They were tough men, those British seamen, tough in heart, tough in
arms and body; they fought above decks and they fought below, and they
laid many a pirate scoundrel dead; but they had met a foe which was too
strong for them--a pack of brawny, hairy desperadoes, picked from two
pirate crews. The first officer now commanding, panting, bleeding, and
torn, groaned as he saw that his men could fight no longer, and he
surrendered the Badger to the pirates.

The great Blackbeard yelled with delight. When had any other captain
sailing under the Jolly Roger captured a British man-of-war, a
first-class corvette of the royal navy? His frenzied joy was so intense
that he was on the point of cutting down the officer who was offering
him his sword, but he withheld his hand.

"Go, somebody, and fetch me a glass of his Majesty's rum," he cried,
"and I will drink to his perdition!"

The door of a locker was smashed, the spirits were brought, and the
great Blackbeard was again refreshed.

Standing on the quarter-deck where but an hour or two before Captain
Christopher Vince had stood commanding his fine corvette as she sailed
down upon her pirate enemy, Blackbeard had brought before him all the
survivors of the Badger's crew.

"Well, you're a lot of damnable knaves," said he, "and you have cost me
many a good man this day. But my crew will now be short-handed, and if
any or all of you will turn pirate and ship with me, I will let bygones
pass; but, if any of you choose not that, overboard you go. I will have
no unwilling rascals in my crew."

All but one of the men of the Badger, downcast, wounded, panting with
thirst and loving life, agreed to become pirates and to ship on board
the Revenge.

The first mate would not break his oath of allegiance to the king, and
he went overboard.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER


There was hard and ghastly work that day when the Revenge was cleared
after action, and there was lively and interesting work on board the
Badger when Blackbeard and his officers went over the captured vessel to
discover what new possessions they had won.

At first Blackbeard had thought to establish himself upon the corvette
and abandon the Revenge. It would have been such a grand thing to
scourge the seas in a British man-of-war with the Jolly Roger floating
over her. But this would have been too dangerous; the combined naval
force of England in American waters would have been united to put down
such presumption. So the wary pirate curbed his ambition.

Everything portable and valuable was stripped from the Badger--her guns
would have been taken had it been practicable to ship them to the
Revenge in a rising sea--and then she was scuttled, fired, and cast
off, and with her dead on board she passed out of commission in the
royal navy.

During the turmoil, the horror and the bringing aboard of pillage,
Dickory Charter had kept close below deck, his face in his hands and his
heart almost broken. It is so easy for young hearts to almost break.

When he had seen the British ship come sailing down upon them, hope had
sprung up brightly in his heart; now there was a chance of his escaping
from this hell of the waves. When the Revenge should be taken he would
rush to the British captain, or any one in authority, and tell his tale.
It would be believed, he doubted not; even his uniform would help to
prove he was no pirate; he would be taken away, he would reach Jamaica;
he would see Kate; he would carry to her the great news of her father.
After that his life could take care of itself.

But now the blackness of darkness was over everything. Those who were to
have been his friends had vanished, the ship which was to have given him
a new life had disappeared forever. He was on board the pirate ship,
bound for the shores of England--horrible shores to him--bound to the
shores of England and to Blackbeard's Eliza!

He was not a fool, this Dickory; he had no unwarrantable and romantic
fears that in these enlightened days one man could say to another, "Go
you, and marry the woman I have chosen for you." There was nothing silly
or cowardly about him, but he knew Blackbeard.

Not one ray of hope thrust itself through his hands into his brain. Hope
had gone, gone to the bottom, and he was on his storm-tossed way to the
waters of another continent.

But in the midst of his despair Dickory never thought of freeing
himself, by a sudden bound, of the world and his woes. So long as Kate
should live he must live, even if it were to prove to himself, and to
himself only, how faithful to her he could be.

It was dark when men came tumbling below, throwing themselves into
hammocks and bunks, and Dickory prepared to turn in. If sleep should
come and without dreams, it would be greater gain than bags of gold. As
he took off his coat, the letter of the English captain dropped from his
breast. Until then he had forgotten it, but now he remembered it as a
sacred trust. The dull light of the lantern barely enabled him to
discern objects about him, but he stuck the letter into a crack in the
woodwork where in the morning he would see it and take proper care of
it.

Soon sleep came, but not without dreams. He dreamed that he was rowing
Kate on the river at Bridgetown, and that she told him in a low sweet
voice, with a smile on her lips and her eyes tenderly upturned, that
she would like to row thus with him forever.

Early in the morning, through an open port-hole, the light of the
eastern sun stole into this abode of darkness and sin and threw itself
upon the red-stained letter sticking in the crack of the woodwork.
Presently Dickory opened his eyes, and the first thing they fell upon
was that letter. On the side of the folded sheet he could see the
superscription, boldly but irregularly written: "Miss Kate Bonnet,
Kingston, Ja."

Dickory sat upright, his eyes hard-fixed and burning. How long he sat he
knew not. How long his brain burned inwardly, as his eyes burned
outwardly, he knew not. The noise of the watch going on deck roused him,
and in a moment he had the letter in his hands.

All that day Dickory Charter was worth nothing to anybody. Blackbeard
swore at him and pushed him aside. The young fellow could not even count
the doubloons in a bag.

