
but they anchored where they were and waited for the morning. Whether
they would sail up the river after the pirate or whether he would come
down to them, daylight would show.

Mr. Rhett's vessels had been at anchor for five hours, and every man on
board of them were watching and waiting, when daylight appeared and
showed them a tall ship, under full sail, rounding the distant headland
up the river. Now up came their anchors and their sails were set. The
pirate was coming!

Whatever the Royal James intended to do, Mr. Rhett had but one plan, and
that was to meet the enemy as soon as possible and fight him. So up
sailed the Henry and up sailed the Sea Nymph, and they pressed ahead so
steadily to meet the Royal James that the latter vessel, in carrying out
what was now her obvious intention of getting out to sea, was forced
shoreward, where she speedily ran upon a bar. Then, from the vessels of
Charles Town there came great shouts of triumph, which ceased when first
the Henry and then the Sea Nymph ran upon other bars and remained
stationary.

Here was an unusual condition--three ships of war all aground and about
to begin a battle, a battle which would probably last for five hours if
one or more of the stationary vessels were not destroyed before that
time. It was soon found, however, that there would only be two parties
to the fight, for the Sea Nymph was too far away to use her guns. The
Royal James had an advantage over her opponents, since, when she
slightly careened, her decks were slanted away from the enemy, while the
latter's were presented to her fire.

At it they went, hot and heavy. Bonnet and his men now knew that they
were engaged with commissioned war vessels, and they fought for their
lives. Mr. Rhett knew that he was fighting Thomas, the dreaded pirate of
the coast, and he felt that he must destroy him before his vessel should
float again. The cannon roared, muskets blazed away, and the combatants
were near enough even to use pistols upon each other. Men died, blood
flowed, and the fight grew fiercer and fiercer.

Bonnet roared like an incarnate devil; he swore at his men, he swore at
the enemy, he swore at his bad fortune, for had he not missed the
channel the game would have been in his own hands.

So on they fought, and the tide kept steadily rising. The five hours
must pass at last, and the vessel which first floated would win the day.

The five hours did pass, and the Henry floated, and Bonnet swore louder
and more fiercely than before. He roared to his men to fire and to
fight, no matter whether they were still aground or not, and with many
oaths he vowed that if any one of them showed but a sign of weakening he
would cut him down upon the spot. But the hairy scoundrels who made up
the crew of the Royal James had no idea of lying there with their ship
on its side, while two other ships--for the Sea Nymph was now
afloat--should sail around them, rake their decks, and shatter them to
pieces. So the crew consulted together, despite their captain's roars
and oaths, and many of them counselled surrender. Their vessel was much
farther inshore than the two others, and no matter what happened
afterward they preferred to live longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.

But Bonnet quailed not before fate, before the enemy, or before his
crew; if he heard another word of surrender he would fire the magazine
and blow the ship to the sky with every man in it. Raising his cutlass
in air, he was about to bring it down upon one of the cowards he
berated, when suddenly he was seized by two powerful hands, which pinned
his arms behind him. With a scream of rage, he turned his head and
found that he was in the grasp of Ben Greenway.

"Let go your sword, Master Bonnet," said Ben; "it is o' no use to ye
now, for ye canna get awa' from me. I'm nae older than ye are, though I
look it, an' I've got the harder muscles. Ye may be makin' your way
steadily an' surely to the gates o' hell an' it mayna be possible that I
can prevent ye, but I'm not goin' to let ye tumble in by accident so
long as I've got two arms left to me."

Pale, haggard, and writhing, Stede Bonnet was disarmed, and the Jolly
Roger came down.




CHAPTER XXXVII

BONNET AND GREENWAY PART COMPANY


It was three days after this memorable combat--for the vessels engaged
in it needed considerable repairs--when Mr. Rhett of Charles Town sailed
down the Cape Fear River with his five vessels--the two with which he
had entered it, the pirate Royal James, and the two prizes of the
latter, which had waited quietly up the river to see how matters were
going to turn out.

On the Henry sailed the pirate Thomas, now discovered to be the
notorious Stede Bonnet, and a very quiet and respectful man he was. As
has been seen before, Bonnet was a man able to adapt himself to
circumstances. There never was a more demure counting-house clerk than
was Bonnet at Belize; there never was an humbler dependent than the
almost unnoticed Bonnet after he had joined Blackbeard's fleet before
Charles Town, and there never was a more deferential and respectful
prisoner than Stede Bonnet on board the Henry. It was really touching to
see how this cursing and raging pirate deported himself as a meek and
uncomplaining gentleman.

