Trembling a little, he approached Blackbeard. "And as for me," he asked;
"am I to command your old vessel?"

"You!" roared Blackbeard, making as if he would jump upon him; "you! You
may fall to and bend your back with the others in the forecastle, or you
can jump overboard if you like. My quarter-master, Richards, now
commands my old vessel. Presently I shall go over and settle things on
that bark, but first I shall step down into the cabin and see what rare
good things Sir Nightcap, the sugar-planter, has prepared for me."

With this he went below, followed by the man he had brought with him.

It was Dickory, half dazed by what he had heard, who now stepped up to
Paul Bittern. The latter, his countenance blacker than it had ever been
before, first scowled at him, but in a moment the ferocity left his
glance.

"Oho!" he said, "here's a pretty pickle for me and you, as well as for
Bonnet and the Scotchman!"

"Do you suppose," exclaimed Dickory, "that what he says is true? That
he has stolen this ship from Captain Bonnet, and that he has taken it
for his own?"

"Suppose!" sneered the other, "I know it. He has stolen from me as well
as from Bonnet. I should have commanded this ship, and I had made all my
plans to do it when I got here."

"Then you are as great a rascal," said Dickory, "as that vile pirate
down below."

"Just as great," said Bittern, "the only difference being that he has
won everything while I have lost everything."

"What are we to do!" asked Dickory. "I cannot stay here, and I am sure
you will not want to. Now, while he is below, can we not slip overboard
and swim ashore? I am sure I could do it."

Black Paul grinned grimly. "But where should we swim to?" he said. "On
the coast of Honduras there is no safety for a man who flees from
Blackbeard. But keep your tongue close; he is coming."

The moment Blackbeard put his foot upon the deck he began to roar out
his general orders.

"I go over to the bark," he said, "and shall put my mate here in charge
of her. After that I go to my own vessel, and when I have settled
matters there I will return to this fine ship, where I shall strut about
the quarter-deck and live like a prince at sea. Now look ye, youngster,
what is your name?"

"Charter," replied Dickory grimly.

"Well then, Charter," the pirate continued, "I shall leave you in charge
of this vessel until I come back, which will be before dark."

"Me!" exclaimed Dickory in amazement.

"Yes, you," said the pirate. "I am sure you don't know anything about a
ship any more than your master did, but he got on very well, and so may
you. And now, remember, your head shall pay for it if everything is not
the same when I come back as it is now."

Thereupon this man of piratical business was rowed to the bark, quite
satisfied that he left behind him no one who would have the power to
tamper with his interests. He knew the crew, having bound most of them
to him on the preceding night, and he trusted every one of them to obey
the man he had set over them and no other. As Dickory would have no
orders to give, there would be no need of obedience, and Black Paul
would have no chance to interfere with anything.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Bonnet had been left by Blackbeard--who, having said all he had to
say, hurried up the companion-way to attend to the rest of his
plans--the stately naval officer who had so recently occupied the bench
by the table shrunk into a frightened farmer, gazing blankly at Ben
Greenway.

"Think you, Ben," he said in half a voice, "that this is one of that
man's jokes! I have heard that he has a fearful taste for horrid
jokes."

The Scotchman shook his head. "Joke! Master Bonnet," he exclaimed, "it
is no joke. He has ta'en your ship from ye; he has ta'en from ye your
sword, your pistols, an' your wicked black flag, an' he has made evil
impossible to ye. He has ta'en from ye the shame an' the wretched
wickedness o' bein' a pirate. Think o' that, Master Bonnet, ye are no
longer a pirate. That most devilish o' all demons has presarved the rest
o' your life from the dishonour an' the infamy which ye were labourin'
to heap upon it. Ye are a poor mon now, Master Bonnet; that Beelzebub
will strip from ye everything ye had, all your riches shall be his. Ye
can no longer afford to be a pirate; ye will be compelled to be an
honest mon. An' I tell ye that my soul lifteth itsel' in thanksgivin'
an' my heart is happier than it has been since that fearsome day when ye
went on board your vessel at Bridgetown."

"Ben," said Bonnet, "it is hard and it is cruel, that in this, the time
of my great trouble, you turn upon me. I have been robbed; I have been
ruined; my life is of no more use to me, and you, Ben Greenway, revile
me while that I am prostrate."

"Revile!" said the Scotchman. "I glory, I rejoice! Ye hae been
converted, ye hae been changed, ye hae been snatched from the jaws o'
hell. Moreover, Master Bonnet, my soul was rejoiced even before that
master de'il came to set ye free from your toils. To look upon ye an'
see that, although ye called yoursel' a pirate, ye were no like ane o'
these black-hearted cut-throats. Ye were never as wicked, Master Bonnet,
as ye said ye were!"

"You are mistaken," groaned Bonnet; "I tell you, Ben Greenway, you are
mistaken; I am just as wicked as I ever was. And I was very wicked, as
you should admit, knowing what I have done. Oh, Ben, Ben! Is it true
that I shall never go on board my good ship again?"

And with this he spread his arms upon the table and laid his head upon
them. He felt as if his career was ended and his heart broken. Ben
Greenway said no more to comfort him, but at that moment he himself was
the happiest man on the Caribbean Sea. He seated himself in the little
dirty cabin, and his soul saw visions. He saw his master, deprived of
all his belongings, and with them of every taint of piracy, and put on
shore, accompanied, of course, by his faithful servant. He saw a ship
sail, perhaps soon, perhaps later, for Jamaica; he saw the blithe
Mistress Kate, her soul no longer sorrowing for an erring father, come
on board that vessel and sail with him for good old Bridgetown. He saw
everything explained, everything forgotten. He saw before the dear old
family a life of happiness--perhaps he saw the funeral of Madam
Bonnet--and, better than all, he saw the pirate dead, the good man
revived again.

