NORTH CAROLINIANA COLLECTION B.W.C.ROBERTS ) O93 “ N , : - “at ay wa KATE BONNET ‘Oh, Kate!” said Dickory, ‘‘ you should have seen that wonderful pirate fight.’ (See page 350.) CONTENTS CHAPTER I. Two YOUNG PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH II. A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 3 THE TWO CLOCKS 3 ‘ ; ; IV. ON THE QUARTER-DECK . A Q V. AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND . Copyriant, 1901, 1902 A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY KATE PLANS ‘ . . . : BEN GREENWAY IS CONVINCED THAT BONNET IS All rights reserved EEBATE bh \ ’ IX. Dickory SETS FORTH. ‘ X. CaprTain CHRISTOPHER VINCE XI. BaD WEATHER . = i ; XIL, Fack To FAcE . » ‘ XIII, Captain BONNET GOES TO CHURCH XIV. A GIRL TO THE FRONT ‘ j February, 1902 XV. Tue 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 The illustrations in this book were copyrighted individually in 1901 by P. F. Collier & Son. XXII. BLADE TO BLADE : XXIII. THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER . XXIV. BerizE tH ‘ é . Vv CHAPTER XXV,. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX, XXX, XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII, XXXIV. XXXV, XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX, XL. KATE BONNET Wise Mr. DELAPLAINE DIcKORY STRETCHES HIS LEGS A GIRL WHO LAUGHED LucILia’s SHIP Captain IcHABop Dame CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND Mr, DeLapLarne LEADS A BOARDING PARTY THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER BLACKBEARD GIVES GREENWAY SOME DIFFICULT WORK CapraIn THoMAS OF THE RoyaL JAMES A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS. THE TIDE DECIDES BonNET AND GREENWAY PART COMPANY AGAIN DIcKORY WAS THERE THE BLESSINGS WHICH COME FROM THE DEATH OF THE WICKED Captain ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE “Oh. Kate!” said Dickory, ‘‘ you should have seen that wonderful pirate fight” . . . } Frontispiece “Tf 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,” eried Dickory, ‘‘they will leave you behind” “Take that,” he feebly said, ‘‘and swear that it shall be delivered ” Kate and her father in the warehouse Lucilla rescues Dickory In an instant Dickory was there KATE BONNET CHAPTER I TWO YOUNG PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 4 i pa _——— c Z s (i CFL fos / Ferre cos CARAT) : NSA We S +E month was September and the place was in the neigh- bourhood of Bridgetown, in the island of Barbadoes. The eighteenth century was not eighteen 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 1 KATE BONNET 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 be- fore her, eyes. Not half a mile away was the bridge which gave this English settlement its name, and beyond the river were woods and cul- tivated 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 stead- ily 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 hap- pened to be crossing about that time. And, in fact, as the wearer of the hat and the white flow- ers 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 stead- ily up the river. At this she turned her head, and her eyes went out over the beautiful land- 2 TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH scape 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 na- tive 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 spir- its 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 think- ing of something else besides fishing, he thought. But he did not dare to go on with that sort of 3 KATE BONNET 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. ‘‘ Ts 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 lands- man.”’ ‘« 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 + TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 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. ‘Tt 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. ‘< T 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 5 KATE BONNET 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 cat- tle, 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. Cer- tainly 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 be- come a commercial man, and to carry away to the other islands, and perhaps to the old coun- try 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.’’ 6 TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 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 ear- nestly 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, 7 KATE BONNET 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. ‘‘T 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 strug- gling fish which Martin hastened to take from the hook. ‘« A fine fellow! ’’ he cried, ‘‘ and he has ar- rived 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, 8 ”? TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 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 possi- bly 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 wa- ters. 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 mat- ter where you go, you will not leave Bridgetown without letting me know of it? ’’ ‘< T 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 com- pany 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. 2 9 KATE BONNET ‘* T 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 con- founded ship. Her mind is all for that and not for me.’’ CHAPTER II A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND AJOR STEDE BONNE 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 con- firmed 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 11 KATE BONNET to go into commercial enterprises, it was not, per- haps, 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, al- though 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 get- ting 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 house- hold. Major Bonnet was now very much engaged and a good deal disturbed, for he found that 12 A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND projected sailing, even in one’s own craft, is not always smooth sailing. He was putting his ves- sel 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 dis- ordered times, and his latest endeavours were towards the shipping of a suitable crew. Sea- faring men were not scarce in the port of Bridge- town, 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 nom- inal 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 un- der 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 13 KATE BONNET 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. ** Ob, 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 14 A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 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 Bon- net and his daughter went out in a small boat to look at his vessel, the Sarah Williams, which vas 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 15 KATE BONNET 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 con- vey 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 tow over to the town for, perhaps, half an hour, but Ben Greenway will be here to attend to any- thing 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 car- penter work, and knew a good deal about ma- sonry. A few months ago, any one living in that region would have been likely to say, if the sub- ject 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 gen- eral, and Ben in particular, thought this very poor reasoning. Any sort of business which 16 A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 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 quar- ter-deck and gazed forward. The sailors were walking about and sitting about, smoking, talk- ing, 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, light- ly 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 17 KATE BONNET 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 stay- ing there by herself, and therefore she was glad to see young Dickory, with his orange-basket, walking aft. ‘‘ T 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. ‘¢T have bananas, but perhaps you don’t like them? ’’ ‘¢ Oh, yes, I do! ’’ she answered. But, without offering to show her the fruit, 18 A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 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. ‘< T heard that from more than one person. You ought not to stay on this ship.’’ ‘< And what do you know about it, Mr. Im- pudence? ”’ 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 no- ticed 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 an- Swered. ‘¢ 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 19 KATE BONNET 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. ‘‘T 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.’’ ‘¢T eannot 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, haat was noticed.’’ ‘“¢ Well, what next? ’’ laying her hand on his arm. ‘< Oh, don’t do that! ’’ he said quickly ; ‘‘ bet- 20 A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND ter 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 im- possible 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. ‘¢Tt 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! ’’ 21 KATE BONNET 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 ap- proaching 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 Bon- net,’’ 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 imme- diately. 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. ‘‘ Tt grieves me greatly, Mistress Bonnet,’’ he said, ‘‘ but the man has gone. He was or- dered 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. **T thought it was too far,’’ he said, ‘‘ but 22 A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND your father will be back soon; he sent that mes- Sage 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 handker- chief? 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 23 KATE BONNET 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 ITI THE TWO CLOCKS ~T 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 fur- ther 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. ‘* Tt 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. ‘““T have heard a great deal more,’’ whis- 3 25 KATE BONNET ‘< these men are dreadful. They »ps your father, although pered Dickory ; do not know what ke they have suspicions which I cou put if he does not come on bo they will sail without him, and without his ca ard by ten o’clock sh- box.’’ ‘¢ And what of me?’’ she almost cried, ‘¢ what of me? ’’ ; «« They will take you with them,’’ said he; But don’t ‘¢ that’s the only.thing for them to do. be frightened, don’t tremble. You must leave this vessel.’’ ‘< But how? ”’ she said. ‘¢ Oh! I will attend to that,’’ he answered, I ‘ : : to ‘ spot at a little distance where Dickory india reflectively gazing out over the avert ee Dickory,”’ said the girl, ‘‘ my mind is fille with hortible doubts. I have heard of x talk 1 j Pore we left, and now here 1s idgetown before we t “i rics soni eri from Mr. Newcombe from sige I pea fail to see that there must have — ep talk that he considerately refrains from telling me.’’ ‘¢ He should not h i ickory hotly ; exclaimed Dickory hotly ; reso it would have set you to suspecting pues hes « “4 > € mn “You don’t know what dntera’ A etn about, you foolish boy,”’ said she; iti a " vy Ly 9 Ore ; at proper letter about things you don’t un stand.’’ soe She stepped a little closer to him as if sl i > her. ‘‘ Dickory,’’ feared some one might hear her. © Di : y; ‘he did not put that thing into my mind; it was there already. That “vr pact ship, Dickory, and it was filled wi 1 gr a men. If he had not intended to go wi 1 — he would not have put himself into their power, and if he had not intended to be long away he ; ; t have planned to leave me here with y c 5 : ee P| ave written such a letter, ‘¢ he might have known said she, would no 9? my uncle. ; ; ee “¢ You ought not to think such a thing as that A “e i ’ erie skory. ‘‘ I would not for one minute,’’ cried Dickory 109 KATE BONNET think so about my mother, no matter what hap- pened! ’’ She smiled slightly as she answered. ‘I would my father were a mother, and then I need not think such, things. But, Dickory, if he had but written to me! And in all this time he might have written, knowing how I must feel.’’ Dickory stood silent, his bosom heaving. Suddenly he turned sharply towards her. ‘‘ Of course he has written,’’ said he, ‘‘ but how could his letter come to you? We know not where he has sailed, and besides, who could have told him you had already gone to your uncle? But the people at Bridgetown must know things. I be- lieve that he has written there.’’ ““ Why do you believe that?’’ she asked eagerly, with one hand on his arm. ‘¢ T think it,’’ said Dickory, his cheeks a little ruddier in their brownness, ‘‘ because there is more known there than Master Newcombe chose to put into his letter. If he has not written, how should they know more? ”’ She now looked straight into his eyes, and as he returned the gaze he could see in her pupils his head and his straw hat, with the clear sky be- yond. ‘* Dickory,’’ she said, ‘‘ if he wrote to any- body he also wrote to me, and that letter is still there.”’ ‘* That is what I believe,’ said he, ‘‘ and IT have been believing it.’’ 110 wretched boy have known how Tf I could only sart would bo reve! but to be utterly droppe bear.’’ ped,”’ he exclaimed, DICKORY SETS FORTH say § » you «¢ Then why didn’t Danna ga. i aad sheen have comforted met think he has surely written, vs iatter what his letter er d, that I cannot ‘op <¢ You have not been dro} i, y ? go 5 and you shall kn. Ww it Kate I am in a ’ 7% ? . t! 9? pepe ee? Jickory,’’ he said. : rou call me Dickory, - sean e so much younger. , 7ou are § hj bie press a i he exclaimed in a tone of a ‘¢ Younger: » @} aaa 7 pen for the speaker but for the wor tempt, not ye me ‘¢ Bleven months! had spoken. y 2 ais Si i auoh: her nature was § auched a little laugh; pees: capper - she could not keep it back. ‘ *t that even now sonaaretcebars pire a t have been making eareful ¢ i sae al ‘¢ but it does not matter ; . aaj | sutation,’’ she said, ‘ eae anc 1e Kate, j st not call n — call ni ou Dickory; I could not help it ‘ calling y ; say you were i ig it you were about to say yo where 1s } 9 9 ia] . ” . T o1n : : | u thin I noug 1, Sc | f y (8) k ne old e y] sa 1 | 2. 6 adoes in the King and Queen. T shall find out about eet your letter, then I + atin am going to Barb She sails to-morrow. < everything, and I “4 hoes beatae | ack and bring you. . some back at . — wi manent ” she exclaimed, and her ey ickory!’” § glowed. a KATE BONNET There was silence for some moments, and then he spoke, for it. was necessary for him to say something, although he would have been per- fectly content to stand there speechless, so long as her eyes still glowed. “Tf I don’t go,’’ said he, ‘‘ it may be long before you hear from him; having written, he will wait for an answer.’ She thought of no difficulties, no delays, no dangers. ‘‘ How happy you have made me, Dickory!’’ she said. ‘ It is this dreadful igno- rance, these fearful doubts of which I ought to be ashamed. But if I get his letter, if I know he has not deserted me! ”’ ‘* You shall get it,’’ he eried, ‘‘ and you shall know.’’ ** Dickory,’’ said she, “ you said that exactly as you spoke when you told me that if I let my- self drop into the darknes , you would be there.’’ ‘* And you shall find me there now,’’ said he; ** always, if you need me, you shall find me there! ’’ Dame Charter had been standing and watch- ing this interview, her foolish motherly heart filled with the brightest, most unreasonable dreams. And why should she not dream, even if she knew her dreams would never come true? In a few short weeks that Dickory boy had grown to be a man, and what should not be dreamed about a man! As Kate ran by the open door towards her 112 DICKORY SETS FORTH ‘harter rose up, sur- uncle’s apartments, Dame ¢ harter rose up, yrised. oe er } ‘¢ What have you been saying to her, i ee j nen » > she exclaimed. ‘‘ Do you know some f g ve ite, . M Ty a oY ai not heard? Have you been giving he! e € $ i we hav sph yf a fs ay" 4 1ews of her father? Be athe herd ay Si: a: No,’’ said the son, who had so lately bee wage 5 rLV ar, but l am a boy ie I have no news to give he Yr, 7 oo 4 on roing’ ; vs for her. pike he = vga him in amazement; then she She looked a < al Y ou, excla med a u | Y aS, e gal 1 the 2 15 ) OI eise. L es ; Le , re 1 ne 12 alse \n 1 7 se to do it. 1 ant any one else sides I would not wat y Isdehia ee town in the brig hay: it i i sal yhen brought us here; it is a little sail, and Ww ne get there I will find out everything. - a . ae i i -eak > hear thai has happened, it will break her bw : think that her father deserted her w cet: a % believe he did it, and I shall g ‘ 2p} . I am going to Bridge word. I don 9? and find out. Pain be 4 i *y,’’? she si with anxious, ‘¢ But, Dickory,’’ she said, ack? Do you i 7 ean you get back? raised face, ‘‘ how can | g i ailing this know of any vessel that will be sailing ss c é yay??? J He laughed. “« Get back? may be sure I shall soon get kinds gail one way or another, ways in which I can get hack: kind of a v ordinary passage. When oi eg aN of her sails from Jamaica, I can get on boe : 113 Tf I go alone, dear mother, you back. Craft of all and there are many not thought of in essel KATE BONNET whether she takes passengers or not. I can sleep on a bale of goods or on the bare deck; I can work with the crew, if need be. Oh! you need not doubt that I shall speedily come back.’’ They talked long together, this mother and this son, and it was her golden dreams for him that made her invoke Heaven’s blessings upon him and tell him to go. She knew, too, that it was wise for her to tell him to go and to bless him, for it would have been impossible to with- stand him, so set was he in his purpose. ‘* T tell you, Dame Charter,’’ said Mr. Dela- plaine an hour later, ‘‘ this son of yours should be a great credit and pride to you, and he will be, I stake my word upon it.’’ ‘* He is now,’’ said the good woman quietly. ‘* T have been pondering in my brain,’’ said he, ‘‘ what I should do to relieve my niece of this burden of anxiety which is weighing upon her. I could see no way, for letters would be of no use, not knowing where to send them, and it would be dreary, indeed, to sit and wait and sigh and dream bad dreams until chance throws some light upon this grievous business, and here steps up this young fellow and settles the whole mat- ter. When he comes back, Dame Charter, I shall do well for him; I shall put him in my counting- house, for, although doubtless he would fain live his young life in the fields and under the open sky, he will find the counting-house lies on the road to fortune, and good fortune he deserves. ”’ 114 this speec eould not have suited it bett to sail, bv Mr. Delaplaine, w to travel as one of importance < sources, hurr DICKORY SETS FORTH If that loving mother could have composed h for Master Delaplaine to make she er to her desires. When the King and Queen was nearly ready Dickory Charter, having been detained . ho wished the young man und plentiful re- ied to the house to take his final in- structions from Mistress Kate Bonnet, os ee service he was now setting forth. It might avs that no further instruc- but how could Dickory Kate met him before been supposed by some tions were necessary, know that? He was right. -eached the house. . meter a glad to see you again before ion sail,’? she said. * One thing was — se You may see my father; his cruise may ye OVE may be, even now, preparing for me an come back to Bridgetown. If this be HT him rather to come here. I had not thought 0 Dickory, and I did not write but you will know what to say. bee: have heard that woman talk of me, and we know I cannot go back to my ona home.’ nee ‘¢ Oh, I will say all that! he planes <¢ Tt will be the same thing as if you had written And now I must run back, him a long letter. : ier for the boat is ready to take me down the river to the port.”’ icko said she put out her ‘¢ Dickory,’’ said she, and she ] hand—he had never held that hand before— : 115 and he vour seeing him, to him, KATE BONNET ‘“ you are so true, Dickory, you are so noble; you are going—’’ it was in her mind to say ‘‘ you are going as my knight-errant,’’ but she deemed that unsuitable, and she changed it to—‘‘ you are going to do so much for me.” She stopped for a moment, and then she said: ‘* You know I told you you should not eall me Kate, being so much younger; but, as you are so much younger, you may kiss me if you like.’’ ‘* Like! ”’ CHAPTER X CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE T was truly surprising to see the change which came over the spirits of our young Kate Bonnet when she heard that the King ane pg had sailed from Kingston port. C pe — she was talkative, she sang songs, S$ rbeg ten: in the paths of the garden. ot ere! — supposed she was so happy ni 2 : I mi si young man on the brig which ne sap ‘ = And yet, the aig arin te - a ri 4 > man came back was likel; cae reams any misgivings which me ree her mind. Kate’s high spirits de ig an ni uncle. This child of his sister had grown more 7 ly than even her mother had ever been. le ame days of delight which Kate had Betray) Poe of. She had not known a oe were such shops in Spanish ie gs gad though a youngish town, had sre eae < itself the fashion and the needs 0 as ae ft : ad ‘ous colony. With Dame Charter, an prospero hia KATE BONNET often also with her uncle in company, this bright young girl hovered over fair fabries which were spread before her; circled about jewels, gems, ‘and feathers, and revelled in tender colours as would a butterfly among the blossoms, dipping and tasting as she flew. There were some fine folk in Spanish Town, and with this pleasant society of the capital Mr. Delaplaine renewed his previous intercourse and Kate soon learned the pleasures of a colonial social circle, whose attractions, brought from afar, had been warmed into a more cheerful glow in this bright West Indian atmosphere. To add to the brilliancy of the new life into which Kate now entered, there came into the port an English corvette—the B sadger—for re- fitting. From this weleome man-of-war there flitted up the river to Spanish Town gallant offi- cers, young and older; and in their flitting they flitted into the drawing-room of the rich mer- chant Delaplaine, and there were some of them who soon found that there were no drawing- rooms in all the town where they could talk with, walk with, and perchance dance with such a fine girl as Mistress Kate Bonnet. Kate greatly fancied gallant partners, wheth- er for walking or talking or dancing, and among such, those which came from the corvette in the harbour pleased her most. Those were not bright days for Dame Char- ter. Do what she would, her optimism was grow- 118 YAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE . dl ’ } “a « Ss i jim, and what helped to dim it was Kate ic eye fc - at all when Kate aiety. It did not comfort her at all whe weg ; so light-hearted because she told her that she was so ligh ~hei e . knew that Dickory would bring her gooc Pi we % 4 » rT - » ‘e ‘¢ Truly, too many fine “Ae men her " ; ‘harter, ‘‘ while Dickory is away, thought Dame Charter, ‘‘ wl a — and all of them together are not worth ¢ c oc _ 9? on his head. he ae But, although her dreams were dimmed, she Jid not cease dreaming. A stout-hearted woman dic as 4 ? a cory’s mother. vas Dickory’s : Bid . we But it was not long before there were other ‘ ; sie yeople thereabout who began to feel that thei ; 1 TATA 10° o ina for present enjoyment were be — att I ‘or Captain Christopher ‘ee dim, for Captain to look a little 7 p rijne! Vince, having met Mistress Kate Bonnet at an oo. ft . ati a TAS entertainment at the Governor’s house, a as reatly struck by this young lady. Each officer ‘ " % . . _ * . . ‘ 4 a. of the Badger who saw their captain in — ith the fair one to whom their gallant atten ions Neer ‘eely offered, now felt that in love had been so freely offered, well as in accordance with the — 0 pease 1 ; his captain. i st give place to his cay the service, he must give ple h ay eile? Moreover, when that captain took upo self, | a d ‘A +4 4 Tay q . the very next day, to call at the residence of we Delaplaine, and repeated the visit upon the " : a 4 + d ia nd the following, the crestfallen young fe ‘ ; a « *, rs : ere compelled to acknowledge that there ry , ya i é . 7 “A ; . _ as other houses in the town where it might were site . . i . . . . ic be better worth their while to spend their leisure hours. 