"Go to!" cried the pirate, blacker and more fantastically horrible than
ever, for his bare left shoulder was bound with a scarf of silk and his
great arm was streaked and bedabbled with his blood, "you are the most
cursed coward I have met with in all my days at sea. So frightened out
of your wits by a lively brush as that of yesterday! Too scared to count
gold! Never saw I that before. One might be too scared to pray, but to
count gold! Ha! ha!" and the bold pirate laughed a merry roar. He was
in good spirits; he had captured and sunk an English man-of-war; sunk
her with her English ensign floating above her. How it would have
overjoyed him if all the ships, little and big, that plied the Spanish
Main could have seen him sink that man-of-war. He was a merry man that
morning, the great Blackbeard, triumphant in victory, glowing with the
king's brandy, and with so little pain from that cut in his shoulder
that he could waste no thought upon it.

"But Eliza will like it well," continued the merry pirate; "she will
lead you with a string, be you bold or craven, and the less you pull at
it the easier it will be for my brave girl. Ah! she will dance with joy
when I tell her what a frightened rabbit of a husband it is that I give
her. Now get away somewhere, and let your face rid itself of its
paleness; and should you find a dead man lying where he has been
overlooked, come and tell me and I will have him put aside. You must not
be frightened any more or Eliza may find that you have not left even the
spirit of a rabbit."

All day Dickory sat silent, his misery pinned into the breast of his
coat. "Miss Kate Bonnet, Kingston, Ja."--and this on a letter written in
the dying moments of an English captain, a high and mighty captain who
must have loved as few men love, to write that letter, his life's blood
running over the paper as he wrote. And could a man love thus if he
were not loved? That was the terrible question.

Sometimes his mind became quiet enough for him to think coherently, then
it was easy enough for him to understand everything. Kate had been a
long time in Jamaica; she had met many people; she had met this man,
this noble, handsome man. Dickory had watched him with glowing
admiration as he stood up before Blackbeard, fighting like the champion
of all good against the hairy monster who struck his blows for all that
was base and wicked.

How Dickory's young heart had gone out in sympathy and fellowship
towards the brave English captain! How he had hoped that the next of his
quick, sharp lunges might slit the black heart of the pirate! How he had
almost wept when the noble Englishman went down! And now it made him
shudder to think his heart had stood side by side with the heart of
Kate's lover! He had sworn to deliver the letter of that lover, and he
would do it. More cruel than the bloodiest pirate was the fate that
forced him thus to bear the death-warrant of his own young life.




CHAPTER XXIV

BELIZE


There were not many captains of merchantmen in the early part of the
eighteenth century who cared to sail into the Gulf of Honduras, that
body of water being such a favourite resort of pirates.

But no such fears troubled the mind of the skipper of the brig Belinda,
which was now making the best of her way towards the port of Belize. She
was a sturdy vessel and carried no prejudices. Sometimes she was laden
with goods bought from the pirates and destined to be sold to honest
people; and, again, she carried commodities purchased from those who
were their legal owners and intended for the use of the bold rascals who
sailed under the Jolly Roger. Then, as now, it was impossible for
thieves to steal all the commodities they desired; some things must be
bought. Thus, serving the pirates as well as honest traders, the sloop
Belinda feared not to sail the Gulf of Honduras or to cast anchor by the
town of Belize.

As the good ship approached her port Kate Bonnet kept steadfastly on
deck during most of the daylight, her eyes searching the surface of the
water for something which looked like her father's ship, the Revenge.
True, Mr. Newcombe had written her that Major Bonnet had given up piracy
and was now engaged in commercial business in the town, but still, if
she should see the Revenge, the sight would be of absorbing interest to
her. She was a girl of quick observation and good memory, but the town
came in view and she had seen no vessel which reminded her of the
Revenge.

As soon as the anchor was dropped, Kate wished to go on shore, but her
uncle would not hear of that. He must know something definite before he
trusted Kate or himself in such a lawless town as Belize. The captain,
who was going ashore, could make inquiries, and Kate must wait.

In a little room at the back of a large, low storehouse, not far from
the pier, sat Stede Bonnet and his faithful friend and servitor, Ben
Greenway. The storehouse was crowded with goods of almost every
imaginable description, and even the room back of it contained an
overflow of bales, boxes, and barrels. At a small table near a window
sat the Scotchman and Bonnet, the latter reading from some roughly
written lists descriptions and quantities of goods, the value of each
item being estimated by the canny Scotchman, who set down the figures
upon another list. Presently Bonnet put down his papers and heaved a
heavy sigh, which sigh seemed to harmonize very well with his general
appearance. He carried no longer upon him the countenance of the bold
officer who, in uniform and flowing feather, trod the quarter-deck of
the Revenge, but bore the expression of a man who knew adversity, yet
was not able to humble himself under it. He was bent and borne down,
although not yet broken. Had he been broken he could better have
accommodated himself to his present case. His clothes were those of the
common class of civilian, and there was that about him which indicated
that he cared no more for neatness or good looks.

"Ben Greenway," he said, "this is too much! Now have I reached the depth
in my sorrow at which all my strength leaves me. I cannot read these
lists."

The Scotchman looked up. "Is there no' light enow!" he asked.