To be sure, he did not see Dickory Charter returning to his old home
with his mother, for he could not know what Blackbeard was going to do
with that young fellow; but as Dickory had thought of him when he had
escaped with Kate from the Revenge, so thought he now of Dickory. There
were so many other important things which bore upon the situation that
he was not able even to consider the young fellow.

It did not take very long for a man of practical devilishness, such as
Blackbeard was, to finish the business which had called him away, and he
soon reappeared in the cabin.

"Ho there! good Sir Nightcap--an I may freely call you that since now I
own you, uniform, cocked hat, title, and everything else--don't cry
yourself to sleep like a baby when its toys are taken away from it, but
wake up. I have a bit of liking for you, and I believe that that is
because you are clean. Not having that virtue myself, I admire it the
more in others, and I thank you from my inmost soul--wherever that may
be--for having provided such comely quarters and such fair
accommodations for me while I shall please to sail the Revenge. But I
shall not condemn you to idleness and cankering thoughts, my bold
blusterer, my terror of the sea, my harrier of the coast, my flaunter of
the Jolly Roger washed clean in the tub with soap; I shall give you
work to do which shall better suit you than the troublesome trade you've
been trying to learn. You write well and read, I know that, my good Sir
Nightcap; and, moreover, you are a fair hand at figures. I have great
work before me in landing and selling the fine cargoes you have brought
me, and in counting and dividing the treasure you have locked in your
iron-bound chests. And you shall attend to all that, my reformed
cutthroat, my regenerated sea-robber. You shall have a room of your own,
where you can take off that brave uniform and where you can do your work
and keep your accounts and so shall be happier than you ever were
before, feeling that you are in your right place."

To all this Stede Bonnet did not answer a word; he did not even raise
his head.

"And now for you, my chaplain," said Blackbeard, suddenly turning toward
Ben Greenway, "what would you like? Would it suit you better to go
overboard or to conduct prayers for my pious crew?"

"I would stay wi' my master," said the Scotchman quietly.

The pirate looked steadily at Greenway. "Oho!" said he, "you are a
sturdy fellow, and have a mind to speak from. Being so stiff yourself,
you may be able to stiffen a little this rag of a master of yours and
help him to understand the work he has to do, which he will bravely do,
I ween, when he finds that to be my clerk is his career. Ha! ha! Sir
Nightcap, the pirate of the pen and ink!"

Deeply sunk these words into Stede Bonnet's heart, but he made no sign.

When Blackbeard went back to the Revenge he took with him all of his own
effects which he cared for, and he also took the ex-pirate's uniform,
cocked hat, and sword. "I may have use for them," he said, "and my clerk
can wear common clothes like common people."

When her new commander reached the Revenge, Dickory immediately
approached him and earnestly besought him that he might be sent to join
Captain Bonnet and Ben Greenway. "They are my friends," said Dickory,
"and I have none here, and I have brought a message to Captain Bonnet
from his daughter, and it is urgently necessary that I return with one
from him to her. I must instantly endeavour to find a ship which is
bound for Jamaica and sail upon her. I have nothing to do with this
ship, having come on board of her simply to carry my message, and it
behooves me that I return quickly to those who sent me, else injury may
come of it."

"I like your speech, my boy, I like your speech!" cried Blackbeard, and
he roared out a big laugh. "'Urgently necessary' you must do this, you
must do that. It is so long since I have heard such words that they come
to me like wine from a cool vault."

At this Dickory flushed hot, but he shut his mouth.

"You are a brave fellow," cried Blackbeard, "and above the common, you
are above the common. There is that in your eye that could never be seen
in the eye of a sugar-planter. You will make a good pirate."

"Pirate!" cried Dickory, losing all sense of prudence. "I would sooner
be a wild beast in the forest than to be a pirate!"

Blackbeard laughed loudly. "A good fellow, a brave fellow!" he cried.
"No man who has not the soul of a pirate within him could stand on his
legs and speak those words to me. Sail to Jamaica to carry messages to
girls? Never! You shall stay with me, you shall be a pirate. You shall
be the head of all the pirates when I give up the business and take to
sugar-planting. Ha! ha! When I take to sugar-planting and merrily make
my own good rum!"

Dickory was dismayed. "But, Captain Blackbeard," he said, with more
deference than before, "I cannot."

"Cannot!" shouted the pirate, "you lie, you can. Say not cannot to me;
you can do anything I tell you, and do it you shall. And now I am going
to put you in your place, and see that you hold it and fill it. An if
you please me not, you carry no more messages in this world, nor receive
them. Charter, I now make you the first officer of the Revenge under me.
You cannot be mate because you know nothing of sailing a ship, and
besides no mate nor any quarter-master is worthy to array himself as I
shall array you. I make you first lieutenant, and you shall wear the
uniform and the cocked hat which Sir Nightcap hath no further use for."

With that he went forward to speak to some of the men, leaving Dickory
standing speechless, with the expression of an infuriated idiot. Black
Paul stepped up to him.

"How now, youngster," said the ex-sailing-master, "first officer, eh? If
you look sharp, you may find yourself in fine feather."

