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KATE BONNET

The Romance of a Pirate's Daughter

by

FRANK R. STOCKTON

Illustrated by A. J. Keller and H. S. Potter







[Illustration: "Oh, Kate!" said Dickory, "you should have seen that
wonderful pirate fight." (See page 350.)]



[Illustration]




New York
D. Appleton and Company
1902
Copyright, 1901, 1903
By D. Appleton and Company
All rights reserved
February, 1902




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

      I.  TWO YOUNG PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH

     II.  A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND

    III.  THE TWO CLOCKS

     IV.  ON THE QUARTER-DECK

      V.  AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND

     VI.  A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS

    VII.  KATE PLANS

   VIII.  BEN GREENWAY IS CONVINCED THAT BONNET IS A PIRATE

     IX.  DICKORY SETS FORTH

      X.  CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE

     XI.  BAD WEATHER

    XII.  FACE TO FACE

   XIII.  CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH

    XIV.  A GIRL TO THE FRONT

     XV.  THE GOVERNOR OF JAMAICA

    XVI.  A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE

   XVII.  AN ORNAMENTED BEARD

  XVIII.  I HAVE NO RIGHT; I AM A PIRATE

    XIX.  THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT

     XX.  ONE NORTH, ONE SOUTH

    XXI.  A PROJECTED MARRIAGE

   XXII.  BLADE TO BLADE

  XXIII.  THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER

   XXIV.  BELIZE

    XXV. WISE MR. DELAPLAINE

   XXVI. DICKORY STRETCHES HIS LEGS

  XXVII. A GIRL WHO LAUGHED

 XXVIII. LUCILLA'S SHIP

   XXIX. CAPTAIN ICHABOD

    XXX. DAME CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND

   XXXI. MR. DELAPLAINE LEADS A BOARDING PARTY

  XXXII. THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER

 XXXIII. BLACKBEARD GIVES GREENWAY SOME DIFFICULT WORK

  XXXIV. CAPTAIN THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAMES

   XXXV. A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS

  XXXVI. THE TIDE DECIDES

 XXXVII. BONNET AND GREENWAY PART COMPANY

XXXVIII. AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE

  XXXIX. THE BLESSINGS WHICH COME FROM THE DEATH OF THE WICKED

     XL. CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING PAGE

"Oh, Kate!" said Dickory, "you should have seen that wonderful pirate
fight" _Frontispiece_

"If you talk to me like that I will cut you down where you stand!" 46

"He is my father!" said Kate 124

"Haste ye! haste ye," cried Dickory, "they will leave you behind" 155

"Take that," he feebly said, "and swear that it shall be delivered" 241

Kate and her father in the warehouse 260

Lucilla rescues Dickory 337

In an instant Dickory was there 403




KATE BONNET




CHAPTER I

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH


The month was September and the place was in the neighbourhood of
Bridgetown, in the island of Barbadoes. The seventeenth century was not
seventeen years old, but the girl who walked slowly down to the river
bank was three years its senior. She carried a fishing-rod and line, and
her name was Kate Bonnet. She was a bright-faced, quick-moving young
person, and apparently did not expect to catch many fish, for she had no
basket in which to carry away her finny prizes. Nor, apparently, did she
have any bait, except that which was upon her hook and which had been
affixed there by one of the servants at her home, not far away. In fact,
Mistress Kate was too nicely dressed and her gloves were too clean to
have much to do with fish or bait, but she seated herself on a little
rock in a shady spot not far from the water and threw forth her line.
Then she gazed about her; a little up the river and a good deal down the
river.

It was truly a pleasant scene which lay before her eyes. Not half a mile
away was the bridge which gave this English settlement its name, and
beyond the river were woods and cultivated fields, with here and there a
little bit of smoke, for it was growing late in the afternoon, when
smoke meant supper. Beyond all this the land rose from the lower ground
near the river and the sea, in terrace after terrace, until the upper
stretches of its woodlands showed clear against the evening sky.

But Mistress Kate Bonnet now gazed steadily down the stream, beyond the
town and the bridge, and paid no more attention to the scenery than the
scenery did to her, although one was quite as beautiful as the other.

There was a bunch of white flowers in the hat of the young girl; not a
very large one, and not a very small one, but of such a size as might be
easily seen from the bridge, had any one happened to be crossing about
that time. And, in fact, as the wearer of the hat and the white flowers
still continued to gaze at the bridge, she saw some one come out upon it
with a quick, buoyant step, and then she saw him stop and gaze steadily
up the river. At this she turned her head, and her eyes went out over
the beautiful landscape and the wide terraces rising above each other
towards the sky.

It is astonishing how soon after this a young man, dressed in a brown
suit, and very pleasant to look upon, came rapidly walking along the
river bank. This was Master Martin Newcombe, a young Englishman, not two
years from his native land, and now a prosperous farmer on the other
side of the river.

It often happened that Master Newcombe, at the close of his agricultural
labours, would put on a good suit of clothes and ride over the bridge to
the town, to attend to business or to social duties, as the case might
be. But, sometimes, not willing to encumber himself with a horse, he
walked over the bridge and strolled or hurried along the river bank.
This was one of the times in which he hurried. He had been caught by the
vision of the bunch of white flowers in the hat of the girl who was
seated on the rock in the shade.