"Light!" said Bonnet; "there is no light anywhere; all is murkiness and
gloom. The goods which you have been lately estimating are all my own,
taken from my own ship by that arch traitor and chief devil, Blackbeard.
I have read the names of them to you and I have remembered many of them
and I have not weakened, but now comes a task which is too great for me.
These things which follow were all intended for my daughter Kate. Silks
and satins and cloth of gold, ribbons and fine linen, laces and
ornaments, all these I selected for my dear daughter, and by day and by
night I have thought of her apparelled in fine raiment, more richly
dressed than any lady in Barbadoes. My daughter, my beautiful, my proud
Kate! And now what has it all come to? All these are gone, basely stolen
from me by that Blackbeard."

Ben Greenway looked up. "Wha stole from ye," he said, "what ye had
already stolen from its rightful owners. An' think ye," he continued,
"that your honest daughter Kate would deign to array hersel' in stolen
goods, no matter how rich they might happen to be! An' think ye she
could hold up her head if the good people o' Bridgetown could point at
her an' say, 'Look at the thief's daughter; how fine she is!' An' think
ye that Mr. Martin Newcombe would tak' into his house an' hame a wife
wha hadna come honestly by her clothes! I tell ye, Master Bonnet, that
ye should exalt your soul in thankfulness that ye are no longer a
dishonest mon, an' that whatever raiment your daughter may now wear, no'
a sleeve or button o' it was purloined an' stolen by her father."

"Ben Greenway," exclaimed Bonnet, striking his hand upon the table, "you
will drive me so mad that I cannot read writing! These things are bad
enough, and you need not make them worse."

"Bless Heaven," said the Scotchman, "your conscience is wakin', an' the
time may come, if it is kept workin', when ye will forget your plunder
an' your blude, your wicked vanity, your cruelty an' your dishonesty,
an' mak' yoursel' worthy o' a good daughter an' a quiet hame. An' more
than that, I will tak' leave to add, o' the faithful services o' a
steadfast friend."

"I cannot forget them, Ben," said Bonnet, speaking without anger. "The
more you talk about my sins the more I long to do them all over again;
the more you say about my vanity and pride, the more I yearn to wear my
uniform and wave my naked sword. Ay, to bring it down with blood upon
its blade. I am very wicked, Greenway; you never would admit it and you
do not admit it now, but I am wicked, and I could prove it to you if
fortune would give me opportunity." And Captain Bonnet sat up very
straight in his chair and his eyes flashed as they very often had
flashed as he trod the deck of the Revenge.

At this moment there was a knock at the door and the captain of the
Belinda came in.

"Good-day, sir!" said that burly seaman. "And this is Captain Bonnet, I
am sure, for I have seen him before, though garbed in another fashion,
and I come to bring you news. I have just arrived at this port in my
sloop, and I bring with me from Kingston your daughter, Mistress Kate
Bonnet, her uncle, Mr. Delaplaine, and a good dame named Charter."

Stede Bonnet turned pale as he had never turned pale before.

"My daughter!" he gasped. "My daughter Kate?"

"Yes," said the captain; "she is on my ship, yearning and moaning to see
you."

"From Kingston?" murmured Bonnet.

"Yes," said the other, "and on fire to see you since she heard you were
here."

"Master Bonnet," exclaimed Ben Greenway, rising, "we must hasten to that
vessel; perhaps this good captain will now tak' us there in his boat."

Bonnet fixed his eyes upon the floor. "Ben Greenway," he said, "I
cannot. How I have longed to see my daughter, and how, time and again
and time and again, I have pictured our meeting! I have seen her throw
herself into the arms of that noble officer, her father; I have heard
her, bathed in filial tears, forgive me everything because of the proud
joy with which she looked on me and knew I was her father. Greenway, I
cannot go; I have dropped too low, and I am ashamed to meet her."

"Ashamed that ye are honest?" cried the Scotchman. "Ashamed that sin nae
longer besets ye, an' that ye are lifted above the thief an' the
cutpurse! Master Bonnet, Master Bonnet, in good truth I am ashamed o'
ye."

"Very well," said the captain of the Belinda, "I have no time to waste;
if you will not go to her, she e'en must come to you. I will send my
boat for her and the others, and you shall wait for them here."

"I will not wait!" exclaimed Bonnet. "I don't dare to look into her
eyes. Behold these clothes, consider my mean employment. Shall I abash
myself before my daughter?"

"Master Bonnet," exclaimed Greenway, hastily stepping to the doorway
through which the captain had departed, "ye shallna tie yoursel' to the
skirts o' the de'il; ye shallna run awa' an' hide yoursel' from your
daughter wha seeks, in tears an' groans, for her unworthy father. Sit
down, Master Bonnet, an' wait here until your good daughter comes."

The Belinda's captain had intended to send his boat back to his vessel,
but now he determined to take her himself. This was such a strange
situation that it might need explanation.

Kate screamed when he made known his errand. "What!" she cried, "my
father in the town, and did he not come back with you? Is he sick? Is he
wounded? Is he in chains?"

"And my Dickory," cried Dame Charter, "was he not there? Has he not yet
returned to the town? It must now be a long time since he went away."

"I know not anything more than I have told you," said the captain. "And
if Mr. Delaplaine and the two ladies will get into my boat, I will
quickly take you to the town and show you where you may find Captain
Bonnet and learn all you wish to know."

"And Dickory," cried Dame Charter, "my son Dickory! Did they give you no
news of him?"

"Come along, come along," said the captain, "my men are waiting in the
boat. I asked no questions, but in ten minutes you can ask a hundred if
you like."