"No, I will not," answered Dickory. "I will have nothing to do with this
black pirate; I will not serve under him, I will not take charge of
anything for him. I am ashamed to talk with him, to be on the same ship
with him. I serve good people, the best and noblest in the world, and I
will not enter any service under him."

"Hold ye, hold ye!" said Black Paul, "you will not serve the good people
you speak of by going overboard with a bullet in your head; think of
that, youngster. It is a poor way of helping your friends by quitting
the world and leaving them in the lurch."

At this moment Blackbeard returned, and when he saw Bittern he roared at
him: "Out of that, you sea-cat, and if I see you again speaking to my
lieutenant, I'll slash your ears for you. In the next boat which leaves
this ship I shall send you to one of the others; I will have no
sneaking schemer on board the Revenge. Get ye for'ad, get ye for'ad, or
I shall help ye with my cutlass!"

And the man who had safely brought two good ships, richly laden, into
the harbour of Belize, and who had given Blackbeard the information
which made him understand the character of Captain Bonnet and how easy
it would be to take possession of his person and his vessels, and who
had done everything in his power to enable the black-hearted pirate to
secure to himself Bonnet's property and crews, and who had only asked in
return an actual command where before he had commanded in fact though
not in name, fled away from the false confederate to whom he had just
given wealth and increased prestige.

The last words of the unfortunate Bittern sunk quickly and deeply into
the heart of Dickory. If he should really go overboard with a bullet in
his brain, farewell to Kate Bonnet, farewell to his mother! He was yet a
very young man, and it had been but a little while since he had been
wandering barefooted over the ships at Bridgetown, selling the fruit of
his mother's little farm. Since that he had loved and lived so long that
he could not calculate the period, and now he was a man and stood
trembling at the point where he was to decide to begin life as a pirate
or end everything. Before Blackbeard had turned his lowering visage
from his retreating benefactor, Dickory had decided that, whatever might
happen, he would not of his own free-will leave life and fair Kate
Bonnet.

"And so you are to be my first lieutenant," said Blackbeard, his face
relaxing. "I am glad of that. There was nothing needed on this ship but
a decent man. I have put one on my old vessel, and if there were another
to be found in the Gulf of Honduras, I'd clap him on that goodly bark.
Now, sir, down to your berth, and don your naval finery. You're always
to wear it; you're not fit to wear the clothes of a real sailor, and I
have no landsman's toggery on this ship."

Dickory bowed--he could not speak--and went below. When next he appeared
on deck he wore the ex-Captain Bonnet's uniform and the tall plumed hat.

"It is for Kate's sweet sake," he said to himself as he mounted the
companion-way; "for her sake I'd wear anything, I'd do anything, if only
I may see her again."

When the new first lieutenant showed himself upon the quarter-deck there
was a general howl from the crew, and peal after peal of derisive
laughter rent the air.

Then Blackbeard stepped quietly forward and ordered eight of the jeerers
to be strung up and flogged.

"I would like you all to remember," said the master pirate, "that when I
appoint an officer on this ship, there is to be no sneering at him nor
any want of respect, and it strikes me that I shall not have to say
anything more on the subject--to this precious crew, at any rate."

The next day lively times began on board the two rich prizes which the
pirate Blackbeard had lately taken. There had been scarcely more hard
work and excitement, cursing and swearing when the rich freight had been
taken from the merchantmen which had originally carried it. Poor
Bonnet's pen worked hard at lists and calculations, for Blackbeard was a
practical man, and not disposed to loose and liberal dealings with
either his men or the tradefolk ashore.

At times the troubled and harassed mind of the former captain of the
Revenge would have given way under the strain had not Ben Greenway
stayed bravely by him; who, although a slow accountant, was sure, and a
great help to one who, in these times of hurry and flurry, was extremely
rapid and equally uncertain. Blackbeard was everywhere, anxious to
complete the unloading and disposal of his goods before the weather
changed; but, wherever he went, he remembered that upon the quarter-deck
of his fine new ship, the Revenge, there was one who, knowing nothing of
nautical matters, was above all suspicion of nautical interferences, and
who, although having no authority, represented the most powerful
nautical commander in all those seas.




CHAPTER XX

ONE NORTH, ONE SOUTH


If our dear Kate Bonnet had really imagined, in her inexperienced mind,
that it would be a matter of days, and perhaps weeks, to procure a
vessel in which she, with her uncle and good Dame Charter, could sail
forth to save her father, she was wonderfully mistaken. Not a
free-footed vessel of any class came into the harbour of Kingston.
Sloops and barks and ships in general arrived and departed, but they
were all bound by one contract or another, and were not free to sail
away, here and there, for a short time or a long time, at the word of a
maiden's will.

Mr. Delaplaine was a rich man, but he was a prudent one, and he had not
the money to waste in wild rewards, even if there had been an
opportunity for him to offer them. Kate was disconcerted, disappointed,
and greatly cast down.

The vengeful Badger was scouring the seas in search of her father,
commissioned to destroy him, and eager in his hot passion to do it; and
here was she, with a respite for that father, if only she were able to
carry it.

Day after day Kate waited for notice of a craft, not only one which
might bring Dickory back but one which might carry her away.

The optimism of Dame Charter would not now bear her up, the load which
had been put upon it was too big. Everything about her was melancholy
and depressed, and Dickory had not come back. So many things had
happened since he went away, and so many days had passed, and she had
entirely exhausted her plentiful stock of very good reasons why her son
had not been able to return to her.