As Master Newcombe stepped near, his spirits rose, as they had not
always risen, as he approached Mistress Kate, for he perceived that,
although she held the handle of her rod in her hand, the other end of it
was lying on the ground, not very far away from the bait and the hook
which, it was very plain, had not been in the water at all. She must
have been thinking of something else besides fishing, he thought. But he
did not dare to go on with that sort of thinking in the way he would
have liked to do it. He had not too great a belief in himself, though he
was very much in love with Kate Bonnet.

"Is this the best time of day for fishing, Master Newcombe?" she said,
without rising or offering him her hand. "For my part, I don't believe
it is."

He smiled as he threw his hat upon the ground. "Let me put your line a
little farther out." And so saying, he took the rod from her hand and
stepped between her and the bait, which must have been now quite hot
from lying so long in a bit of sunshine. He rearranged the bait and
threw the line far out into the river. Then he gave her the rod again.
He seated himself on the ground near-by.

"This is the second time I have been over the bridge to-day," he said,
"and this morning, very early, I saw, for the first time, your father's
ship, which was lying below the town. It is a fine vessel, so far as I
can judge, being a landsman."

"Yes," said she, "and I have been on board of her and have gone all over
her, and have seen many things which are queer and strange to me. But
the strangest thing about her, to my mind, being a landswoman, is, that
she should belong to my father. There are many things which he has not,
which it would be easy to believe he would like to have, but that a
ship, with sails and anchors and hatchways, should be one of these
things, it is hard to imagine."

Young Newcombe thought it was impossible to imagine, but he expressed
himself discreetly.

"It must be that he is going to engage in trade," he said; "has he not
told you of his intentions?"

"Not much," said she. "He says he is going to cruise about among the
islands, and when I asked him if he would take me, he laughed, and
answered that he might do so, but that I must never say a word of it to
Madam Bonnet, for if she heard of it she might change his plans."

The wicked young man found himself almost wishing that the somewhat
bad-tempered Madam Bonnet might hear of and change any plan which might
take her husband's daughter from this town, especially in a vessel; for
vessels were always terribly tardy when any one was waiting for their
return. And, besides, it often happened that vessels never came back at
all.

"I shall take a little trip with him even if we don't go far; it would
be ridiculous for my father to own a ship, and for me never to sail in
her."

"That would not be so bad," said Master Martin, feeling that a short
absence might be endured. Moreover, if a little pleasure trip were to be
made, it was reasonable enough to suppose that other people, not
belonging to the Bonnet family, might be asked to sail as guests.

"What my father expects to trade in," said she contemplatively gazing
before her, "I am sure I do not know. It cannot be horses or cattle, for
he has not enough of them to make such a venture profitable. And as to
sugar-cane, or anything from his farm, I am sure he has a good enough
market here for all he has to sell. Certainly he does not produce enough
to make it necessary for him to buy a ship in order to carry them away."

"It is opined," said Martin, "by the people of the town, that Major
Bonnet intends to become a commercial man, and to carry away to the
other islands, and perhaps to the old country itself, the goods of other
people."

"Now that would be fine!" said Mistress Kate, her eyes sparkling, "for I
should then surely go with him, and would see the world, and perhaps
London." And her face flushed with the prospect.

Martin's face did not flush. "But if your father's ship sailed on a long
voyage," he said, with a suspicion of apprehension, "he would not sail
with her; he would send her under the charge of others."

The girl shook her head. "When she sails," said she, "he sails in her.
If you had heard him talking as I have heard him, you would not doubt
that. And if he sails, I sail."

Martin's soul grew quite sad. There were very good reasons to believe
that this dear girl might sail away from Bridgetown, and from him. She
might come back to the town, but she might not come back to him.

"Mistress Kate," said he, looking very earnestly at her, "do you know
that such speech as this makes my heart sink? You know I love you, I
have told you so before. If you were to sail away, I care not to what
port, this world would be a black place for me."

"That is like a lover," she exclaimed a little pertly; "it is like them
all, every man of them. They must have what they want, and they must
have it, no matter who else may suffer."

He rose and stood by her.

"But I don't want you to suffer," he said. "Do you think it would be
suffering to live with one who loved you, who would spend his whole life
in making you happy, who would look upon you as the chief thing in the
world, and have no other ambition than to make himself worthy of you?"

She looked up at him with a little smile.

"That would, doubtless, be all very pleasant for you," she said, "and in
order that you might be pleased, you would have her give up so much.
That is the way with men! Now, here am I, born in the very end of the
last century, and having had, consequently, no good out of that, and
with but seventeen years in this century, and most of it passed in
girlhood and in school; and now, when the world might open before me for
a little, here you come along and tell me all that you would like to
have, and that you would like me to give up."

"But you should not think," said he, and that was all he said, for at
that moment Kate Bonnet felt a little jerk at the end of her line, and
then a good strong pull.

"I have a fish!" she cried, and sprang to her feet. Then, with a swoop,
she threw into the midst of the weeds and wild flowers a struggling fish
which Martin hastened to take from the hook.

"A fine fellow!" he cried, "and he has arrived just in time to make a
dainty dish for your supper."

"Ah, no!" she said, winding the line about her rod; "if I were to take
that fish to the house, it would sorely disturb Madam Bonnet. She would
object to my catching it; she would object to having it prepared for the
table; she would object to having it eaten, when she had arranged that
we should eat something else. No, I will give it to you, Master
Newcombe; I suppose in your house you can cook and eat what you please."