When the little party reached the town it attracted a great deal of
attention from the rough roisterers who were strolling about or gambling
in shady places. When the captain of the Belinda mentioned, here and
there, that these newcomers were the family of Blackbeard's factor, who
now had charge of that pirate's interests in the town, no one dared to
treat the elderly gentleman, the pretty young lady, or the rotund dame
with the slightest disrespect. The name of the great pirate was a safe
protection even when he who bore it was leagues and leagues away.

At the door of the storehouse Ben Greenway stood waiting. He would have
hurried down to the pier had it not been that he was afraid to leave
Bonnet; afraid that this shamefaced ex-pirate would have hurried away to
hide himself from his daughter and his friends. Kate, running forward,
grasped the Scotchman by both hands.

"And where is he?" she cried.

"He is in there," said Ben, pointing through the storeroom to the open
door at the back. In an instant she was gone.

"And Dickory?" cried Dame Charter. "Oh, Ben Greenway, tell me of my
boy."

They went inside and Greenway told everything he knew, which was very
much, although it was not enough to comfort the poor mother's heart, who
could not readily believe that because Dickory had sailed away with a
great and powerful pirate, that eminent man would be sure to bring him
back in safety; but as Greenway really believed this, his words made
some impression on the good dame's heart. She could see some reason to
believe that Blackbeard, having now so much property in the town, might
make a short cruise this time, and that any day the Revenge, with her
dear son on board, might come sailing into port.

With his face buried in his folded arms, which rested on the table,
Stede Bonnet received his daughter. At first she did not recognise him,
never having seen him in such mean apparel; but when he raised his head,
she knew her father. Closing the door behind her, she folded him in her
arms. After a little, leaving the window, they sat together upon a bale
of goods, which happened to be a rug from the Orient, of wondrous
richness, which Bonnet had reserved for the floor of his daughter's
room.

"Never, my dear," he said, "did I dream you would see me in such
plight. I blush that you should look at me."

"Blush!" she exclaimed, her own cheeks reddening, "and you an honest man
and no longer a freebooter and rover of the sea? My heart swells with
pride to think that your life is so changed."

Bonnet sadly shook his head.

"Ah!" he said, "you don't know, you cannot understand what I feel.
Kate," he exclaimed with sudden energy, "I was a man among men; a chief
over many. I was powerful, I was obeyed on every side. I looked the bold
captain that I was; my brave uniform and my sword betokened the rank I
held. And, Kate, you can never know the pride and exultation with which
I stood upon my quarter-deck and scanned the sea, master of all that
might come within my vision. How my heart would swell and my blood run
wild when I beheld in the distance a proud ship, her sails all spread,
her colours flying, heavily laden, hastening onward to her port. How I
would stretch out my arm to that proud ship and say: 'Let down those
sails, drop all those flaunting flags, for you are mine; I am greater
than your captain or your king! If I give the command, down you go to
the bottom with all your people, all your goods, all your banners and
emblazonments, down to the bottom, never to be seen again!'"

[Illustration: Kate and her father in the warehouse.]

Kate shuddered and began to cry. "Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "don't
say that. Surely you never did such things as that?"

"No," said he, speaking more quietly, "not just like that, but I could
have done it all had it pleased me, and it was this sense of power that
made my heart beat so proudly. I took no life, Kate, if it could be
helped, and when I had stripped a ship of her goods, I put her people
upon shore before I burned her."

Kate bowed her head in her hands. "And of all this you are proud, my
father, you are proud of it!"

"Indeed am I, daughter," said he; "and had you seen me in my glory you
would have been proud of me. Perhaps yet--"

In an instant she had clapped her hand over his mouth. "You shall not
say it!" she exclaimed. "I have seized upon you and I shall hold you. No
more freebooter's life for you; no more blood, no more fire. I shall
take you away with me. Not to Bridgetown, for there is no happiness for
either of us there, but to Spanish Town. There, with my uncle, we shall
all be happy together. You will forget the sea and its ships; you will
again wander over your fields, and I shall be with you. You shall watch
the waving crops; you shall ride with me, as you used to ride, to view
your vast herds of cattle--those splendid creatures, their great heads
uplifted, their nostrils to the breeze."

"Truly, my Kate," said Bonnet, "that was a great sight; there were no
cattle finer on the island than were mine."

"And so shall they be again, my father," said Kate, her arms around his
neck.

It was then that Ben Greenway knocked upon the door.

Stede Bonnet's mind had been so much excited by what he had been talking
about that he saluted his brother-in-law and Dame Charter without once
thinking of his clothes. They looked upon him as if he were some unknown
foreigner, a person entirely removed from their customary sphere.

"Was this the once respectable Stede Bonnet?" asked Dame Charter to
herself. "Did such a man marry my sister!" thought Mr. Delaplaine. They
might have been surprised had they met him as a pirate, but his
appearance as a pirate's clerk amazed them.

Towards the end of the day Mr. Delaplaine and his party returned to the
Belinda, for there was no fit place for them to lodge in the town.
Although urged by all, Stede Bonnet would not accompany them. When
persuasion had been exhausted, Ben Greenway promised Kate that he would
be responsible for her father's appearance the next day, feeling safe in
so doing; for, even should Bonnet's shame return, there was no likely
way in which he could avoid his friends.




CHAPTER XXV

WISE MR. DELAPLAINE


Early in the next forenoon Kate and her companions prepared to make
another visit to the town. Naturally she wanted to be with her father as
much as possible and to exert upon him such influences as might make him
forget, in a degree, the so-called glories of his pirate life and return
with her and her uncle to Spanish Town, where, she believed, this
misguided man might yet surrender himself to the rural joys of other
days. Nay, more, he and she might hope for still further happiness in a
Jamaica home, for Madam Bonnet would not be there.