The Governor was very kind; frequently he came to the Delaplaine
mansion, and always he brought assurances that, although he had not
heard anything from Captain Vince, there was every reason to suppose
that before long he would find some way to send him his commands that
Captain Bonnet should not be injured, but should be brought back safely
to Jamaica.

And then Kate would say, with tears in her eyes: "But, your Excellency,
we cannot wait for that; we must go, we must deliver ourselves your
message to the captain of the Badger. Who else will do it? And we cannot
trust to chance; while we are trusting and hoping, my father may die."

At such moments Mr. Delaplaine would sometimes say in his heart, not
daring to breathe such thoughts aloud, "And what could be better than
that he should die and be done with it? He is a thorn in the side of the
young, the good, and the beautiful, and as long as he lives that thorn
will rankle."

Moreover, not only did the good merchant harbour such a wicked thought,
but Dame Charter thought something of the very same kind, though
differently expressed. If he had never been born, she would say to
herself, how much better it would have been; but then the thought would
come crowding in, how bad that would have been for Dickory and for the
plans she was making for him.

In the midst of all this uncertainty, this anxiety, this foreboding,
almost this despair, there came a sunburst which lighted up the souls of
these three good people, which made their eyes sparkle and their hearts
swell with thankfulness. This happiness came in the shape of a letter
from Martin Newcombe.

The letter was a long one and told many things. The first part of it
Kate read to herself and kept to herself, for in burning words it
assured her that he loved her and would always love her, and that no
misfortune of her own nor wrongdoings of others could prevent him from
offering her his most ardent and unchangeable affection. Moreover, he
begged and implored her to accept that affection, to accept it now that
it might belong to her forever. Happiness, he said, seemed opening
before her; he implored her to allow him to share that happiness with
her. The rest of the letter was read most jubilantly aloud. It told of
news which had come to Newcombe from Honduras Gulf: great news,
wonderful news, which would make the heart sing. Major Bonnet was at
Belize. He had given up all connection with piracy and was now engaged
in mercantile pursuits. This was positively true, for the person who had
sent the news to Bridgetown had seen Major Bonnet and had talked to him,
and had been informed by him that he had given up his ship and was now
an accountant and commission agent doing business at that place.

The sender of this great news also stated that Ben Greenway was with
Major Bonnet, working as his assistant--and here Dame Charter sat
open-mouthed and her heart nearly stopped beating--young Dickory Charter
had also been in the port and had gone away, but was expected ere long
to return.

Kate stood on her tip-toes and waved the letter over her head.

"To Belize, my dear uncle, to Belize! If we cannot get there any other
way we must go in a boat with oars. We must fly, we must not wait.
Perhaps he is seeking in disguise to escape the vengeance of the wicked
Vince; but that matters not; we know where he is; we must fly, uncle,
we must fly!"

The opportunities for figurative flying were not wanting. There were no
vessels in the port which might be engaged for an indeterminate voyage
in pursuit of a British man-of-war, but there was a goodly sloop about
to sail in ballast for Belize. Before sunset three passages were engaged
upon this sloop.

Kate sat long into the night, her letter in her hand. Here was a lover
who loved her; a lover who had just sent to her not only love, but life;
a lover who had no intention of leaving her because of her overshadowing
sorrow, but who had lifted that sorrow and had come to her again. Ay
more, she knew that if the sorrow had not been lifted he would have come
to her again.

The Governor of Jamaica was a man of hearty sympathies, and these worked
so strongly in him that when Kate and her uncle came to bring him the
good news, he kissed her and vowed that he had not heard anything so
cheering for many a year.

"I have been greatly afraid of that Vince," he said. "Although I did not
mention it, I have been greatly afraid of him; he is a terrible fellow
when he is crossed, and so hot-headed that it is easy to cross him.
There were so many chances of his catching your father and so few
chances of my orders catching him. But it is all right now; you will be
able to reach your father before Vince can possibly get to him, even
should he be able to do him injury in his present position. Your father,
my dear, must have been as mad as a March hare to embark upon a career
of a pirate when all the time his heart was really turned to ways of
peace, to planting, to mercantile pursuits, to domestic joys."

Here, now, was to be a voyage of conquest. No matter what his plans
were; no matter what he said; no matter what he might lose, or how he
might suffer by being taken into captivity and being carried away, Major
Stede Bonnet, late of Bridgetown and still later connected with some
erratic voyages upon the high seas, was to be taken prisoner by his
daughter and carried away to Spanish Town, where the actions of his
disordered mind were to be condoned and where he would be safe from all
vengeful Vinces and from all temptations of the flaunting skull and
bones.

It was a bright morning when, with a fair wind upon her starboard bow,
the sloop Belinda, bearing the jubilant three, sailed southward on her
course to the coast of Honduras; and it was upon that same morning that
the good ship Revenge, bearing the pirate Blackbeard and his handsomely
uniformed lieutenant, sailed northward, the same fair wind upon her port
bow.




CHAPTER XXI

A PROJECTED MARRIAGE


Strange as it may appear, Dickory Charter was not a very unhappy young
fellow as he stood in his fine uniform on the quarter-deck of the
Revenge, the fresh breeze ruffling his brown curls when he lifted his
heavy cocked hat.