"Yes," said he; "but how delightful it would be if we could eat it
together."

"Meaning," said she, "that I should never eat other fish than those from
this river. No, sir; that may not be. I have a notion that the first
foreign fish I shall eat will be found in the island of Jamaica, for my
father said, that possibly he might first take a trip there, where lives
my mother's brother, whom we have not seen for a long time. But, as I
told you before, nobody must know this. And now I must go to my supper,
and you must take yours home with you."

"And I am sure it will be the sweetest fish," he said, "that was ever
caught in all these waters. But I beg, before you go, you will promise
me one thing."

"Promise you!" said she, quite loftily.

"Yes," he answered; "tell me that, no matter where you go, you will not
leave Bridgetown without letting me know of it?"

"I will not, indeed," said she; "and if it is to Jamaica we go, perhaps
my father--but no, I don't believe he will do that. He will be too much
wrapped up in his ship to want for company to whom he must attend and
talk."

"Ah! there would be no need of that!" said Newcombe, with a lover's
smile.

She smiled back at him.

"Good-night!" she said, "and see to it that you eat your fish to-night
while it is so fresh." Then she ran up the winding path to her home.

He stood and looked after her until she had disappeared among the
shrubbery, after which he walked away.

"I should have said more than I did," he reflected; "seldom have I had
so good a chance to speak and urge my case. It was that confounded ship.
Her mind is all for that and not for me."




CHAPTER II

A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND


Major Stede Bonnet, the father of Kate, whose mother had died when the
child was but a year old, was a middle-aged Englishman of a fair estate,
in the island of Barbadoes. He had been an officer in the army, was well
educated and intelligent, and now, in vigorous middle life, had become a
confirmed country gentleman. His herds and his crops were, to him, the
principal things on earth, with the exception of his daughter; for,
although he had married for the second time, there were a good many
things which he valued more than his wife. And it had therefore
occasioned a good deal of surprise, and more or less small talk among
his neighbours, that Major Bonnet should want to buy a ship. But he had
been a soldier in his youth, and soldiers are very apt to change their
manner of living, and so, if Major Bonnet had grown tired of his farm
and had determined to go into commercial enterprises, it was not,
perhaps, a very amazing thing that a military man who had turned planter
should now turn to be something else.

Madam Bonnet had heard of the ship, although she had not been told
anything about her step-daughter taking a trip in her, and if she had
heard she might not have objected. She had regarded, in an apparently
careless manner, her husband's desire to navigate the sea; for, no
matter to what point he might happen to sail, his ship would take him
away from Barbadoes, and that would very well suit her. She was getting
tired of Major Bonnet. She did not believe he had ever been a very good
soldier; she was positively sure that he was not a good farmer; and she
had the strongest kind of doubt as to his ability as a commercial man.
But as this new business would free her from him, at least for a time,
she was well content; and, although she should feel herself somewhat
handicapped by the presence of Kate, she did not intend to allow that
young lady to interfere with her plans and purposes during the absence
of the head of the house. So she went her way, saying nothing derisive
about the nautical life, except what she considered it necessary for her
to do, in order to maintain her superior position in the household.

Major Bonnet was now very much engaged and a good deal disturbed, for he
found that projected sailing, even in one's own craft, is not always
smooth sailing. He was putting his vessel in excellent order, and was
fitting her out generously in the way of stores and all manner of
nautical needfuls, not forgetting the guns necessary for defence in
these somewhat disordered times, and his latest endeavours were towards
the shipping of a suitable crew. Seafaring men were not scarce in the
port of Bridgetown, but Major Bonnet, now entitled to be called
"Captain," was very particular about his crew, and it took him a long
time to collect suitable men.

As he was most truly a landsman, knowing nothing about the sea or the
various intricate methods of navigating a vessel thereupon, he was
compelled to secure a real captain--one who would be able to take charge
of the vessel and crew, and who would do, and have done, in a thoroughly
seamanlike manner, what his nominal skipper should desire and ordain.

This absolutely necessary personage had been secured almost as soon as
the vessel had been purchased, before any of the rest of the crew had
signed ship's articles; and it was under his general supervision that
the storing and equipment had been carried on. His name was Sam Loftus.
He was a big man with a great readiness of speech. There were, perhaps,
some things he could not do, but there seemed to be nothing that he was
not able to talk about. As has been said, the rest of the crew came in
slowly, but they did come, and Major Bonnet told his daughter that when
he had secured four more men, it was his intention to leave port.

"And sail for Jamaica?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, yes," he said, with an affectionate smile, "and I will leave you
with your Uncle Delaplaine, where you can stay while I make some little
cruises here and there."

"And so I am really to go?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

"Really to go," said he.

"And what may I pack up?" she asked, thinking of her step-mother.

"Not much," he said, "not much. We will be able to find at Spanish Town
something braver in the way of apparel than anything you now possess. It
will be some days before we sail, and I shall have quietly conveyed on
board such belongings as you need."

She was very happy, and she laughed.

"Yours will be an easily laden ship," said she, "for you take in with
you no great store of goods for traffic. But I suppose you design to
pick up your cargo among the islands where you cruise, and at a less
cost, perchance, than it could be procured here?"