There was no prison-house in Charles Town, but Stede Bonnet's wicked
crew, including Ben Greenway--for his captors were not making any
distinctions in regard to common men taken on a pirate ship--were
clapped into the watch-house--and a crowded and uncomfortable place it
was--and put under a heavy and military guard. The authorities were,
however, making distinctions where gentlemen of family and owners of
landed estates were concerned, no matter if they did happen to be taken
on a pirate ship, and Major Bonnet of Barbadoes was lodged in the
provost marshal's house, in comfortable quarters, with only two
sentinels outside to make him understand he was a prisoner.

The capture of this celebrated pirate created a sensation in Charles
Town, and many of the citizens were not slow to pay the unfortunate
prisoner the attentions due to his former position in society. He was
very well satisfied with his treatment in Charles Town, which city he
had never before had the pleasure of visiting.

The attentions paid to Ben Greenway were not pleasing; sometimes he was
shoved into one corner and sometimes into another. He frequently had
enough to eat and drink, but very often this was not the case. Bonnet
never inquired after him. If he thought of him at all, he hoped that he
had been killed in the fight, for if that were the case he would be rid
of his eternal preachments.

Greenway made known the state of his own case whenever he had a chance
to do so, but his complaints received no attention, and he might have
remained with the crew of the Royal James as long as they were shut up
in the watch-house had not some of the hairy cut-throats themselves
taken pity upon him and assured the guards that this man was not one of
them, and that they knew from what they had heard him say and seen him
do that there was no more determined enemy of piracy in all the Western
continent. So it happened, that after some weeks of confinement Greenway
was let out of the watch-house and allowed to find quarters for himself.

The first day the Scotchman was free he went to the provost-marshal's
house and petitioned an interview with his old master, Bonnet.

"Heigho!" cried the latter, who was comfortably seated in a chair
reading a letter. "And where do you come from, Ben Greenway? I had
thought you were dead and buried in the Cape Fear River."

"Ye did not think I was dead," replied Ben, "when I seized ye an' held
ye an' kept ye from buryin' yoursel' in that same river."

Bonnet waved his hand. "No more of that," said he; "I was unfortunate,
but that is over now and things have turned out better than any man
could have expected."

"Better!" exclaimed Ben. "I vow I know not what that means."

Bonnet laughed. He was looking very well; he was shaved, and wore a neat
suit of clothes.

"Ben Greenway," said he, "you are now looking upon a man of high
distinction. At this moment I am the greatest pirate on the face of the
earth. Yes, Greenway, the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. I
have a letter here, which was received by the provost-marshal and which
he gave me to read, which tells that Blackbeard, the first pirate of his
age, is dead. Therefore, Ben Greenway, I take his place, and there is no
living pirate greater than I am."

"An' ye pride yoursel' on that, an' at this moment?" asked Ben, truly
amazed.

"That do I," said Bonnet. "And think of it, Ben Greenway, that
presumptuous, overbearing Blackbeard was killed, and his head brought
away sticking up on the bow of a vessel. What a rare sight that must
have been, Ben! Think of his long beard, all tied up with ribbons, stuck
up on the bow of a ship!"

"An' ye are now the head de'il on earth?" said Ben.

"You can put it that way, if you like," said Bonnet, "but I am not so
looked upon in this town. I am an honoured person. I doubt very much if
any prisoner in this country was ever treated with the distinction that
is shown me, but I don't wonder at it; I have the reputation of two
great pirates joined in one--the pirate Bonnet, of the dreaded ship
Revenge, and the terrible Thomas of the Royal James. My man, there are
people in this town who have been to me and who have said that a man so
famous should not even be imprisoned. I have good reason to believe that
it will not be long before pardon papers are made out for me, and that I
may go my way."

"An' your men?" asked Greenway. "Will they go free or will they be hung
like common pirates?"

Bonnet frowned impatiently. "I don't want to hear anything about the
men," he said; "of course they will be hung. What could be done with
them if they were not hung? But it is entirely different with me. I am a
most respectable person, and, now that I am willing to resign my
piratical career, having won in it all the glory that can come to one
man, that respectability must be considered."

"Weel, weel," said the Scotchman; "an' when it comes that
respectabeelity is better for a man's soul an' body than righteousness,
then I am no fit counsellor for ye, Master Bonnet," and he took his
leave.

The next morning, when Ben Greenway left his lodging he found the town
in an uproar. The pirate Bonnet had bribed his sentinels and, with some
others, had escaped. Ben stood still and stamped his foot. Such infamy,
such perfidy to the authorities who had treated him so well, the
Scotchman could not at first imagine, but when the truth became plain to
him, his face glowed, his eye burned; this vile conduct of his old
master was a triumph to Ben's principles. Wickedness was wickedness, and
could not be washed away by respectability.