True, he was leaving behind him his friends, Captain Bonnet and Ben
Greenway, with whom the wayward Blackbeard would allow no word of
leave-taking; true, he was going, he knew not where, and in the power of
a man noted the new world over for his savage eccentricities; and true,
he might soon be sailing, hour by hour, farther and farther away from
the island on which dwelt the angel Kate--that angel Kate and his
mother. But none of these considerations could keep down the glad
feeling that he was going, that he was moving. Moreover, in answer to
one of his impassioned appeals to be set ashore at Jamaica, Blackbeard
had said to him that if he should get tired of him he did not see, at
that moment, any reason why he should not put him on board some
convenient vessel and have him landed at Kingston.

Dickory did not believe very much in the black-bearded pirate, with his
wild tricks and inhuman high spirits, but Jamaica lay to the east, and
he was going eastward.

Incited, perhaps, by the possession of a fine ship, manned by a crew
picked from his old vessel and from the men who had formed the crew of
the Revenge, Blackbeard was in better spirits than was his wont, and so
far as his nature would allow he treated Dickory with fair good-humour.
But no matter what happened, his unrestrained imagination never failed
him. Having taken the fancy to see Dickory always in full uniform, he
allowed him to assume no other clothes; he was always in naval
full-dress and cocked hat, and his duties were those of a private
secretary.

"The only shrewd thing I ever knew your Sir Nightcap to do," he said,
"was to tell me you could not read nor write. He spoke so glibly that I
believed him. Had it not been so I should have sent you to the town to
help with the shore end of my affairs, and then you would have been
there still and I should have had no admiral to write my log and
straighten my accounts."

Sometimes, in his quieter moods, when there was no provocation to send
pistol-balls between two sailors quietly conversing, or to perform some
other demoniac trick, Blackbeard would talk to Dickory and ask all
manner of questions, some of which the young man answered, while some he
tried not to answer. Thus it was that the pirate found out a great deal
more about Dickory's life, hope, and sorrows than the young fellow
imagined that he made known. He discovered that Dickory was greatly
interested in Bonnet's daughter, and wished above all other things in
this world to get to her and to be with her.

This was a little out of the common run of things among the brotherhood;
it was their fashion to forget, so far as they were able, the family
ties which already belonged to them, and to make no plans for any future
ties of that sort which they might be able to make. Such a thing amused
the generally rampant Blackbeard, but if this Dickory boy whom they had
on board really did wish to marry some one, the idea came into the
crafty mind of Blackbeard that he would like to attend to that marrying
himself. It pleased him to have a finger in every pie, and now here was
a pie in the fingering of which he might take a novel interest.

This renowned desperado, this bloody cutthroat, this merciless pirate
possessed a home--a quiet little English home on the Cornwall coast,
where the cheerful woods and fields stretched down almost in reach of
the sullen sea. Here dwelt his wife, quiet Mistress Thatch, and here his
brawny daughter. Seldom a word came to this rural home from the father,
burning and robbing, sinking and slaying out upon the western seas. But
from the stores of pelf which so often slipped so easily into his great
arms, and which so often slipped just as easily out of them, came now
and then something to help the brawn grow upon his daughter's bones and
to ease the labours of his wife.

Eliza Thatch bore no resemblance to a houri; her hair was red, her face
was freckled; she had enough teeth left to do good eating with when she
had a chance, and her step shook the timbers of her little home.

Her father had heard from her a little while ago by a letter she had had
conveyed to Belize. His parental feelings, notwithstanding he had told
Bonnet he knew no such sentiments, were stirred. When he had finished
her letter he would have been well pleased to burn a vessel and make a
dozen passengers walk the plank as a memorial to his girl. But this not
being convenient, it had come to him that he would marry the wench to
the gaily bedecked young fellow he had captured, and it filled his
reckless heart with a wild delight. He drew his cutlass, and with a
great oath he drove the heavy blade into the top of the table, and he
swore by this mark that his grand plan should be carried out.

He would sail over to England; this would be a happy chance, for his
vessel was unladen and ready for any adventure. He would drop anchor in
the quiet cove he knew of; he would go ashore by night; he would be at
home again. To be at home again made him shout with profane laughter,
the little home he remembered would be so ridiculous to him now. He
would see again his poor little trembling wife--she must be gray by
now--and he was sure that she would tremble more than ever she did when
she heard the great sea oaths which he was accustomed to pour forth now.
And his daughter, she must be a strapping wench by this time; he was
sure she could stand a slap on the back which would kill her mother.

Yes, there should be a wedding, a fine wedding, and good old rum should
water the earth. And he would detail a boat's crew of jolly good fellows
from the Revenge to help make things uproarious. This Charter boy and
Eliza should have a house of their own, with plenty of money--he had
more funds in hand than ever in his life before--and his respectable
son-in-law should go to London and deposit his fortune in a bank. It
would be royal fun to think of him and Eliza highly respectable and with
money in the bank. A quart of the best rum could scarcely have made
Blackbeard more hilarious than did this glorious notion. He danced among
his crew; he singed beards; he whacked with capstan bars; he pushed men
down hatchways; he was in lordly spirits, and his crew expected some
great adventure, some startling piece of deviltry.

Of course he did not keep his great design from Dickory--it was too
glorious, too transcendent. He took his young admiral into his cabin and
laid before him his dazzling future.

Dickory sat speechless, almost breathless. As he listened he could feel
himself turn cold. Had any one else been talking to him in this strain
he would have shouted with laughter, but people did not laugh at
Blackbeard.

When the pirate had said all and was gazing triumphantly at poor
Dickory, the young man gasped a word in answer; he could not accept this
awful fate without as much as a wave of the hand in protest.