"Yes, yes," he said; "you have hit it fairly, my little girl, you have
hit it fairly."

New annoyances now began to beset Major Bonnet. What his daughter had
remarked in pleasantry, the people of the town began to talk about
unpleasantly. Here was a good-sized craft about to set sail, with little
or no cargo, but with a crew apparently much larger than her
requirements, but not yet large enough for the desires of her owner. To
be sure, as Major Bonnet did not know anything about ships, he was bound
to do something odd when he bought one and set forth to sail upon her,
but there were some odd things which ought to be looked into; and there
were people who advised that the attention of the colonial authorities
should be drawn to this ship of their farmer townsman. Major Bonnet had
such a high reputation as a good citizen, that there were few people who
thought it worth while to trouble themselves about his new business
venture, but a good many disagreeable things came to the ears of Sam
Loftus, who reported them to his employer, and it was agreed between
them that it would be wise for them to sail as soon as they could, even
if they did not wait for the few men they had considered to be needed.

Early upon a cloudy afternoon, Major Bonnet and his daughter went out in
a small boat to look at his vessel, the Sarah Williams, which was then
lying a short distance below the town.

"Now, Kate," said the good Major Bonnet, when they were on board, "I
have fitted up a little room for you below, which I think you will find
comfortable enough during the voyage to Jamaica. I will take you with
me when I return to the house, and then you can make up a little package
of clothes which it will be easy to convey to the river bank when the
time shall come for you to depart. I cannot now say just when that time
will arrive; it may be in the daytime or it may be at night, but it will
be soon, and I will give you good notice, and I will come up the river
for you in a boat. But now I am very busy, and I will leave you to
become acquainted with the Sarah Williams, which, for a few days, will
be your home. I shall be obliged to row over to the town for, perhaps,
half an hour, but Ben Greenway will be here to attend to anything you
need until I return."

Ben Greenway was a Scotchman, who had for a long time been Major
Bonnet's most trusted servant. He was a good farmer, was apt at
carpenter work, and knew a good deal about masonry. A few months ago,
any one living in that region would have been likely to say, if the
subject had been brought up, that without Ben Greenway Major Bonnet
could not get along at all, not even for a day, for he depended upon him
in so many ways. And yet, now the master of the estate was about to
depart, for nobody knew how long, and leave his faithful servant behind.
The reason he gave was, that Ben could not be spared from the farm; but
people in general, and Ben in particular, thought this very poor
reasoning. Any sort of business which made it necessary for Major
Bonnet to separate himself from Ben Greenway was a very poor business,
and should not be entered upon.

The deck of the Sarah Williams presented a lively scene as Kate stood
upon the little quarter-deck and gazed forward. The sailors were walking
about and sitting about, smoking, talking, or coiling things away. There
were people from the shore with baskets containing fruit and other wares
for sale, and all stirring and new and very interesting to Miss Kate as
she stood, with her ribbons flying in the river breeze.

"Who is that young fellow?" she said to Ben Greenway, who was standing
by her, "the one with the big basket? It seems to me I have seen him
before."

"Oh, ay!" said Ben, "he has been on the farm. That is Dickory Charter,
whose father was drowned out fishing a few years ago. He is a good lad,
an' boards all ships comin' in or goin' out to sell his wares, for his
mither leans on him now, having no ither."

The youth, who seemed to feel that he was being talked about, now walked
aft, and held up his basket. He was a handsome youngster, lightly clad
and barefooted; and, although not yet full grown, of a strong and active
build. Kate beckoned to him, and bought an orange.

"An' how is your mither, Dickory?" said Ben.

"Right well, I thank you," said he, and gazed at Kate, who was biting a
hole in her orange.

Then, as he turned and went away, having no reason to expect to sell
anything more, Kate remarked to Ben: "That is truly a fine-looking young
fellow. He walks with such strength and ease, like a deer or a cat."

"That comes from no' wearin' shoes," said Ben; "but as for me, I would
like better to wear shoes an' walk mair stiffly."

Now there came aft a sailor, who touched his cap and told Ben Greenway
that he was wanted below to superintend the stowing some cases of the
captain's liquors. So Kate, left to herself, began to think about what
she should pack into her little bundle. She would make it very small,
for the fewer things she took with her the more she would buy at Spanish
Town. But the contents of her package did not require much thought, and
she soon became a little tired staying there by herself, and therefore
she was glad to see young Dickory, with his orange-basket, walking aft.

"I don't want any more oranges," she said, when he was near enough, "but
perhaps you may have other fruit?"

He came up to her and put down his basket. "I have bananas, but perhaps
you don't like them?"

"Oh, yes, I do!" she answered.

But, without offering to show her the fruit, Dickory continued:
"There's one thing I don't like, and that's the men on board your ship."

"What do you mean?" she asked, amazed.

"Speak lower," he said; and, as he spoke, he bethought himself that it
might be well to hold out towards her a couple of bananas.

"They're a bad, hard lot of men," he said. "I heard that from more than
one person. You ought not to stay on this ship."

"And what do you know about it, Mr. Impudence?" she asked, with brows
uplifted. "I suppose my father knows what is good for me."

"But he is not here," said Dickory.

Kate looked steadfastly at him. He did not seem as ruddy as he had been.
And then she looked out upon the forward deck, and the thought came to
her that when she had first noticed these men it had seemed to her that
they were, indeed, a rough, hard lot. Kate Bonnet was a brave girl, but
without knowing why she felt a little frightened.