As she came up from below, impatient to depart, Kate noticed, getting
over the side, a gentleman who had just arrived in a small boat. He was
tall and good-looking, and very handsomely attired in a rich suit such
as was worn at that day by French and Spanish noblemen. A sword with an
elaborate hilt was by his side, and on his head a high cocked hat. There
was fine lace at his wrists and bosom, and he wore silk stockings, and
silver buckles on his shoes.

Kate started at meeting here a stranger, and in such an elaborate
attire. She had read of the rich dress of men of rank in Europe, but her
eyes had never fallen upon such a costume. The gentleman advanced
quickly towards her, holding out his hand. She shrank back. "What did it
mean?"

Then in a second she saw her father's face. This fine gentleman, this
dignified and graceful man, was indeed Stede Bonnet.

He had been so thoroughly ashamed of his mean attire on the preceding
day that he had determined not again to meet his daughter and Mr.
Delaplaine in such vulgar guise. So, from the resources of the
storehouses he had drawn forth a superb suit of clothes sent westward
for the governor of one of the French colonies. He excused himself for
taking it from Blackbeard's treasure-house, not only on account of the
demands of the emergency, but because he himself had taken it before
from a merchantman.

"Father!" cried Kate, "what has happened to you? I never saw such a fine
gentleman."

Bonnet smiled with complacency, and removed his cocked hat.

"I always endeavour, my dear," said he, "to dress myself according to my
station. Yesterday, not expecting to see you, I was in a sad plight. I
would have preferred you to meet me in my naval uniform, but as that is
now, to say the least, inconvenient, and as I reside on shore in the
capacity of a merchant or business man, I attire myself to suit my
present condition. Ah! my good brother-in-law, I am glad to see you. I
may remark," he added, graciously shaking hands with Dame Charter, "that
I left my faithful Scotchman in our storehouse in the town, it being
necessary for some one to attend to our possessions there. Otherwise I
should have brought him with me, my good Dame Charter, for I am sure you
would have found his company acceptable. He is a faithful man and an
honest one, although I am bound to say that if he were less of a
Presbyterian and more of a man of the world his conversation might
sometimes be more agreeable."

Mr. Delaplaine regarded with much earnestness and no little pleasure his
transformed brother-in-law. Hope for the future now filled his heart. If
this crack-brained sugar-planter had really recovered from his mania for
piracy and had a fancy for legitimate business, his new station might be
better for him than any he had yet known. Sugar-planting was all well
enough and suitable to any gentleman, provided Madam Bonnet were not
taken with it. She would drive any man from the paths of reason unless
he possessed an uncommonly strong brain, and he did not believe that
such a brain was possessed by his brother-in-law Bonnet. The good Mr.
Delaplaine rubbed his hands together in his satisfaction. Such a
gentleman as this would be welcome in his counting-house, even if he did
but little; his very appearance would reflect credit upon the
establishment. Dame Charter kept in the background; she had never been
accustomed to associate with the aristocracy, but she did not forget
that a cat may look at a king, and her eyes were very good.

"There were always little cracks in his skull," she said to herself. "My
husband used to tell me that. Major Bonnet is quick at changing from one
thing to another, and it needs sharp wits to follow him."

After a time Major Bonnet proposed a row upon the harbour--he had
brought a large boat, with four oarsmen, for this purpose. Mr.
Delaplaine objected a little to this, fearing the presence of so many
pirate vessels, but Bonnet loftily set aside such puerile objections.

"I am the business representative of the great Blackbeard," he said,
"the most powerful pirate in the world. You are safer here than in any
other port on the American coast."

When they were out upon the water, moving against the gentle breeze,
Bonnet disclosed the object of his excursion. "I am going to take you,"
said he, "to visit some of the noted pirate ships which are anchored in
this harbour. There are vessels here which are quite famous, and
commanded by renowned Brethren of the Coast. I think you will all be
greatly interested in these, and under my convoy you need fear no
danger."

Dame Charter and Kate screamed in their fright, and Mr. Delaplaine
turned pale. "Visit pirate ships!" he cried. "Rather I would have
supposed that you would keep away from them as far as you could. For
myself, I would have them a hundred miles distant if it were possible."

Bonnet laughed loftily. "It will be visits of ceremony that we shall
pay, and with all due ceremony shall we be received. Pull out to that
vessel!" he said to the oarsmen. Then, turning to the others, he
remarked: "That sloop is the Dripping Blade, commanded by Captain Sorby,
whose name strikes terror throughout the Spanish Main. Ay! and in other
parts of the ocean, I can assure you, for he has sailed northward nearly
as far as I have, but he has not yet rivalled me. I know him, having
done business with him on shore. He is a most portentous person, as you
will soon see."

"Oh, father!" cried Kate, "don't take us there; it will kill us just to
look upon such dreadful pirates. I pray you turn the boat!"

"Oh! if Dickory were here," gasped Dame Charter, "he would turn the boat
himself; he would never allow me to be taken among those awful
wretches."

Mr. Delaplaine said nothing. It was too late to expostulate, but he
trembled as he sat.

"I cannot turn back, my dear," said Bonnet, "even if I would, for the
great Sorby is now on deck, and looking at us as we approach."