The days passed on; Bonnet was recaptured, more securely imprisoned, put
upon trial, found guilty, and, in spite of the efforts of the advocates
of respectability, was condemned to be hung on the same spot where
nearly all the members of his pirate crew had been executed.

During all this time Ben Greenway kept away from his old master; he had
borne ill-treatment of every kind, but the deception practised upon him
when, at his latest interview, Bonnet talked to him of his
respectability, having already planned an escape and return to his evil
ways, was too much for the honest Scotchman. He had done with this man,
faithless to friend and foe, to his own blood, and even to his own bad
reputation.

But not quite done. It was but half an hour before the time fixed for
the pirate's execution that Ben Greenway gained access to him.

"What!" cried Bonnet, raising his head from his hands. "You here? I
thought I had done with you!"

"Ay, I am here," said Ben Greenway. "I hae stood by ye in good fortune
an' in bad fortune, an' I hae never left ye, no matter what happened;
an' I told ye I would follow ye to the gates o' hell, but I could go no
farther. I hae kept my word an' here I stop. Fareweel!"

"The only comfortable thing about this business," said Bonnet, "is to
know that at last I am rid of that fellow!"




CHAPTER XXXVIII

AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE


There were indeed gay times in Spanish Town, and with the two loads
lifted from her heart, Kate helped very much to promote the gaiety. If
this young lady had wished to make a good colonial match, she had
opportunities enough for so doing, but she was not in that frame of
mind, and encouraged no suitor.

But, bright as she was, she was not so bright as on that great and
glorious day when she received Ben Greenway's letter, telling her that
her father was no longer a pirate. There were several reasons for this
gradually growing twilight of her happiness, and one was that no letter
came from her father. To be sure, there were many reasons why no letter
should come. There were no regular mails in these colonies which could
be depended upon, and, besides, the new career of her father, sailing as
a privateer under the king's flag, would probably make it very
difficult for him to send a letter to Jamaica by any regular or
irregular method. Moreover, her father was a miserable correspondent,
and always had been. Thus she comforted herself and was content, though
not very well content, to wait.

Then there was another thing which troubled her, when she thought of it.
That good man and steady lover, Martin Newcombe, had written that he was
coming to Spanish Town, and she knew very well what he was coming for
and what he would say, but she did not know what she would say to him;
and the thought of this troubled her. In a letter she might put off the
answer for which he had been so long and patiently waiting, but when she
met him face to face there could be no more delay; she must tell him yes
or no, and she was not ready to do this.

There was so much to think of, so many plans to be considered in regard
to going back to Barbadoes or staying in Jamaica, that really she could
not make up her mind, at least not until she had seen her father. She
would be so sorry if Mr. Newcombe came to Spanish Town before her father
should arrive, or at least before she should hear from him.

Then there was another thing which added to the twilight of these
cheerful days, and this Kate could scarcely understand, because she
could see no reason why it should affect her. The Governor, whom they
frequently met in the course of the pleasant social functions of the
town, looked troubled, and was not the genial gentleman he used to be.
Of course he had a right to his own private perplexities and annoyances,
but it grieved Kate to see the change in him. He had always been so
cordial and so cheerful; he was now just as kind as ever, perhaps a
little more so, in his manner, but he was not cheerful.

Kate mentioned to her uncle the changed demeanour of the Governor, but
he could give no explanation; he had heard of no political troubles, but
supposed that family matters might easily have saddened the good man.

He himself was not very cheerful, for day after day brought nearer the
time when that uncertain Stede Bonnet might arrive in Jamaica, and what
would happen after that no man could tell. One thing he greatly feared,
and that was, that his dear niece, Kate, might be taken away from him.
Dame Charter was not so very cheerful either. Only in one way did she
believe in Stede Bonnet, and that was, that after some fashion or
another he would come between her and her bright dreams for her dear
Dickory.

And so there were some people in Spanish Town who were not as happy as
they had been.

Still there were dinners and little parties, and society made itself
very pleasant; and in the midst of them all a ship came in from
Barbadoes, bringing a letter from Martin Newcombe.

A strange thing about this letter was that it was addressed to Mr.
Delaplaine and not to Miss Kate Bonnet. This, of course, proved the
letter must be on business; and, although he was with his little family
when he opened his letter, he thought it well to glance at it before
reading it aloud. The first few lines showed him that it was indeed a
business letter, for it told of the death of Madam Bonnet, and how the
writer, Martin Newcombe, as a neighbour and friend of the family, had
been called in to take temporary charge of her effects, and, having done
so, he hastened to inform Mr. Delaplaine of his proceedings and to ask
advice. This letter he now read aloud, and Kate and the others were
greatly interested therein, although they cautiously forbore the
expression of any opinion which might rise in their minds regarding this
turn of affairs.