"Your name is Dickory, isn't it?" she said.

He looked up quickly, for it pleased him to hear her use his name.
"Indeed it is," he answered.

"Well, Dickory," said she, "I wish you would go and find Ben Greenway. I
should like to have him with me until my father comes back."

He turned, and then stopped for an instant. He said in a clear voice: "I
will go and get the shilling changed." And then he hurried away.

He was gone a long time, and Kate could not understand it. Surely the
Sarah Williams was not so big a ship that it would take all this time to
look for Ben Greenway. But he did come back, and his face seemed even
less ruddy than when she had last seen it. He came up close to her, and
began handling his fruit.

"I don't want to frighten you," he said, "but I must tell you about
things. I could not find Ben Greenway, and I asked one of the men about
him, feigning that he owed me for some fruit, and the man looked at
another man and laughed, and said that he had been sent for in a hurry,
and had gone ashore in a boat."

"I cannot believe that," said Kate; "he would not go away and leave me."

Dickory could not believe it either, and could offer no explanation.

Kate now looked anxiously over the water towards the town, but no father
was to be seen.

"Now let me tell you what I found out," said Dickory, "you must know it.
These men are wicked robbers. I slipped quietly among them to find out
something, with my shilling in my hand, ready to ask somebody to change,
if I was noticed."

"Well, what next?" laying her hand on his arm.

"Oh, don't do that!" he said quickly; "better take hold of a banana. I
spied that Big Sam, who is sailing-master, and a black-headed fellow
taking their ease behind some boxes, smoking, and I listened with all
sharpness. And Sam, he said to the other one--not in these words, but in
language not fit for you to hear--what he would like to do would be to
get off on the next tide. And when the other fellow asked him why he
didn't go then and leave the fool--meaning your father--to go back to
his farm, Big Sam answered, with a good many curses, that if he could do
it he would drop down the river that very minute and wait at the bar
until the water was high enough to cross, but that it was impossible
because they must not sail until your father had brought his cash-box on
board. It would be stupid to sail without that cash-box."

"Dickory," said she, "I am frightened; I want to go on shore, and I want
to see my father and tell him all these things."

"But there is no boat," said Dickory; "every boat has left the ship."

"But you have one," said she, looking over the side.

"It is a poor little canoe," he answered, "and I am afraid they would
not let me take you away, I having no orders to do so."

Kate was about to open her mouth to make an indignant reply, when he
exclaimed, "But here comes a boat from the town; perhaps it is your
father!"

She sprang to the rail. "No, it is not," she exclaimed; "it holds but
one man, who rows."

She stood, without a word, watching the approaching boat, Dickory doing
the same, but keeping himself out of the general view. The boat came
alongside and the oarsman handed up a note, which was presently brought
to Kate by Big Sam, young Dickory Charter having in the meantime slipped
below with his basket.

"A note from your father, Mistress Bonnet," said the sailing-master. And
as she read it he stood and looked upon her.

"My father tells me," said Kate, speaking decidedly but quietly, "that
he will come on board very soon, but I do not wish to wait for him. I
will go back to the town. I have affairs which make it necessary for me
to return immediately. Tell the man who brought the note that I will go
back with him."

Big Sam raised his eyebrows and his face assumed a look of trouble.

"It grieves me greatly, Mistress Bonnet," he said, "but the man has
gone. He was ordered not to wait here."

"Shout after him!" cried Kate; "call him back!"

Sam stepped to the rail and looked over the water. "He is too far away,"
he said, "but I will try." And then he shouted, but the man paid no
attention, and kept on rowing to shore.

"I thought it was too far," he said, "but your father will be back
soon; he sent that message to me. And now, fair mistress, what can we do
for you? Shall it be that we send you some supper? Or, as your cabin is
ready, would you prefer to step down to it and wait there for your
father?"

"No," said she, "I will wait here for my father. I want nothing."

So, with a bow he strode away, and presently Dickory came back. She drew
near to him and whispered. "Dickory," she said, "what shall I do? Shall
I scream and wave my handkerchief? Perhaps they may see and hear me from
the town."

"No," said Dickory, "I would not do that. The night is coming on, and
the sky is cloudy. And besides, if you make a noise, those fellows might
do something."

"Oh, Dickory, what shall I do?"

"You must wait for your father," he said; "he must be here soon, and the
moment you see him, call to him and make him take you to shore. You
should both of you get away from this vessel as soon as you can."

For a moment the girl reflected. "Dickory," said she, "I wish you would
take a message for me to Master Martin Newcombe. He may be able to get
here to me even before my father arrives."

Dickory Charter knew Mr. Newcombe, and he had heard what many people had
talked about, that he was courting Major Bonnet's daughter. The day
before Dickory would not have cared who the young planter was courting,
but this evening, even to his own surprise, he cared very much. He was
intensely interested in Kate, and he did not desire to help Martin
Newcombe to take an interest in her. Besides, he spoke honestly as he
said: "And who would there be to take care of you? No, indeed, I will
not leave you."

"Then row to the town," said she, "and have a boat sent for me."

He shook his head. "No," he said, "I will not leave you."

Her eyes flashed. "You should do what you are commanded to do!" and in
her excitement she almost forgot to whisper.