As the boat drew up by the side of the Dripping Blade the renowned Sorby
looked down over the side. He was a red-headed man; his long hair and
beard dyed yellow in some places by the sun. He was grievous to look
upon, and like to create in the mind of an imaginative person the image
of a sun-burned devil on a holiday.

"Good-day to you! Good-day, Sir Bonnet," cried the pirate captain; "come
on board, come on board, all of you, wife, daughter, father, if such
they be! We'll let down ladders and I shall feast you finely."

"Nay, nay, good Captain Sorby," replied Bonnet, with courteous dignity,
"my family and I have just stopped to pay you our respects. They have
all heard of your great prowess, for I have told them. They may never
have a chance again to look upon another of your fame."

"Heaven grant it!" said Dame Charter in her heart. "If I get out of
this, I stay upon dry land forever."

"I grieve that my poor ship be not honoured by your ladies," said Sorby,
"but I admit that her decks are scarcely fit for the reception of such
company. It is but to-day that we have found time to cleanse her deck
from the stain and disorder of our last fight, having lately come into
harbour. That was a great fight, Sir Bonnet; we lay low and let the
fellows board us, but not one of them went back again. Ha! ha! Not one
of them went back again, good ladies."

Every pirate face on board that ill-conditioned sloop now glared over
her rail, their eyes fixed upon the goodly company in the little boat,
their horrid hair and beards stained and matted--it would have been hard
to tell by what.

"Oh, father, father!" panted Kate, "please row away. What if they should
now jump down upon us?"

"Good-day, good-day, my brave Captain Sorby," said Bonnet, "we must e'en
row away; we have other craft to visit, but would first do honour to you
and your bold crew."

Captain Sorby lifted high his great bespattered hat, and every grinning
demon of the crew waved hat or rag or pail or cutlass and set up a
discordant yell in honour of their departing visitors.

"Oh! go not to another, father," pleaded Kate, her pale face in tears;
"visit no more of them, I pray you!"

"Ay, truly, keep away from them," said Mr. Delaplaine. "I am no coward,
but I vow to you that I shall die of fright if I come close to another
of those floating hells."

"And these," said Kate to herself, her eyes fixed out over the sea,
"these are his friends, his companions, the wretches of whom he is so
proud."

"There are no more vessels like that in port," said Bonnet; "that's the
most celebrated sloop. Those we shall now call upon are commanded by men
of milder mien; some of them you could not tell from plain merchantmen
were you not informed of their illustrious careers."

"If you go near another pirate ship," cried Dame Charter, "I shall jump
overboard; I cannot help it."

"Row back to the Belinda, brother-in-law," said Mr. Delaplaine in a
strong, hard voice; "your tour of pleasure is not fit for tender-hearted
women, nor, I grant it, for gentlemen of my station."

"There are other ships whose captains I know," said Bonnet, "and where
you would have been well received; but if your nerves are not strong
enough for the courtesies I have to offer, we will return to the
Belinda."

When safe again on board their vessel, after the sudden termination of
their projected tour of calls on pirates, Kate took her father aside and
entered into earnest conversation with him, while Mr. Delaplaine, much
ruffled in his temper, although in general of a most mild disposition,
said aside to Dame Charter: "He is as mad as a March hare. What other
parent on this earth would convey his fair young daughter into the
society of these vile wild beasts, which in his eyes are valiant
heroes? We must get him back with us, Dame Charter, we must get him
back. And if he cannot be constrained by love and goodwill to a decent
and a Christian life, we must shut him up. And if his daughter weeps and
raves, we must e'en stiffen our determination and shut him up. It shall
be my purpose now to hasten the return of the brig. There's room enough
for all, and he and the Scotchman must go back with us. The Governor
shall deal with him; and, whether it be on my estate or behind strong
bars, he shall spend the rest of his days upon the island of Jamaica,
and so know the sea no more."

He was very much roused, this good merchant, and when he was roused he
was not slow to act.

The captain of the Belinda was very willing to make a profitable voyage
back to Jamaica, but his vessel must be well laden before he could do
this. Goods enough there were at Belize for that purpose, for
Blackbeard's supplies were all for sale, and his chief clerk, Bonnet,
had the selling of them. So, all parties being like-minded, the Belinda
soon began to take on goods for Kingston.

Stede Bonnet superintended everything. He was a good man of business,
and knew how to direct people who might be under him. There was a great
stir at the storehouse, and, almost blithely, Ben Greenway worked day
and night to make out invoices and to prepare goods for shipment.

Bonnet wore no more the clothes in which his daughter had first seen him
after so long and drear a parting. On deck or on shore, in storehouse or
on the streets of Belize, he was the fine gentleman with the silk
stockings and the tall cocked hat.

One day, a fellow, fresh from his bottle, forgetting the respect which
was due to fine clothes and to Blackbeard's factor, called out to
Bonnet: "What now, Sir Nightcap, how call you that thing you have on
your head?"

In an instant a sword was whipped from its scabbard and a practised hand
sent its blade through the arm of the jester, who presently fell
backward. Bonnet wiped his sword upon the fellow's sleeve and, advising
him to get up and try to learn some manners, coolly walked away.

After that fine clothes were not much laughed at in Belize, for even the
most disrespectful ruffians desired not the thrust of a quick blade nor
the ill-will of that most irascible pirate, Blackbeard.