Having finished these business details, Mr. Delaplaine went on and read
aloud, and in the succeeding portion of the letter Mr. Newcombe begged
Mr. Delaplaine to believe that it was the hardest duty of his whole life
to write what he was now obliged to write, but that he knew he must do
it, and therefore would not hesitate. At this the reader looked at his
niece and stopped.

"Go on," cried Kate, her face a little flushed, "go on!"

The face of Mr. Delaplaine was pale, and for a moment he hesitated,
then, with a sudden jerk, he nerved himself to the effort and read on;
he had seen enough to make him understand that the duty before him
was to read on.

[Illustration: In an instant Dickory was there.]

Briefly and tersely, but with tears in the very ink, so sad were the
words, the writer assured Mr. Delaplaine that his love for his niece had
been, and was, the overpowering impulse of his life; that to win this
love he had dared everything, he had hoped for everything, he had been
willing to pass by and overlook everything, but that now, and it tore
his heart to write it, his evil fortune had been too much for him; he
could do anything for the sake of his love that a man with respect for
himself could do, but there was one thing at which he must stop, at
which he must bow his head and submit to his fate--he could not marry
the daughter of an executed felon.

Thus came to that little family group the news of the pirate Bonnet's
death. There was more of the letter, but Mr. Delaplaine did not read it.

Kate did not scream, nor moan, nor faint, but she sat up straight in her
chair and gazed, with a wild intentness, at her uncle. No one spoke. At
such a moment condolence or sympathy would have been a cruel mockery.
They were all as pale as chalk. In his heart, Mr. Delaplaine said: "I
see it all; the Governor must have known, and he loved her so he could
not break her heart."

In the midst of the silence, in the midst of the chalky whiteness of
their faces, in the midst of the blackness which was settling down upon
them, Kate Bonnet still sat upright, a coldness creeping through every
part of her. Suddenly she turned her head, and in a voice of wild
entreaty she called out: "Oh, Dickory, why don't you come to me!"

In an instant Dickory was there, and, cold and lifeless, Kate Bonnet was
in his arms.




CHAPTER XXXIX

THE BLESSINGS WHICH COME FROM THE DEATH OF THE WICKED


It was three weeks after Martin Newcombe's letter came before Ben
Greenway arrived in Spanish Town. He had had a hard time to get there,
having but little money and no friends to help him; but he had a strong
heart and an earnest, and so he was bound to get there at last; and,
although Kate saw no visitors, she saw him. She was not dressed in
mourning; she could not wear black for herself.

She greeted the Scotchman with earnestness; he was a friend out of the
old past, but she gave him no chance to speak first.

"Ben," she exclaimed, "have you a message for me?"

"No message," he replied, "but I hae somethin' on my heart I wish to say
to ye. I hae toiled an' laboured an' hae striven wi' mony obstacles to
get to ye an' to say it."

She looked at him, with her brows knit, wondering if she should allow
him to speak; then, with the words scarcely audible between her tightly
closed lips, she said: "Ben, what is it?"

"It is this, an' no more nor less," replied the Scotchman; "he was never
fit to be your father, an' it is not fit now for ye to remember him as
your father. I was faithful to him to the vera last, but there was no
truth in him. It is an abomination an' a wickedness for ye to remember
him as your father!"

Kate spoke no word, nor did she shed a tear.

"It was my heart's desire ye should know it," said the Scotchman, "an' I
came mony a weary league to tell ye so."

"Ben," said she, "I think I have known it for a long time, but I would
not suffer myself to believe it; but now, having heard your words, I am
sure of it."

"Uncle," said she an hour afterward, "I have no father, and I never had
one."

With tears in his eyes he folded her to his breast, and peace began to
rise in his soul. No greater blessing can come to really good people
than the absolute disappearance of the wicked.

And the wickedness which had so long shadowed and stained the life of
Kate Bonnet was now removed from it. It was hard to get away from the
shadow and to wipe off the stain, but she was a brave girl and she did
it.

In this work of her life--a work which if not accomplished would make
that life not worth the living--Kate was much helped by Dickory; and he
helped her by not saying a word about it or ever allowing himself, when
in her presence, to remember that there had been a shadow or a stain.
And if he thought of it at all when by himself, his only feeling was one
of thankfulness that what had happened had given her to him.