He shook his head and left her.




CHAPTER III

THE TWO CLOCKS


It was already beginning to grow dark. She sat, and she sat; she waited,
and she waited; and at last she wept, but very quietly. Her father did
not come; Ben Greenway was not there; and even that Charter boy had
gone. A man came aft to her; a mild-faced, elderly man, with further
offers of refreshment and an invitation to go below out of the night
air. But she would have nothing; and as she sadly waited and gently
wept, it began to grow truly dark. Presently, as she sat, one arm
leaning on the rail, she heard a voice close to her ear, and she gave a
great start.

"It is only Dickory," whispered the voice.

Then she put her head near him and was glad enough to have put her arms
around his neck.

"I have heard a great deal more," whispered Dickory; "these men are
dreadful. They do not know what keeps your father, although they have
suspicions which I could not make out; but if he does not come on board
by ten o'clock they will sail without him, and without his cash-box."

"And what of me?" she almost cried, "what of me?"

"They will take you with them," said he; "that's the only thing for them
to do. But don't be frightened, don't tremble. You must leave this
vessel."

"But how?" she said.

"Oh! I will attend to that," he answered, "if you will listen to me and
do everything I tell you. We can't go until it is dark, but while it is
light enough for you to see things I will show you what you must do.
Now, look down over the side of the vessel."

She leaned over and looked down. He was apparently clinging to the side
with his head barely reaching the top of the rail.

"Do you see this bit of ledge I am standing on?" he asked. "Could you
get out and stand on this, holding to this piece of rope as I do?"

"Yes," said she, "I could do that."

"Then, still holding to the rope, could you lower yourself down from the
ledge and hang to it with your hands?"

"And drop into your boat?" said she. "Yes, I could do that."

"No," said he, "not drop into my boat. It would kill you if you fell
into the boat. You must drop into the water."

She shuddered, and felt like screaming.

"But it will be easy to drop into the water; you can't hurt yourself,
and I shall be there. My boat will be anchored close by, and we can
easily reach it."

"Drop into the water!" said poor Kate.

"But I will be there, you know," said Dickory.

She looked down upon the ledge, and then she looked below it to the
water, which was idly flapping against the side of the vessel.

"Is it the only way?" said she.

"It is the only way," he answered, speaking very earnestly. "You must
not wait for your father; from what I hear, I fear he has been detained
against his will. By nine o'clock it will be dark enough."

"And what must I do?" she said, feeling cold as she spoke.

"Listen to every word," he answered. "This is what you must do. You know
the sound of the bell in the tower of the new church?"

"Oh, yes," said she, "I hear it often."

"And you will not confound it with the bell in the old church?"

"Oh, no!" said she; "it is very different, and generally they strike far
apart."

"Yes," said he, "the old one strikes first; and when you hear it, it
will be quite dark, and you can slip over the rail and stand on this
ledge, as I am doing; then keep fast hold of this rope and you can slip
farther down and sit on the ledge and wait until the clock of the new
church begins to strike nine. Then you must get off the ledge and hang
by your two hands. When you hear the last stroke of nine, you must let
go and drop. I shall be there."

"But if you shouldn't be there, Dickory? Couldn't you whistle, couldn't
you call gently?"

"No," said Dickory; "if I did that, their sharp ears would hear and
lanterns would be flashed on us, and perhaps things would be cast down
upon us. That would be the quickest way of getting rid of you."

"But, Dickory," she said, after a moment's silence, "it is terrible
about my father and Ben Greenway. Why don't they come back? What's the
matter with them?"

He hesitated a little before answering.

"From what I heard, I think there is some trouble on shore, and that's
the reason why your father has not come for you as soon as he expected.
But he thinks you safe with Ben Greenway. Now what we have to do is to
get away from this vessel; and then if she sails and leaves your father
and Ben Greenway, it will be a good thing. These fellows are rascals,
and no honest person should have to do with them. But now I must get
out of sight, or somebody will come and spoil everything."

Big Sam did come aft and told Kate he thought she would come to injury
sitting out in the night air. But she would not listen to him, and only
asked him what time of night it was. He told her that it was not far
from nine, and that she would see her father very soon, and then he left
her.

"It would have been a terrible thing if he had come at nine," she said
to herself. Then she sat very still waiting for the sound of the old
clock.

Dickory Charter had not told Miss Kate Bonnet all that he had heard when
he was stealthily wandering about the ship. He had slipped down into the
chains near a port-hole, on the other side of which Big Sam and the
black-haired man were taking supper, and he heard a great deal of talk.
Among other things he heard a bit of conversation which, when expurgated
of its oaths and unpleasant expressions, was like this:

"You are sure you can trust the men?" said Black-hair.

"Oh, yes!" replied the other, "they're all right."

"Then why don't you go now? At any time officers may be rowing out here
to search the vessel."

"And well they might. For what needs an old farmer with an empty
vessel, a crew of seventy men, and ten guns? He is in trouble, you may
wager your life on that, or he would be coming to see about his girl."

"And what will you do about her?"

"Oh, she'll not be in the way," answered Big Sam with a laugh. "If he
doesn't take her off before I sail, that's his business. If I am obliged
to leave port without his cash-box, I will marry his daughter and become
his son-in-law--I don't doubt we can find a parson among all the rascals
on board--then, perhaps, he will think it his duty to send me drafts to
the different ports I touch at."