"But, sir," said he, "if--"

Blackbeard's face grew black; he bent his head and lowered upon the pale
Dickory, then, with a tremendous blow, he brought down his fist upon the
table.

"If Eliza will not have you," he roared; "if that girl will not take you
when I offer you to her; if she or her mother as much as winks an
eyelash in disobedience of my commands, I will take them by the hair of
their heads and I will throw them into the sea. If she will not have
you," he repeated, roaring as if he were shouting through a speaking
trumpet in a storm, "if I thought that, youngster, I would burn the
house with both of them in it, and the rum I had bought to make a jolly
wedding should be poured on the timbers to make them blaze. Let no
notions like that enter your mind, my boy. If she disobeys me, I will
cook her and you shall eat her. Disobey me!" And he swore at such a rate
that he panted for fresh air and mounted to the deck.

It was not a time for Dickory to make remarks indicating his disapproval
of the proposed arrangement.

As the Revenge sailed on over sunny seas or under lowering clouds,
Dickory was no stranger to the binnacle, and the compass always told him
that they were sailing eastward. He had once asked Blackbeard where they
now were by the chart, but that gracious gentleman of the midnight beard
had given him oaths for answers, and had told him that if the captain
knew where the ship was on any particular hour or minute nobody else on
that ship need trouble his head about it. But at last the course of the
Revenge was changed a little, and she sailed northward. Then Dickory
spoke with one of the mildest of the mates upon the subject of their
progress, and the man made known to him that they were now about
half-way through the Windward passage. Dickory started back. He knew
something of the geography of those seas.

"Why, then," he cried, "we have passed Jamaica!"

"Of course we have," said the man, and if it had not been for Dickory's
uniform he would have sworn at him.




CHAPTER XXII

BLADE TO BLADE


When the corvette Badger sailed from Jamaica she moved among the islands
of the Caribbean Sea as if she had been a modern vessel propelled by a
steam-engine. That which represented a steam-engine in this case was the
fiery brain of Captain Christopher Vince of his Majesty's navy. More
than winds, more than currents, this brain made its power felt upon the
course and progress of the vessel.

Calling at every port where information might possibly be gained,
hailing every sloop or ship or fishing-smack which might have sighted
the pirate ship Revenge, with a constant lookout for a black flag,
Captain Vince kept his engine steadily at work.

But it was not in pursuit of a ship that the swift keel of the Badger
cut through the sea, this way and that, now on a long course, now
doubling back again, like a hound fancying he has got the scent of a
hare, then raging wildly when he finds the scent is false; it was in
pursuit of a woman that every sail was spread, that the lookout swept
the sea, and that the hot brain of the captain worked steadily and hard.
This English man-of-war was on a cruise to make Kate Bonnet the bride of
its captain. The heart of this naval lover was very steady; it was fixed
in its purpose, nothing could turn it aside. Vince's plans were
well-digested; he knew what he wanted to do, he knew how he was going to
do it.

In the first place he would capture the man Bonnet; all the details of
the action were arranged to that end; then, with Kate's father as his
prisoner, he would be master of the situation.

There was nothing noble about this craftily elaborated design; but,
then, there was nothing noble about Captain Vince. He was a strong hater
and a strong lover, and whether he hated or loved, nothing, good or bad,
must stand in his way. With the life or death, the misery or the
happiness of the father in his hands, he knew that he need but beckon to
the daughter. She might come slowly, but she would come. She was a grand
woman, but she was a woman; she might resist the warm plea of love, but
she could not resist the cold commands of that cruel figure of death who
stood behind the lover.

Captain Bonnet was returning from his visit to the New England coast,
picking up bits of profit here and there as fortune befell him, when
Captain Vince first heard that the Revenge had gone northward. The news
was circumstantial and straightforward, and was not to be doubted. Vince
raged upon his quarter-deck when he found out how he had been wasting
time. Northward now was pointed the bow of the Badger, and the vengeful
Vince felt as if his prey was already in his hands. If Bonnet had sailed
up the Atlantic coast he was bound to sail down again. It might be a
long cruise, there might be impatient waitings at the mouths of coves
and rivers where the pirates were accustomed to take refuge or refit,
but the light of the eyes of Kate Bonnet were worth the longest pursuit
or the most impatient waiting.

So, steadily sailed the corvette Badger up the long Atlantic coast, and
she passed the capes of the Delaware while Captain Bonnet was examining
the queer pulpit in the little bay-side town where his ship had stopped
to take in water.

At the various ports of the northern coast where the Revenge had sailed
back and forth outside, the Badger boldly entered, and the tales she
heard soon turned her back again to sail southward down the long
Atlantic coast. But the heart of Christopher Vince never failed. The
vision of Kate Bonnet as he had seen her, standing with glorious eyes
denouncing him; as he should see her when, with bowed head and proffered
hand, she came to him; as all should see her when, in her clear-cut
beauty, she stood beside him in his ancestral home, never left him.

Off the port of Charles Town, South Carolina, the Badger lay and waited,
and soon, from an outgoing bark, the news came to Captain Vince that
several weeks before the pirate Bonnet of the Revenge had taken an
English ship as she was entering port, and had then sailed southward.
Southward now sailed the Badger, and, as there was but little wind,
Captain Vince swore with an unremitting diligence.

It was a quiet morning and the Badger was nearing the straits of Florida
when a sail was reported almost due south.