119 KATE BONNET Captain Vince was not a man to be lightly interfered with, whether he happened to be en- gaged in the affairs of Mars or Cupid. He was ‘of a resolute mind, and of a person more than usually agreeable to the female eye. He was about forty years of age, of an excellent English family, and with good expectations. He consid- ered himself an admirable judge of women, but he had never met one who so thoroughly satis- fied his esthetic taste as this fair niece of the merchant Delaplaine. She had beauty, she had wit, she had culture, and the fair fabrics of Span- ish Town shops gave to her attractions a setting which would have amazed and entranced Master Newcombe or our good Dickory. The soul of Captain Vince was fired, and each time he met Kate and talked with her the fire grew brighter. He had never considered himself a marrying man, but that was because he had never met any one he had cared to marry. Now things were changed. Here was a girl he had known but for a few days, and already, in his imagination, he had placed her in the drawing-rooms of the Eng- lish home he hoped soon to inherit, more beauti- ful and even more like a princess than any noble dame who was likely to frequent those rooms. In fancy he had seen her by his side, walking through the shaded alleys of his grand old gar- dens; he had looked proudly upon her as she stood by him in the assemblages of the great; in fact, he had fallen suddenly and absolutely in 120 CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE love with her. When he was away from her he could not quite understand this condition of things, but when he was with her again he ind derstood it all. He loved her because it was absolutely impossible for him to do anything else. . Naturally, Captain Vince was very agreeable to Mistress Kate, for she had never seen such a handsome man, taking into consideration his uniform and his bearing, and had never talked with one who knew so well what to say and how to say it. Comparing him with the young officers who had been so fond of making their way to her uncle’s house, she was glad that they had ceased to be such frequent visitors. The soul of Mr. Delaplaine was agitated by the admiration of his niece which Captain Vince took no trouble to conceal. The worthy merchant would gladly have kept Kate with him for year rs and years if she would have been content to stay, but this could not be expected ; and if she mar- ried, from what other quarter could come such a brilliant match as this? W hat his brother-in- law might think about it he did not care ; if Kate should choose to wed the captain, such an seis tric and untrustworthy person should not be per- mitted to interfere with the destiny that ae appeared to open before his ee gros thoughts were not so idle as might have been 1, for in had already said things supposed, for the captain : to the merchant, in which the circumstances 0 9 121 KATE BONNET the former were made plain and his hopes fore- shadowed. If the captain were not prepared to leave the service, this rich merchant thought, why should not he make it possible for him to do so, for the sake of his dear niece? With these high ambitions in his mind, the happily agitated Mr. Delaplaine did not hesitate to say some playful words to Kate concerning the captain of the Badger; and these having been received quietly, he was emboldened to go on and say some other words more serious. Then Kate looked at him very steadfastly and remarked: ‘‘ But, uncle, you have forgotten Master Newcombe.”’ The good Delaplaine made no answer, for his emotions made it impossible for him to do so, but, rising, he went out, and at a little distance from the house he damned Master Newcombe. Days passed on and the captain’s attentions did not wane. Mr. Delaplaine, who was a man of honour expecting it in others, made up his mind that something decisive must soon be said; while Kate began greatly to fear that something decisive might soon be said. She was in a diffi- cult position. She was not engaged to Martin Newcombe, but had believed she might be. The whole affair involved a question which she did not want to consider. And still the captain came every day, generally in the afternoon or evening. But one morning he made his appearance, coming to the house quite abruptly. 122 CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE ‘¢ T am glad to find you by yourself,” said he, ‘‘ for I have some awkward news. Kate looked at him surprised. y ‘¢ T have just been ordered on duty,’’ he con- ‘and the order is most unwelcome. A ast night and brought letters, and the Governor sent for me this morning. I ae just left him. The cruise I am about bi — may not be a long one, but I cannot em “ por without coming here to you and speaking ¢ on of something which is nearer to my rd — any thought of service, or in fact of anything else.”’ ‘¢ Speaki istur for she saw in the Kate, now much disturbed, for she sé captain’s eyes what he wished to talk ct iy «¢ Away with uncles! ’’ he exclaimed ; be can speak with them by-and-bye ; now eagle ag are for you. You may think me egy : ntlemen serving the king cannot afford to wait; and so, without other pause, bid Mistress Kate, I love you, better than 3 ash voi loved woman; better than I can ever lov . o ; Nay, do not answer; T must tell eran VW ag before you reply.”’ And to the pale “e 1e hie of his family, his prospects, and ag! ag rs the warmest colours he laid before oi we ms and love he would give her. Then he wen gaia a ‘¢ his is but a little matter which is given 1 rag long; . and it may not engage me : a a pirate, and I shall tinued, ‘ brig came 1m | 99 any ng to my uncle, you mean, said ly on: to my char : , f Tam going out 10 search 0 ore 123 KATE BONNET make short work of him. The shorter, having such good reason to get quickly back. ‘In fact, he is not a real pirate anyway, being but a country gentleman tiring of his rural life and liking better to rob, burn, and murder on the high seas. He has already done so much damage, that if his evil career be not soon put an end to good people will be afraid to voyage in these waters. So I am to sail in haste after this fellow Bonnet; but before——”’ Kate’s face had grown so white that it seemed to recede from her great eyes. ‘‘ He is my father,’’ said she, ‘‘ but I had not heard until now that he is a pirate! ’’ The captain started from his chair. ‘* What! ’’ he cried, ‘‘ your father? Yes, I see. It did not strike me until this instant that the names are the same.’’ Kate rose, and as she spoke her voice was not full and clear as it was wont to be. ‘‘ He is my father,’’ she said, ‘‘ but he sailed away without telling me his errand ; but now that I know every- thing, I must—’’ If she had intended to say she must go, she changed her mind, and even came closer to the still astounded captain. ‘‘ You say that you will make short work of his vessel ; do you mean that you will destroy it, and will you kill him? ’’ Captain Vince looked down upon her, his face filled with the liveliest emotions. ‘‘ My dear young lady,’’ he said, and then he stopped as if 124 ‘He is my father!” said Kate. CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE not knowing what words to use. But as he looked into her eyes fixed upon his own and wait- ing for his answer, his love for her took pos- session of him and banished all else. ‘‘ Kill him,’’ he exclaimed, ‘‘ never! He shall be as safe in my hands as if he were walking in his own fields. Kill your father, dearest? Loving you as I do, that would be impossible. I may take the rascals who are with him, I may string them up to the yard-arm, or I may sink their pirate ship with all of them in it, but your father shall be safe. Trust me for that; he shall come to no harm from me.’’ She stepped a little way from him, and some of her colour came back. For some moments she looked at him without speaking, as if she did not exactly comprehend what he had said. ‘¢ Yes, my dear,’’ he continued, ‘‘ I must erush out that piratical crew, for such is my duty as well as my wish, but your father I shall take under my protection; so have no fear about him, I beg you. With his ship and his gang of scoundrels taken away from him, he can no longer be a pirate, and you and I will deter- mine what we shall do with him.’’ ‘¢ You mean,’’ said Kate, speaking slowly, ‘* that for my sake you will shield my father from the punishment which will be dealt out to his companions? ”’ He smiled, and his face beamed upon her. ‘* What blessed words,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ Yes, 125 KATE BONNET for your sake, for your sweet, dear sake I will do anything; and as for this matter, I assure you ‘there are so many ways——”’’ “* You mean,’’ she interrupted, ‘‘ that for my sake you will break your oath of office, that you will be a traitor to your service and your king? That for my sake you will favour the fortunes of a pirate whom you are sent out to destroy? Mean it if you please, but you will not do it. I love my father, and would fain do anything to save him and myself from this great calamity, but I tell you, sir, that for my sake no man shall do himself dishonour! ”’ Without power to say another word, nor to keep back for another second the anguish which raged within her, she fled like a bird and was gone. The captain stretched out his arms as if he would seize her; he rushed to the door through which she had passed, but she was gone. He followed her, shouting to the startled servants who came; he swore, and demanded to see their mistress ; he rushed through rooms and corridors, and even made as if he would mount the stairs. Presently a woman came to him, and told him that under no circumstances could Mistress Bon- net now be seen. But he would not leave the house. He called for writing materials, but in an instant threw down the pen. Again he called a servant and sent a message, which was of no avail. Dame 126 CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCH Charter would have gone down to him, Ae reir was in her arms. For several minutes t . mele ous officer stood by the chair in hea are e been sitting; he could not comprehen oe that this girl had discarded and nea eae be And yet her scorn had ig vase en Rep 8: riolence of his love. As ; ; i. lat bitter words, the grandeur ¢ eed ree a had made him speechless to defend yee ; ee He seized his hat and rushed noe . : nar: hot, and with blazing eyes, he anes be “ counting-room of Mr. Delaplaine, git i that astounded merchant, he told, wi 7 sig cruelty, of his orders to destroy the ira mere net, his niece’s father ; and then he sur pate details of his interview with that niece pe : A Mr. Delaplaine’s countenance, at me and pained, grew gradually sterner and rain: s Presently he spoke. ‘‘ I will hear no yi e ‘ ms ; words, Captain Vincee,”’ he said, ‘* regarc — members of my family. Y ou say my “gh : se not what fortune she trifles with; I think And when she told you she would not wens dishonour, I commend accept the offer of your 5 y word.’’ os Contin Vinee frowned black as night, and clapped his hand to his sword-hilt ; but the pale ‘chant made no movement of defence, and the saa fist against the i ‘iki his clinched captain, striking table, dashed from the room. Before he reachec his ship he had sworn a solemn oath: he vowed 127 KATE BONNET that he would follow that pirate ship; he would kill, burn, destroy, annihilate, but out of the storm and the fire he would pick unharmed the father of the girl who had entranced him and had spurned him. He laughed savagely as he thought of it. With that dolt of a father in his hands, a man wearing always around his neck the hangman’s noose, he would hold the card which would give him the game. What Mistress Kate Bonnet might say or do; what she might like or might not like; what her ideas about hon- our might be or might not be, it would be a very different thing when he, her imperious lover, should hold the end of that noose in his hand. She might weep, she might rave, but come what would, she was the man’s daughter, and she would be Lady Vince. So he went on board the Badger, and he cursed and he commanded and he raged; and his officers and his men, when the hurried violence of his commands gave them a chance to speak to each other, muttered that they pitied that pi- rate and his crew when the Badger came up with them. Clouds settled down upon the home of Mr. Delaplaine. There were no visitors, there was no music, there seemed to be no sunshine. The beautiful fabrics, the jewels, and the feathers were seen no more. It was Kate of the broken heart who wandered under the trees and among the blossoms, and knew not that there existed 128 CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE such things as cooling shade and sweet fra- 5 > comforted, for, al- grance. She could not be comforted, : though her uncle told her that he had had in- formation that her father’s ship had sailed northward, and that it was, therefore, likely that the corvette would not overtake him, she could not forget that, whatever of good or evil befell that father, he was a pirate, and he had de- serted her. So they said but little, the uncle and the niece, who sorrowed quietly. aw Dame Charter was in a strange state of mind. During the frequent visits of Captain Vince she had been apprehensive and troubled, and her only comfort was that the Badger had merely touched at this port to refit, and that she must soon sail away and take with her her captain. The good woman had begun to a ana es hope for the return of Dickory, but later she ape blessed her stars that he was not there. He was a fiery boy, her brave son, but it would nee been a terrible thing for him to become involved with an officer in the navy, a man with a long, psy the captain had raged himself away from the Delaplaine house her spirits rose, and her great fear was that the corvette ts leave port before the brig came in. Tf Dic wr should hear of the things that captain had saic —but she banished such thoughts from her mind, she could not bear them. ° 129 KATE BONNET : After some days the corvette sailed, and the Governor spoke well of the diligence and ardour which: had urged Captain Vince to so quickl set out upon his path of duty. 6 : ‘“ When Dickory comes back,’’ said Dame Charter to Kate, ‘‘ he may bring some news to cheer your poor heart, things get so twisted in the telling.’’ Kate shook her head. ‘‘ Dickory cannot tell me anything now,’’ she said, ‘ that I care to know, knowing so much. My father is a pirate and a king’s ship has gone out to destroy tii, and what could Dickory tell me that would cheer me? ’’ But Dame Charter’s optimism was beginning to take heart again and to spread its wings. ‘* Ah, my dear, you don’t know what: good things do in this life continually crop up. A letter from your father, possibly withheld by that wicked Madam Bonnet—which is what Dickory and I both think—or some good words from the town that your father has sold his ship and is on his way home. Nobody knows what good news that Dickory may bring with him.’’ The poor girl actually smiled. She was young, and in the heart of youth there is always ae for some good news, or for the hope of But the smile vanished altogether when she went to her room and wrote a letter to M artin Newcombe. In this letter, which was a long one, 130 CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE she told her lover how troubled she had been. That she had nothing now to ask him about the bad news he had, in his kindness, forborne to tell her, and that when he saw Dickory Charter he might say to him from her that there was no need to make any further inquiries about her father; she knew enough, and far too much— more, most likely, than any one in Bridgetown knew. Then she told him of Captain Vince and the dreadful errand of the corvette Badger. Having done this, Kate became as brave as any captain of a British man-of-war, and she told her lover that he must think no more of her; it was not for him to pay court to the daughter of a pirate. And so, she blessed him and bade him farewell. When she had signed and sealed this letter she felt as if she had torn out a chapter of her young life and thrown it upon the fire. CHAPTER XI BAD WEATHER Ss A. ™_ As tien Dickory Charter sailed Va Y, away from the island of Ja- maica, his reason, had it been called upon, would have told him that he had a good stout brig under him on which there were peo- ple and ropes and sails and something to eat and drink. But in those moments of paradise he did not trouble his reason very much, and lived in an atmosphere of joy which he did not attempt to analyze, but was content to breathe as if it had been the common air about him. He was going away from every one he loved, and yet never before had he been so happy in going to any one he loved. He cared to talk to no one on board, but in company with his joy he stood and gazed westward out over the sea. He was but little younger than she was, and yet that difference, so slight, had lifted him from things of earth and had placed him in that para- dise where he now dwelt. 