At this good joke, both of them laughed.

"But I don't want to go without his cash-box," continued Big Sam, "and I
will wait until high-tide, which will be about ten o'clock. It would be
unsafe to miss that, for I must not be here to-morrow morning. But the
long-boat will be here soon. I told Roger to wait until half-past nine,
and then to come aboard with old Bonnet or without him, if he didn't
show himself by that time."

"But, after all," said the black-haired man, "the main thing is, will
the men stand by you?"

"You needn't fear them," said the other with an aggravated oath, "I know
every rascal of them."

"Now, then," said Dickory Charter to himself as he slipped out of the
chains, "she goes overboard, if I have to pitch her over."

Nothing had he heard about Ben Greenway. He did not believe that the
Scotchman had deserted his young mistress; even had he been sent for to
go on shore in haste, would he leave without speaking to her. More than
that, he would most likely have taken her with him.

But Dickory could not afford to give much thought to Ben Greenway.
Although a good friend to both himself and his mother, he was not to be
considered when the safety of Mistress Kate Bonnet was in question.

The minutes moved slowly, very slowly indeed, as Kate sat, listening for
the sound of the old clock, and at the same time listening for the sound
of approaching footsteps.

It was now so dark that she could not have seen anybody without a light,
but she could hear as if she had possessed the ears of a cat.

She had ceased to expect her father. She was sure he had been detained
on shore; how, she knew not. But she did know he was not coming.

Presently the old clock struck, one, two--In a moment she was climbing
over the rail. In the darkness she missed the heavy bit of rope which
Dickory had showed her, but feeling about she clutched it and let
herself down to the ledge below. Her nerves were quite firm now. It was
necessary to be so very particular to follow Dickory's directions to
the letter, that her nerves were obliged to be firm. She slipped still
farther down and sat sideways upon the narrow ledge. So narrow that if
the vessel had rolled she could not have remained upon it.

There she waited.

Then there came, sharper and clearer out of the darkness in the
direction of the town, the first stroke of nine o'clock from the tower
of the new church. Before the second stroke had sounded she was hanging
by her two hands from the ledge. She hung at her full length; she put
her feet together; she hoped that she would go down smoothly and make no
splash. Three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--and she let her
fingers slip from the ledge. Down she went, into the darkness and into
the water, not knowing where one ended and the other began. Her eyes
were closed, but they might as well have been open; there was nothing
for her to see in all that blackness. Down she went, as if it were to
the very bottom of black air and black water. And then, suddenly she
felt an arm around her.

Dickory was there!

She felt herself rising, and Dickory was rising, still with his arm
around her. In a moment her head was in the air, and she could breathe.
Now she felt that he was swimming, with one arm and both legs.
Instinctively she tried to help him, for she had learned to swim. They
went on a dozen strokes or more, with much labour, until they touched
something hard.

"My boat," said Dickory, in the lowest of whispers; "take hold of it."

Kate did so, and he moved from her. She knew that he was clambering into
the boat, although she could not see or hear him. Soon he took hold of
her under her arms, and he lifted with the strength of a young lion, yet
so slowly, so warily, that not a drop of water could be heard dripping
from her garments. And when she was drawn up high enough to help
herself, he pulled her in, still warily and slowly. Then he slipped to
the bow and cast off the rope with which the canoe had been anchored. It
was his only rope, but he could not risk the danger of pulling up the
bit of rock to which the other end of it was fastened. Then, with a
paddle, worked as silently as if it had been handled by an Indian, the
canoe moved away, farther and farther, into the darkness.

"Is all well with you?" said Dickory, thinking he might now safely
murmur a few words.

"All well," she murmured back, "except that this is the most
uncomfortable boat I ever sat in!"

"I expect you are on my orange basket," he said; "perhaps you can move
it a little."

Now he paddled more strongly, and then he stopped.

"Where shall I take you, Mistress Bonnet?" he asked, a little louder
than he had dared to speak before.

Kate heaved a sigh before she answered; she had been saying her prayers.

"I don't know, you brave Dickory," she answered, "but it seems to me
that you can't see to take me anywhere. Everything is just as black as
pitch, one way or another."

"But I know the river," he said, "with light or without it. I have gone
home on nights as black as this. Will you go to the town?"

"I would not know where to go to there," she answered, "and in such a
plight."

"Then to your home," said he. "But that will be a long row, and you must
be very cold."

She shuddered, but not with cold. If her father had been at home it
would have been all right, but her step-mother would be there, and that
would not be all right. She would not know what to say to her.

"Oh, Dickory," she said, "I don't know where to go."

"I know where you can go," he said, beginning to paddle vigorously, "I
will take you to my mother. She will take care of you to-night and give
you dry clothes, and to-morrow you may go where you will."




CHAPTER IV

ON THE QUARTER-DECK


As the time approached when Big Sam intended to take the Sarah Williams
out of port, it seemed really necessary that Mistress Kate Bonnet should
descend from the exposed quarterdeck and seek shelter from the night air
in the captain's cabin or in her own room; and, as she had treated him
so curtly at his last interview with her, he sent the elderly man with
the mild countenance to tell her that she really must go below, for that
he, Big Sam, felt answerable to her father for her health and comfort.
But when the elderly man and his lantern reached the quarter-deck, there
was no Mistress Kate there, and, during the rapid search which ensued,
there was no Mistress Kate to be found on the vessel.