Up came Captain Vince with his glass, and after a long, long look, and
another, and another, during which the two vessels came slowly nearer
and nearer each other, the captain turned to his first officer and said
quietly: "She flies the skull and bones. She's the first of those
hellish pirates that we have yet met on this most unlucky cruise."

"If we could send her, with her crew on board, ten times to the bottom,"
said the other, "she would not pay us what her vile fraternity has cost
us. But these pirate craft know well the difference between a Spanish
galleon and a British man-of-war, and they will always give us a wide
berth."

"But this one will not," said the captain.

Then again he looked long and earnestly through his glass. "Send aft
the three men who know the Revenge," said he.

Presently the men came aft, and one by one they went aloft, and soon
came the report, vouched for by each of them:

"The sail ahead is the pirate Revenge."

Now all redness left the face of Captain Vince. He was as pale as if he
had been afraid that the pirate ship would capture him, but every man on
his vessel knew that there was no fear in the soul or the body of the
captain of the Badger. Quickly came his orders, clear and sharp;
everything had been gone over before, but everything was gone over
again. The corvette was to bear down upon the pirate, her cannon--great
guns for those days, and which could soon have disabled, if they had not
sunk, the smaller vessel--were muzzled and told to hold their peace. The
man-of-war was to bear down upon the pirate and to capture her by
boarding. There was to be no broadside, no timber-splitting cannon
balls.

The wind was light and in favour of the corvette, and slowly the two
vessels diminished the few miles between them; but there was enough wind
to show the royal colours on the Badger.

"He is a bold fellow, that pirate," said some of the naval men, "and he
will wait and fight us."

"He will wait and fight us," said some of the others, "because he
cannot get away; in this wind he is at our mercy."

Captain Vince stood and gazed over the water, sometimes with his glass
and sometimes without it. Here now was the end of his fuming, his
raging, his long and untiring search. All the anxious weariness of long
voyaging, all the impatience of watching, all the irritation of waiting
had gone. The notorious vessel in which the father of Kate Bonnet had
made himself a terror and a scourge was now almost within his reach. The
beneficent vessel by which the father of Kate Bonnet should give to him
his life's desire was so near to him that he could have sent a musket
ball into her had he chosen to fire. It was so near to him that he could
now, with his glass, read the word "Revenge" on her bow. His brows were
knit, his jaws were set tight, his muscles hardened themselves with
energy.

Again the orders were passed, that when the men of the corvette boarded
the pirate they were to cut down the rascals without mercy, and not one
of them was to draw sword or pistol against the pirate captain. He would
be attended to by their commander.

Vince knew the story of Stede Bonnet; he knew that early in life he had
been in the army, and that it was likely that he understood the handling
of a sword. But he knew also that he himself was one of the best
swordsmen in the royal navy. He yearned to cross blades with the man
whose blood should not be shed, whose life should be preserved
throughout the combat as if he were a friend and not a foe, who should
surrender to him his sword and give to him his daughter.

"They're a brave lot, those bloody rascals," said one of the men of the
Badger.

"They've a fool of a captain," said another; "he knows not the
difference between a British man-of-war and a Spanish galleon, but we
shall teach him that."

Slowly they came together, the Revenge and the Badger, the bow of one
pointed east and the bow of the other to the west; from neither vessel
there came a word; the low waves could be heard flapping against their
sides. Suddenly there rang out from the man-of-war the order to make
fast. The grapnels flew over the bulwarks of the pirate, and in a moment
the two vessels were as one. Then, with a great shout, the men of the
Badger leaped and hurled themselves upon the deck of the Revenge, and
upon that deck and from behind bulwarks there rose, yelling and howling
and roaring, the picked men of two pirate crews, quick, furious, and
strong as tigers, the hate of man in their eyes and the love of blood in
their hearts. Like a wave of massacre they threw themselves against the
drilled masses of the Badger's crew, and with yells and oaths and curses
and cries the battle raged.

With a sudden dash the captain of the man-of-war plunged through the
ranks of the combatants and stood upon the middle of the deck; his quick
eyes shot here and there; wherever he might be, he sought the captain of
the pirate ship. In an instant a huge man bounded aft and made one long
step towards him. Vast in chest and shoulder, and with mighty limbs,
fiery-eyed, hairy, horribly fantastic, Blackbeard stood, with great head
lowered for the charge.

"A sugar-planter?" was the swift thought of Vince.

"Are you the captain of this ship?" he shouted.

"I am!" cried the other, and with a curse like bursting thunder the
pirate came on and his blade crossed that of Captain Vince.

Forward and amidships surged the general fight: men plunged, swords
fell, blood flowed, feet slipped upon the deck, and roars of blasphemy
and pain rose above the noise of battle. But farther aft the two
captains, in a space by themselves, cut, thrust, and trampled, whirling
around each other, dashing from this side and that, ever with keen eyes
firmly fixed, ever with strong arms whirling down and upward; now one
man felt the keen cut of steel and now the other. The blood ran upon
rich uniform or stained rough cloth and leather. It was a fight as if
between a lioness and a tigress, their dead cubs near-by.

As most men in the navy knew, Captain Vince was a most dangerous
swordsman. In duel or in warfare, no man yet had been able to stand
before him. With skilled arm and eye and with every muscle of his body
trained, his sword sought a vital spot in his opponent. There was no
thought now in the mind of Vince about disarming the pirate and taking
him prisoner; this terrible wild beast, this hairy monster must be
killed or he himself must die. Through the whirl and clash and hot
breath of battle he had been amazed that Kate Bonnet's father should be
a man like this.