A few days before it was expected that the Belinda would be ready to
sail Bonnet came on board, his mind full of an important matter. Calling
Mr. Delaplaine and Kate aside, he said: "I have been thinking a great
deal lately about my Scotchman, Ben Greenway. In the first place, he is
greatly needed here, for many of Blackbeard's goods will remain in the
storehouse, and there should be some competent person to take care of
them and to sell them should opportunity offer. Besides that, he is a
great annoyance to me, and I have long been trying to get rid of him.
When I left Bridgetown I had not intended to take him with me, and his
presence on board my ship was a mere accident. Since then he has made
himself very disagreeable."

"What!" cried Kate, "would you be willing that we should all sail away
and leave poor Ben Greenway in this place by himself among these cruel
pirates?"

"He'll represent Blackbeard," said Bonnet, "and no one will harm him.
And, moreover, this enforced stay may be of the greatest benefit to him.
He has a good head for business, and he may establish himself here in a
very profitable fashion and go back to Barbadoes, if he so desires, in
comfortable circumstances. All we have to do is to slip our anchor and
sail away at some moment when he is busy in the town. I will leave ample
instructions for him and he shall have money."

"Father, it would be shameful!" said Kate.

Mr. Delaplaine said nothing; he was too angry to speak, but he made up
his mind that Ben Greenway should be apprised of Bonnet's intentions of
running away from him and that such a wicked design should be thwarted.
This brother-in-law of his was a worse man than he had thought him; he
was capable of being false even to his best friend. He might be mad as a
March hare, but, truly, he was also as sly and crafty as a fox in any
month in the year.

Wise Mr. Delaplaine!

The very next morning there came a letter from Stede Bonnet to his
daughter Kate, in which he told her that it was absolutely impossible
for him to return to the humdrum and stupid life of sugar-planting and
cattle-raising. Having tasted the glories of a pirate's career, he could
never again be contented with plain country pursuits. So he was off and
away, the bounding sea beneath him and the brave Jolly Roger floating
over his head. He would not tell his dear daughter where he was gone or
what he intended to do, for she would be happier if she did not know. He
sent her his warmest love, and desired to be most kindly remembered to
her uncle and to Dame Charter. He would make it his business that a
correspondence should be maintained between him and his dear Kate, and
he hoped from time to time to send her presents which would help her to
know how constantly he loved her. He concluded by admitting that what he
had said about Ben Greenway was merely a blind to turn their suspicions
from his intended departure. If his good brother-in-law, out of kindness
to the Scotchman, had brought him to the Belinda and had insisted on
keeping him there, it would have made his, Bonnet's, secret departure a
great deal easier.

Kate had never fainted in her life, but when she had finished this
letter she went down flat on her back.

Leaving his niece to the good offices of Dame Charter, Mr. Delaplaine,
breathing hotly, went ashore, accompanied by the captain. When they
reached the storehouse they found it locked, with the key in the custody
of a shop-keeper near-by. They soon heard what had happened to
Blackbeard's business agent. He had gone off in a piratical vessel,
which had sailed for somewhere, in the middle of the night; and,
moreover, it was believed that the Scotchman who worked for him had gone
with him, for he had been seen running towards the water, and afterward
taking his place among the oarsmen in a boat which went out to the
departing vessel.

"May that unholy vessel be sunk as soon as it reaches the open sea!" was
the deadly desire which came from the heart of Mr. Delaplaine. But the
wish had not formed itself into words before the good merchant recanted.
"I totally forgot that faithful Scotchman," he sighed.




CHAPTER XXVI

DICKORY STRETCHES HIS LEGS


There were jolly times on board the swift ship Revenge as she sped
through the straits of Florida on her way up the Atlantic coast. The
skies were bright, the wind was fair, and the warm waters of the Gulf
Stream helped to carry her bravely on her way. But young Dickory
Charter, with the blood-stained letter of Captain Vince tucked away in
the lining of his coat, ate so little, tossed about so much in his
berth, turned so pale and spoke so seldom, that the bold Captain
Blackbeard declared that he should have some medicine.

"I shall not let my fine lieutenant suffer for want of drugs," he cried,
"and when I reach Charles Town I shall send ashore a boat and procure
some; and if the citizens disturb or interfere with my brave fellows,
I'll bombard the town. There will be medicine to take on one side or the
other, I swear." And loud and ready were the oaths he swore.

A pirate who carries with him an intended son-in-law is not likely, if
he be of Blackbeard's turn of mind, to suffer all his family plans to be
ruined for the want of a few drugs.

When Dickory heard what the captain had to say on this subject his heart
shrank within him. He had never taken medicine and he had never seen
Blackbeard's daughter, but the one seemed to him almost as bad as the
other, and the thought of the cool waves beneath him became more
attractive than ever before. But that thought was quickly banished, for
he had a duty before him, and not until that was performed could he take
leave of this world, once so bright to him.

An island with palm-trees slowly rose on the horizon, and off this
island it was that, after a good deal of tacking and close-hauling, the
Revenge lay to to take in water. Far better water than that which had
been brought from Belize.

"Do you want to go ashore in the boat, boy?" said Blackbeard, really
mindful of the health of this projected member of his family. "It may
help your appetite to use your legs."