Big Sam was very much disturbed; she must have jumped overboard. But
what a wild young woman to do that upon such little provocation, for
how should she know that he was about to run away with her father's
vessel!

"This is a bad business," he said to the black-haired man, "and who
would have thought it?"

"I see not that," said Black Paul, "nor why you should trouble yourself
about her. She is gone, and you are well rid of her. Had she stayed
aboard with us, every ship in the colony might have been cruising after
us before to-morrow's sun had gone down."

But this did not quiet the cowardly soul of Big Sam.

"Now I shall tell you," said he, "exactly what happened. A little before
dark she went ashore in a boat which was then leaving the ship. I
allowed her to do this because she was very much in earnest about it,
and talked sharply, and also because I thought the town was the best
place for her, since it was growing late and her father did not seem to
be coming. Now, if the old man comes on board, that's what happened; but
if he does not come on board, the devil and the fishes know what
happened, and they may talk about it if they like. But if any man says
anything to old Bonnet except as I have ordered, then the fishes shall
have another feast."

"And now, what I have to say to you," said Black Paul, "is, that you
should get away from here without waiting for the tide. If one of these
rascals drops overboard and swims ashore, he may get a good reward for
news of the murder committed on this vessel, and there isn't any reason
to think, so far as I know, that the Sarah Williams can sail any faster
than two or three other vessels now in the harbour."

"There's sense in all that," said Big Sam as he walked forward. But he
suddenly stopped, hearing, not very far away, the sound of oars.

Now began the body and soul of Big Sam to tremble. If the officers of
the law, having disposed of Captain Bonnet, had now come to the ship, he
had no sufficient tale to tell them about the disappearance of Mistress
Kate Bonnet; nor could he resist. For why should the crew obey his
orders? They had not yet agreed to receive him as their captain, and, so
far, they had done nothing to set themselves against the authorities. It
was a bad case for Big Sam.

But now the ship was hailed, and the voice which hailed it was that of
Captain Bonnet. And the soul of Big Sam upheaved itself.

In a few minutes Bonnet was on board, with a big box and the crew of the
long-boat. Speaking rapidly, he explained to Big Sam the situation of
affairs. The authorities of the port had indeed sadly interfered with
him. They had heard reports about the unladen vessel and the big crew;
and, although they felt loath to detain and to examine a
fellow-townsman, hitherto of good report, they did detain him and they
did examine him, and they would have gone immediately to the ship had
it not been so dark.

But under the circumstances they contented themselves with the assurance
of the respectable Mr. Bonnet that he would appear before them the next
morning and give them every opportunity of examining his most
respectable ship. Having done this, they retired to their beds, and the
respectable Bonnet immediately boarded his vessel.

"Now," cried Captain Bonnet, "where is my daughter? I hope that Ben
Greenway has caused her to retire to shelter?"

"Your daughter!" exclaimed Big Sam, before any one else could speak,
"she is not here. It was still early twilight when she told me she would
wait no longer, and desired to be sent ashore in a boat. This request,
of course, I immediately granted, feeling bound thereto, as she was your
daughter, and that I was, in a measure, under her orders."

Captain Bonnet stood, knitting his brows.

"Well, well!" he presently cried, with an air of relief, "it is better
so. Her home is the best place for her, as matters have turned out. And
now," said he, turning to Big Sam, "call the men together and set them
to quick work. Pull up your anchors and do whatever else is necessary to
free the ship; then let us away. We must be far out of sight of this
island before to-morrow's sunrise."

As Big Sam passed Black Paul he winked and whispered: "The old fool is
doing exactly what I would have done if he hadn't come aboard. This
suits my plan as if he were trying his best to please me."

In a very short time the cable was slipped, for Big Sam had no notion of
betraying the departure of the vessel by the creaking of a capstan; and,
with the hoisting of a few sails and no light aboard except the shaded
lamp at the binnacle, the Sarah Williams moved down the river and out
upon the sea.

"And when are you going to take the command in your hands?" asked Black
Paul of Big Sam.

"To-morrow, some time," was the answer, "but I must first go around
among the men and let them know what's coming."

"And how about Ben Greenway? Has the old man asked for him yet?"

"No," said the other; "he thinks, of course, that the Scotchman has gone
ashore with the young woman. What else could he do, being a faithful
servant? To-morrow I shall set Greenway free and let him tell his own
tale to his master. But I shall tell my tale first, and then he can
speak or not speak, as he chooses; it will make no difference one way or
another."

Soon after dawn the next morning Captain Bonnet was out of his hammock
and upon deck. He looked about him and saw nothing but sea, sea, sea.

Big Sam approached him. "I forgot to tell you," said he, "that yesterday
I shut up that Scotchman of yours, for, from his conduct, I thought that
he had some particular reason for wanting to go on shore; and, fearing
that if he did so he would talk about this vessel, and so make worse the
trouble I was sure you were in, I shut him up as a matter of precaution
and forgot to mention him to you last night."

"You stupid blockhead!" roared Mr. Bonnet, "how like an ass you have
acted! Not for a bag of gold would I have taken Ben Greenway on this
cruise; and not for a dozen bags would I have deprived my family of his
care and service. You ought to be thrown into the sea! Ben Greenway
here! Of all men in the world, Ben Greenway here!"