The pirate, his eyes now shrunken into his head, where they glowed like
coals, his breath steaming like a volcano, and his tremendous muscles
supple and quick as those of a cat, met his antagonist at every point,
and with every lunge and thrust and cut forced him to guard.

Now Vince shut himself in his armour of trained defence; this bounding
lion must be killed, but the death-stroke must be cunningly delivered,
and until, in his hot rage, the pirate should forget his guard Vince
must shield himself.

Never had the great Blackbeard met so keen a swordsman; he howled with
rage to see the English captain still vigorous, agile, warding every
stroke. Blackbeard was now a wild beast of the sea: he fought to kill,
for naught else, not even his own life. With a yell he threw himself
upon Captain Vince, whose sword passed quick as lightning through the
brawny masses of his left shoulder. With one quick step, the pirate
pressed closer to Vince, thus holding the imprisoned blade, which stuck
out behind his body, and with a tremendous blow of his right fist, in
which he held the heavy brazen hilt of his sword, he dashed his enemy
backward to the ground. The fall drew the blade from the shoulder of
Blackbeard, whose great right arm went up, whose sword hissed in the air
and then came down upon the prostrate Vince. Another stroke and the
English captain lay insensible and still.

With the scream of a maddened Indian, Blackbeard sprung into the air,
and when his feet touched the deck he danced. He would have hewn his
victim into pieces, he would have scattered him over the decks, but
there was no time for such recreations. Forward the battle raged with
tremendous fury, and into the midst of it dashed Blackbeard.

From the companion-way leading to the captain's cabin there now appeared
a pale young face. It was that of Dickory Charter, who had been ordered
by Blackbeard, before the two vessels came together, to shut himself in
the cabin and to keep out of the broil, swearing that if he made himself
unfit to present to Eliza he would toss his disfigured body into the
sea. Entirely unarmed and having no place in the fight, Dickory had
obeyed, but the spirit of a young man which burned within him led him
to behold the greater part of the conflict between Blackbeard and the
English captain. Being a young man, he had shut his eyes at the end of
it, but when the pirate had left he came forth quietly. The fight raged
forward, and here he was alone with the fallen figure on the deck.

As Dickory stood gazing downward in awe--in all his life he had never
seen a corpse--the man he had supposed dead opened his eyes for a moment
and gazed with dull intelligence, and then he gasped for rum. Dickory
was quickly beside him with a tumbler of spirits and water, which,
raising the fallen man's head, he gave him. In a few moments the eyes of
Captain Vince opened wider, and he stared at the young man in naval
uniform who stood above him. "Who are you?" he said in a low voice, but
distinct, "an English officer?"

"No," said Dickory, "I am no officer and no pirate; I am forced to wear
these clothes."

And then, his natural and selfish instincts pushing themselves before
anything else, Dickory went on: "Oh, sir, if your men conquer these
pirates will you take me--" but as he spoke he saw that the wounded man
was not listening to him; his half-closed eyes turned towards him and he
whispered:

"More spirits!"

[Illustration: "Take that," he feebly said, "and swear that it shall be
delivered."]

Dickory dashed into the cabin, half-filled a tumbler with rum and gave
it to Vince. Presently his eyes recovered something of their natural
glow, and with contracted brow he fixed them upon the stream of blood
which was running from him over the deck.

Suddenly he spoke sharply: "Young fellow," he said, "some paper and a
pen, a pencil, anything. Quick!"

Dickory looked at him in amazement for a moment and then he ran into the
cabin, soon returning with a sheet of paper and an English pencil.

The eyes of Captain Vince were now very bright, and a nervous strength
came into his body. He raised himself upon his elbow, he clutched at the
paper, and clapping it upon the deck began to write. Quickly his pencil
moved; already he was feeling that his rum-given strength was leaving
him, but several pages he wrote, and then he signed his name. Folding
the sheet he stopped for a moment, feeling that he could do no more;
but, gathering together his strength in one convulsive motion, he
addressed the letter.

"Take that," he feebly said, "and swear ... that it shall be ...
delivered."

"I swear," said Dickory, as on his knees he took the blood-smeared
letter. He hastily slipped it into the breast of his coat, and then he
was barely able to move quick enough to keep the Englishman's head from
striking the deck.

"How now!" sounded a harsh growl at his ear. "Get you into your cabin
or you will be hurt. It is not time yet for the fleecing of corpses! I
am choking for a glass of brandy. Get in and stay there!"

In another minute Blackbeard, refreshed, was running aft, the cut
through his shoulder bleeding, but entirely forgotten.

There was no fighting now upon the deck of the Revenge; the conflict
raged, but it had been transferred to the Badger. The sailors of the
man-of-war had fought valiantly and stoutly, even impetuously, but their
enemies--picked men from two pirate crews--had fought like wire-muscled
devils. Ablaze with fury they had cut down the Badger's men, piling them
upon their own fallen comrades; they had followed the brave fellows with
oaths, cutlasses, and pistols as, little at a time and fighting all the
while, they slowly clambered back into their own ship. The pirates had
thrown their grapnels over the bulwarks of the man-of-war; they had
followed, cut by cut, shot by shot, until they now stood upon the
Badger, fighting with the same fury that they had just fought upon the
blood-soaked Revenge. Blackbeard was not yet with them--whatever
happened, Blackbeard must be refreshed--but now he sprang into the
enemy's ship--that fine British man-of-war, the corvette Badger, which
had so bravely sailed down upon his ship to capture her--and led the
carnage.