Dickory did not care to go anywhere, but he had hardly said so when a
revulsion of feeling came upon him, and turning away so that his face
might not be noticed, he said he thought the land air might do him good.
While the men were at work carrying their pails from the well-known
spring to the water-barrels in the boat, Dickory strolled about to view
the scenery, for it could never have been expected that a first
lieutenant in uniform should help to carry water. At first the scenery
did not appear to be very interesting, and Dickory wandered slowly from
here to there, then sat down under a tree. Presently he rose and went to
another tree, a little farther away from the boat and the men at the
spring. Here he quietly took off his shoes and his stockings, and,
having nothing else to do, made a little bundle of them, listlessly
tying them to his belt; then he rose and walked away somewhat brisker,
but not in the direction of the boat. He did not hurry, but even stopped
sometimes to look at things, but he still walked a little briskly, and
always away from the boat. He had been so used, this child of outdoor
life, to going about the world barefooted, that it was no wonder that he
walked briskly, being relieved of his encumbering shoes and stockings.

After a time he heard a shout behind him, and turning saw three men of
the boat's crew upon a little eminence, calling to him. Then he moved
more quickly, always away from the boat, and with his head turned he saw
the men running towards him, and their shouts became louder and wilder.
Then he set off on a good run, and presently heard a pistol shot. This
he knew was to frighten him and make him stop, but he ran the faster and
soon turned the corner of a bit of woods. Then he was away at the top of
his speed, making for a jungle of foliage not a quarter of a mile
before him. Shouts he heard, and more shots, but he caught sight of no
pursuers. Urged on even as they were by the fear of returning to the
ship without Dickory, they could not expect to match, in their heavy
boots, the stag-like speed of this barefooted bounder.

After a time Dickory stopped running, for his path, always straight
away, so far as he could judge, from the landing-place, became very
difficult. In the forest there were streams, sometimes narrow and
sometimes wide, and how deep he knew not, so that now he jumped, now he
walked on fallen trees. Sometimes he crossed water and marsh by swinging
himself from the limbs of one tree to those of another. This was hard
work for a young gentleman in a naval uniform and cocked hat, but it had
to be done; and when the hat was knocked off it was picked up again,
with its feathers dripping.

Dickory was going somewhere, although he knew not whither, and he had
solemn business to perform which he had sworn to do, and therefore he
must have fit clothes to wear, not only in which to travel but in which
to present himself suitably when he should accomplish his mission. All
these things Dickory thought of, and he picked up his cocked hat
whenever it dropped. He would have been very hungry had he not bethought
himself to fill his pockets with biscuits before he left the vessel. And
as to fresh water, there was no lack of that.




CHAPTER XXVII

A GIRL WHO LAUGHED


It was towards nightfall of the day on which Dickory had escaped from
the pirates at the spring that he found himself on a piece of high
ground in an open place in the forest, and here he determined to spend
the night. With his dirk he cut a quantity of palmetto leaves and made
himself a very comfortable bed, on which he was soon asleep, fearing no
pirates.

In the morning he rose early from his green couch, ate the few biscuits
which were left in his pockets, and, putting on his shoes and stockings,
started forth upon, what might have been supposed to be, an aimless
tramp.

But it was not aimless. Dickory had a most wholesome dread of that
indomitable apostle of cruelty and wickedness, the pirate Blackbeard. He
believed that it would be quite possible for that savage being to tie up
his beard in tails, to blacken his face with powder, to hang more
pistols from his belt and around his neck, and swear that the Revenge
should never leave her anchorage until her first lieutenant had been
captured and brought back to her. So he had an aim, and that was to get
away as far as possible from the spot where he had landed on the island.

He did not believe that his pursuers, if there were any upon his track,
could have travelled in the night, for it had been pitchy black; and, as
he now had a good start of them, he thought he might go so far that they
would give up the search. Then he hoped to be able to keep himself alive
until he was reasonably sure that the Revenge had hoisted anchor and
sailed away, when it was his purpose to make his way back to the spring
and wait for some other vessel which would take him away.

With his shoes on he travelled more easily, although not so swiftly, and
after an hour of very rough walking he heard a sound which made him stop
instantly and listen. At first he thought it might be the wind in the
trees, but soon his practised ear told him that it was the sound of the
surf upon the beach. Without the slightest hesitation, he made his way
as quickly as possible towards the sound of the sea.

In less than half an hour he found himself upon a stretch of sand which
extended from the forest to the sea, and upon which the waves were
throwing themselves in long, crested lines. With a cry of joy he ran out
upon the beach, and with outstretched arms he welcomed the sea as if it
had been an old and well-tried friend.

But Dickory's gratitude and joy had nothing to found itself upon. The
sea might far better have been his enemy than his friend, for if he had
thought about it, the sandy beach would have been the road by which a
portion of the pirate's men would have marched to cut off his flight, or
they would have accomplished the same end in boats.

But Dickory thought of no enemy and his heart was cheered. He pressed on
along the beach. The walking was so much better now that he made good
progress, and the sun had not reached its zenith when he found himself
on the shore of a small stream which came down from some higher land in
the interior and here poured itself into the sea. He walked some
distance by this stream, in order to get some water which might be free
from brackishness, and then, with very little trouble, he crossed it.
Before him was a knoll of moderate height, and covered with low foliage.
Mounting this, he found that he had an extended view over the interior
of the island. In the background there stretched a wide savanna, and at
the distance of about half a mile he saw, very near a little cluster of
trees, a thin column of smoke. His eyes rounded and he stared and
stared. He now perceived, from behind the leaves, the end of a thatched
roof.