132 BAD WEATHER So passed on the hours, so rolled the waves, and so moved the King and Queen before the avouring breeze. It ia on the second day out that the beaten began to be less favouring, and there were signs of a storm; and, in spite of his preoccupied con- dition, Dickory was obliged to notice the hurried talk of the officers about him, he occupyiny a point of vantage on the quarter-deck. I tested he turned and asked of some one if there was likelihood of bad weather. The mate, to whom he had spoken, said somewhat be aparece ‘¢ Bad weather enough, I take it, as we may al soon know; but it is not wind or rain. nein is bad weather for you! Do you see that? Dickory looked, and saw far away, but still distinct, a vessel under full sail with a little black spot floating high above it. i He turned to the man for explanation. ‘‘ And i 2??? he said. what is that? ‘‘ Tt is a pirate ship,’’ said the other, his face i kegii ig it will soon be hardening as he spoke, ‘‘ and it will s ? i ve to. firing at us to heave t At that moment there was a flash at the bow of the approaching vessel, a little smoke, and then the report of a cannon came over the water. Without further delay, the captain and crew of the King and Queen went to work and hove to their brig. Young Dickory Charter also hove to. He did not know exactly why, but his dream stopped 133 KATE BONNET sailing over a sea of delight. They stood motion- less, their sails flapping in the wind. ‘ Pirates! ’’ he thought to himself, cold shivers running through him, “ is this brig to be taken? Am I to be taken? Am I not to go to Barbadoes, to Bridgetown, her home? Am I not to take her back the good news which will make her happy? Are these things possible? ’’ He stared over the water, he saw the swiftly approaching vessel, he could distinguish the skull and bones upon the black flag which flew above her. These things were possible, and his heart fell ; but it was not with fear. Dickory Charter was as bold a fellow as ever stood on the deck in a sea fight, but his heart fell at the thought that he might not be going to her old home, and that he might not sail back with good news to her. As the swift-sailing pirate ship sped on, Ben Greenway came aft to Captain Bonnet, and a grievous grin was on the Scotchman’s face. “* Good greetin’s to ye, Master Bonnet,’’ said he, ‘‘ ye’re truly good to your old friends an’ neebours an’ pass them not by, even when your pockets are burstin’ wi’ Spanish gold.’’ A minute before this Captain Stede Bonnet had been in a very pleasant state of mind. It was only two days ago that he had captured a Spanish ship, from which he got great gain, in- cluding considerable stores of gold. Everything 134 BAD WEATHER of value had been secured, the tall sciint been burned, and its crew had been iphone on a barren spot on the coast of San citi The spoils had been divided, at least ery Poa knew what his share was to be, and the . ce and the crew of the Revenge were in a _ dle tented state of mind. In fact, Copan Ao would not have sailed after a little br ig, - _—_ unsuited to carry costly cargo, had it we fits that his piratical principle made it vey 6 a point of conscience to prey upon al ee craft, little or big, which might come = . Son Thus it was, that he was sailing merrily “~ the King and Queen, when Ben Greenway ca to him with his disturbing words. be ‘¢ What mean you? ’’ cried Bonnet. rh ue saital dank the companion-way ue ce ne: There, with her door shut, she oe nee ' ‘] n lea ancl, is was the letter, written 10 ! ; ) ‘ects st bold hand, with some ane partly np: dimmed where the paper had been damp She stood, holding tl he had to tell her the life I write to you 6“ At the very end of oe love that ever that you have escaped a hall carry this love aman had for a woman. 1 § I but you have P if it may be, ith me to hell, if it may ; and now sac cal it. This escape 18 4 Aypbind ~ as ape Ree re ed ive it to you. ” that I cannot help it I give ct ‘of every one lived, I should have shed whips you would have A ; gain you and yu" | whom you loved to g¢ w for dying. cursed me. So love me ne Sele ‘‘ Yours, anywhere and alway, 9? ‘¢ CyRISTOPHER VINCE. 343 KATE BONNET Kate put down the letter and some colour came into her face; she bowed her head in thank- ful prayer. ‘“ He is dead,’’ she said, ‘‘ and now he can- not harm my father.’’? That was the only thought she had regarding this hot-brained and infatu- ated lover. He was dead, her father was safe from him. How he died, how Dickory came to bring the letter, how anything had happened that had happened except the death of Captain Vinee, did not at this moment concern her. Not until now had she known how the fear of the vengeful captain of the Badger had constantly been with her. Over and over again Dickory told his tale to his mother. She interrupted him so much with her embraces that he could not explain things clearly to her, but she did not care, she had him with her. He was with her, and she had fast hold of him, and she would never let him go again. What mattered it what sort of clothes he wore, or where he had escaped from—a fam- ily on a desert island or from a pirate crew? She had him, and her happiness knew no bounds. Dickory was perfectly willing to stay with her and to talk to her. He did not care to be with anybody else, not even with Mistress Kate, who had taken so much interest in him all the time he had been away; though, of course, not so much interest as his own dear mother. Then the good Dame Charter, being greatly 844 THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER an to talk of herself. over her various boy, in strictest recovered and so happy, beg Slipping in a —. y ahs xperiences, she told he ia on teenie that she was very ace Hage ge™ in the way pirates took ships. as oi eee en was going to be something very este" She ~ she would remember to the end of her 5 4 in wake up in the middle of the night e “ — when she thought of it, but it was Dot see! es kind; not a shot was fired, not a drop f) ae shed; there was not even a shout o . ae scream for mercy. It was all like going i the pantry to get the flour and stir tn hes ° was all the time waiting for somet peal ap ' pen, and nothing Aso a Dickory smiled, : srgg wage pa at such piracy,”’ he said, ‘ but supposed, dear mother, that ee eve: had taken that ship in the usual way, eing a? = yes this he was clasped so tightly to his moth- si ast that he could say no more. er pop aie plied steadily between ies two ed sels, and on one of the trips Mr. Dene ae ie over to the brig on business, and also g - : escape for a little the dreaded interview which must soon come between himself and his nies << Now, sir,’’ said the merchant to the captain ’ J of the brig, ‘‘ you will make a bill inp for the provisions which are being taken 4 at pirate, but I hope you have reserved a sufficien 28 345 KATE BONNET store of food for your own maintenance until you reach a port, and that of myself and two women who wish to sail with you, craving most earnestly that you will land us in Jamaica or in some place convenient of access to that island.’’ ‘¢ Which I can do,’’ said the captain, ‘‘ for I am bound to Kingston; and as to subsistence, shall have plenty.’’ On the brig Mr. Delaplaine found Captain Ichabod, who had come over to superintend oper- ations, and who was now talking to the pretty girl who had seized him by the arm when he was about to slay the naval officer. ‘¢ T would talk with you, captain,’’ said the merchant, ‘‘ on a matter of immediate import.’’ And he led the pirate away from the pretty girl. The matter to be discussed was, indeed, of deep import. ‘¢ T am loath to say it, sir,’’? said Mr. Dela- plaine, ‘‘ when I think of the hospitality and most exceptional kindness with which you have treated me and my niece, and for which we shall feel grateful all our lives, but I think you will agree with me that it would be useless for us to pursue the search after that most reprehen- sible person, my brother-in-law, Bonnet. There ean be no doubt, I believe, that he and Black- beard have left the vicinity of Charles Town, and have gone, we know not where.”’ ‘No doubt of that, bedad,’’ said Ichabod, 846 THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER knitting his brows as he spoke; ‘‘ if Blackbeard had been outside the harbour, this brig would not have been here.’’ ; ‘« And, therefore, sir,’’ continued Mr. Dela- plaine, ‘‘ I have judged it to be wise, and in- deed necessary, for us to part company with you, sir, and to take passage on this brig, which, by a most fortunate chance, is bound for Kingston. My niece, I know, will be greatly disappointed by this course of events, but we have no choice but to fall in with them.”’ ‘‘T don’t like to agree with you,’’ said the captain, ‘‘ but, bedad, I am bound to do it. I am disappointed myself, sir, but I have been dis- appointed so often that I suppose I ought to be used to it. If I had caught up with Blackbeard I should have been all right, and after I had settled your affairs—and I know I could have done that—I think I would have joined him. But all I can do now is to hammer along at the business, take prizes in the usual way, and wait for Blackbeard to come south again, and then I'll either sell out or join him.”’ ‘< It is a great pity, sir,”’ said Mr. Delaplaine, “a great pity ” ‘““ Yes, it is,’’ interrupted Ichabod, ‘‘ it’s a very great pity, sir, a very great pity. If I had known more about ships when T bought the Rest- less I would have had a faster craft, and by this time I might have been a man of comfortable means. But that sloop over there, bedad, is so 347 KATE BONNET slow, that many a time, sir, I have seen a fat merchantman sail away from her and leave us, in spite of our guns, cursing and swearing, miles behind. I am sorry to have you leave me, sir, and with your ladies; but, as you say, here’s your chance to get home, and I don’t know when I could give you another.’’ Mr. Delaplaine replied courteously and grate- fully, and by the next boat he went back to the Restless. Captain Ichabod, his brow still cloud- ed by the approaching separation, walked over to Lucilla and continued his conversation with her about the island of Barbadoes, a subject of which he knew very little and she nothing. When Kate returned to the deck she found Dickory alone, Dame Charter having gone to talk to the cook about the wonderful things which had happened, of which she knew very little and he nothing at all. ‘« Dickory,’’ said Kate, ‘‘ I want to talk to you, and that quickly. I have heard nothing of what has happened to you. How did you get possession of the letter you brought me, and what do you know of Captain Vince? ’’ ‘* T can tell you nothing,’’ he said, without looking at her, ‘‘ until you tell me what I ought to know about Captain Vince.’’ And as he said this he could not help wondering in his heart that there were no signs of grief about her. ‘* Ought to know? ’’ she repeated, regarding him earnestly. ‘‘ Well, you and I have been al- 848 ways good friends, and I will tell you.” And then she told him the story of the captain of the Badger; of his love-making and of his commis- sion to sail upon the sea and destroy the pirate hip R and all on board of her. ¥ : Ke patho, she said, as she concluded, ‘‘ I think it would be well for you to read this let- ter.’’? And she handed him the missive,he had carried so long and the bold, uneven lin looked upon her, his ing sky. ee Then you have never loved him?’’ he with such pain. He read es, and then he turned and face shining like the morn- gasped. : ‘¢ Why should I? ”’ said Kate. In spite of the fact that there were a great man ople on board that pirate sloop who orn gH in spite of the fact that there were people in boats plying upon the water who might notice his actions, Dickory fell upon his knees before Kate, and, seizing her hand, he pressed it to his lips. : “¢ Why should I? ”’ said Kate, quietly draw- ing her hand from him, ‘‘ for I have a devoted lover already—Master Martin Newcombe, of Barbadoes.”’ : Dickory, repulsed, rose to his feet, but his face did not lose its glow. He had heard so much about Martin Newcombe that he had ceased to mind him. ‘¢ No think of it! ’’ he cried, ‘‘ to think how 349 KATE BONNET I stood and watched him fight; how I admired and marvelled at his wonderful strength and skill, his fine figure, and his flashing eye! How my soul went out to him, how I longed that he might kill that scoundrel Blackbeard! And all the time he was your enemy, he was my enemy, he was a viler wretch than even the bloody pirate who killed him. Oh, Kate, Kate! if I had but known.”’ ‘* Miss Kate, if you please,’’ said the girl. ‘¢ And it is well, Dickory, you did not know, for then you might have jumped upon him and stuck him in the back, and that would have been dis- honourable.’’ ‘* He thought,’’ said Dickory, not in the least abashed by his reproof, ‘‘ that the Revenge was commanded by your father, for he sprang upon the deck, shouting for the captain, and when he saw Blackbeard I heard him exclaim in surprise, ‘ A sugar-planter! ’ ’’ ** And he would have killed my father? ”’ said Kate, turning pale at the thought. ‘*« Yes,’’ replied Dickory, ‘‘ he would have killed any man except the great Blackbeard. And to think of it! I stood there watching them, and wishing that vile Englishman the victory. Oh, Kate! you should have seen that wonderful pirate fight. No man could have stood before him.’’ Then, with sparkling eyes and waving arms, he told her of the combat. When he had fin- ished, the souls of these two young people were 350 united in an overpower reverence, for the prowe wicked and bloody pirate tain of the Badger. THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER ng admiration, almost ss and strength of the who had slain the cap- When Mr. Delaplaine came on board, Kate, who had been waiting, took him aside. 4 le,”? she exclaimed, * I have great "gars Vince is dead. At last he came up with the Revenge, but instead of finding xo father in command he found Blackbeard, who killed him. Now my father is safe!’ : The good man scarcely knew what to say to this bright-faced girl, whose father’s safety was all the world to her. If he had heard that his worthless and wicked brother-in-law had been killed, it would have been trouble and sorrow for the present, but it would have been peace for the future. But he was a Christian gentleman and a loving uncle, and he banished this thought from his heart. He listened to Kate as she rapidly went on talking, but he did not hear her ; his mind was busy with the news he had to tell her—the news that she must give up her loving search and go back with him to Spanish Town. <¢ And now, uncle,’’ said Kate, ‘‘ there’s an- other thing I want to say to you. Since this great grief has been lifted from my soul, since I know that no wrathful and vindictive captain of a man-of-war is scouring the seas, armed with au- thority to kill my father and savage for his life, I feel that it is not right for me to put other 35) people who are so good to me to sad discomfort and great expense to try to follow my father into regions far away, and to us almost un- known. ‘* Some day he will come back into this part of the world, and I hope he may return dis- heartened and weary of his present mode of life, and then I may have a better chance of winning him back to the domestic life he used to love somuch. But he is safe, uncle, and that is every- thing now, and so I came to say to you that I think it would be well for us to relieve this kind Captain Ichabod from the charges and labours he has taken upon himself for our sakes and, if it be possible, engage that ship yonder to take us back to Jamaica; she was sailing in that diree- tion, and her captain might be induced to touch at Kingston. This is what I have been thinking about, dear uncle, and do you not agree with me? ”” High rose the spirits of the good Mr. Dela- plaine; banished was all the overhanging black- ness of his dreaded interview with Kate. The sky was bright, her soul was singing songs of joy and thankfulness, and his soul might join her. He never appreciated better than now the blessings which might be shed upon humanity by the death of a bad man. His mind even gambolled a little in his relief. *“ But, Kate,’’ he said, ‘if we leave that kind Captain Ichabod, and he be not restrained 852 THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER , dear, he will return to ae aptures will by our presence, ; : Balak his former evil ways, and his mene epee not be like this one, but like ordinary piracies, : ; ‘v sinful in every way. e ‘¢ Unele,’’ said Kate, it i k of one y face, ‘‘ it is too much to ask | 1s girl to undertake the responsibilities of two pirates ; looking up into his oung girl I hope some day to be of benefit to wy toe father, but when it comes to Captain Ichabod, kind as he has been, I am afraid I pergengr let him go and manage the affairs of his for himself.’’ Her uncle smiled upon her. Now that he pie to go back to his home and take this dear gir with him, he was ready to smile at almost any- thing. That he thought one pirate much better worth saving than the other, and that his ay did not agree with that of his niece, was no for him even to think about at such a happy moment. It was not long after this conversation that the largest boat belonging to the Restless was rowed over to the brig, and in it sat, not only Kate, Dame Charter, and Dickory, but Captain ' Tehabod, who would accompany his guests to take proper leave of them. The crew of the pi- rate sloop crowded themselves along her sides, and even mounted into her shrouds, waving their hats and shouting as the boat moved away. The cook was the loudest shouter, and his ragged hat waved highest. And, as Dame Charter shook her handkerchief above her head and gazed back 353 KATE BONNET at her savage friend, there was a moisture in her eyes. Up to this moment she never would have believed that she would have grieved to depart from a pirate vessel and to leave behind a pirate cook. Lucilla watched carefully the newcomers as they ascended to the deck of the Black Swan. ‘¢ That is the girl,’’ she said to herself, ‘‘ and I am not surprised.”’ A little later she remarked to Captain Icha- bod, who sat by her: ‘‘ Are they mother and daughter, those two? ”’ ““ Oh, no,’’ said he. ‘‘ Mistress Bonnet is too fine a lady and too beautiful to be daughter to that old woman, who is her attendant and the mother of the young fellow in the cocked hat.’’ ‘* Too fine and beautiful! ’’? repeated Lucilla. ‘< T greatly grieve to leave you all,’’ contin- ued the young pirate captain, ‘‘ although some of you I have known so short a time. It will be very lonely when I sail away with none to speak to save the bloody dogs I command, who may yet throttle me. And it is to Barbadoes you go to settle with your family? ”’ ‘‘ That is our destination,’’ said Lucilla, ‘“ but I know not if we shall find the money to settle there; we were taken by pirates and lost everything.”’ Now the captain of the brig came up to Icha- bod and informed him that the goods he -de- manded had been delivered on board his vessel, 354 and that the brig was ready to sail. time for leave-t THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER It was the aking, but Ichabod was tardy. Presently he approached Kate, and drew her to one side. i s voice was hes1- ‘« Dear lady,’’ he said, and his voice W tating, while a slight flush of erence noe appeared on his face, ‘* you may me es dear lady,’’ he repeated, “‘ you may have — A that so fair a being as yourself should have a ; tracted during the days we have sailed together —may have attracted, bedad, | mean—the de- clared admiration even of a fellow like myself, we being so much together ; but I had heard your story, fair lady, and of the courtship paid you by Captain Vince of the corvette Badger—whose family I knew in England—and, acknowledg- ing his superior claims, L constantly refrained, though not without great effort (I must say that much for myself, fair lady), from—from te «« Addressing me, I suppose you mean,’’ said Kate. ‘‘ What you say, kind captain, redounds to your honour, and I thank you for your noble consideration, but I feel bound to tell you that there was never anything between me and Cap- tain Vince, and he is now dead.”’ The young pirate stepped back suddenly and opened wide his eyes. ‘‘ What! ’’ he exclaimed, ‘« and all the time you were——”’ ‘¢ Not free,’’ she interrupted with a smile, ‘¢ foy I have a lover on the island of Barba- does.’’ 355 KATE BONNET ‘* Barbadoes,’’ repeated Captain Ichabod, and he bade Kate a most courteous farewell. All the good-byes had been said and good wishes had been wished, when, just as he was about to descend to his boat, Captain Ichabod turned to Lucilla. ‘‘ And it is truly to Barba- does you go? ”’ he asked. ‘* Yes,’’ said she, ‘‘ I think we shall certainly do that.’’ Now his face flushed. ‘‘ And do you care for that fellow in the cocked hat? ’’ Here was a cruel situation for poor Lucilla. She must lie or lose two men. She might lose them anyway, but she would not do it of her own free will, and so she lied. ““ Not a whit! ’’ said Lucilla. The eyes of Ichabod brightened as he went down the side of the brig. CHAPTER XXXUT ‘ 0} CULT BLACKBEARD GIVES GREENWAY SOME DIFFI Sa HE great pirat , 1n- 1 active and taking his ease, was 3 seated on the quarter-deck of his fine vessel, on which he had lately done some sharp work off the harbour of Charles Town. He was now commanding a small fleet. Besides the ship on which he sailed, he had two other vessels, well manned and well laden with sup- plies from his recent captures. Satisfied with conquest, he was sailing northward to one of his favourite resorts on the North Carolina coast. To this conquering hero now came Ben Greenway, the Scotchman, touching his hat. ‘¢ And what do you want? ’’ cried the burly pirate. ‘‘ Haven’t they given you your prize- money yet, or isn’t it enough? ”’ ‘¢ Prize-money! ’’ exclaimed Greenway. ‘‘ I hae none o’ it, nor will I hae any. What money T hae—an’ it is but littkek—came to me fairly.”’ ‘¢ Oho! ’? eried Blackbeard, ‘‘ and you have 357 KATE BONNET money then, have you? Is it enough to make it worth my while to take it? ’’ ‘* Ye can count it an’ see, whenever ye like,”’ said Ben. ‘‘ But it isna money that I came to talk to ye about. I came to ask ye, at the first convenient season, to put me on board that ship out there, that I may be in my rightful place by the side o’ Master Bonnet.’’ ** And what good are you to him, or he to you,’’ asked the pirate, with a fine long oath, ** that I should put myself to that much trou- ble? ’’ ‘* T have the responsibeelity 0’ his soul on my hands,’’ said Ben, ‘‘ an’ since we left Charles Town I hae not seen him, he bein’ on ane ship an’ I on anither.”’ ‘* And very well that is too,’’? said Black- beard, ‘‘ for I like each of you better separate. And now look ye, me kirk bird, you have not done very well with your ‘ responsibeelities ’ so far, and you might as well make up your mind to stop trying to convert that sneak of a Night- cap and take up the business of converting me. I’m in great need of it, I can tell you.’’ ** You! ’’ cried Ben. ‘“T tell you, yes,’’ shouted Blackbeard, ‘ it is I, myself, that I am talking about. I want to be converted from the evil of my ways, and I have made up my mind that you shall do it. You are a good and a pious man, and it is not often that I get hold of one of that kind; or, if 358 DIFFICULT WORK FOR GREENWAY I do, I slice off his head before I discover his quality.”’ ‘‘ 7] fear me,’’ said the truthful Scotchman, © thi , job is beyond my abeelity.’’ vost neh of it, not a bit of it,”’ shouted the ‘<1 am fifty times easier to work — than that Nightcap man of yours, and a pepe times better worth the trouble. I put no elev in that downfaced farmer. When he shouts loudest for the black flag he is most likely to go into priestly orders, and the better 1s he vd the quicker is he to rob and murder. He 1s 0 the kind the devil wants, but it is of no use for any one to show him the way there, he is well able to find it for himself. But it is different with me, you canny Scotchman, it is different with me. I am an open-handed and an open- mouthed scoundrel, and I never pretended to be anything else. When you begin reforming me you will find your work half done.”’ The Scotchman shook his head. ‘‘ I fear me—’’ he said. ‘¢ No, you don’t fear yourself,’’ cried Black- beard, ‘‘ and I won’t have it; I don’t want any of that lazy piety on board my vessel. If you don’t reform me, and do it rightly, I’ll slice off both your ears.’’ ; At this moment a man came aft, carrying a ereat tankard of mixed drink. Blackbeard took it and held it in his hand. ‘¢ Now then, you balking chaplain,’’ he cried, 359 pirate. KATE BONNET ‘* here’s a chance for you to begin. What would you have me do? Drain off this great mug and go slashing among my crew, or hurl it, mug and all——’”’ ‘* Nay, nay,’’ cried Greenway, ‘‘ but rather give half o’ it to me; then will it no’ disturb your brain, an’ mine will be comforted.”’ “* Heigho! ’’ cried Blackbeard. ‘‘ Truly you are a better chaplain than I thought you. Drain half this mug and then, by all the powers of heaven and hell, you shall convert me. Now, look ye,’’ said the pirate, when the mug was empty, ‘‘ and hear what a brave repentance I have already begun. I am tired, my gay gar- dener, of all these piracies; I have had enough of them. Even now, my spoils and prizes are greater than I can manage, and why should I strive to make them more? I told you of my young lieutenant, who ran away and who gave his carcass to the birds of prey rather than sail with me and marry my strapping daughter. I liked that fellow, Greenway, and if he had known what was well for him there might be some rea- son for me to keep on piling up goods and money, but there’s cursed little reason for it now. I have merchandise of value at Belize and much more of it in these ships, besides money from Charles Town which ought to last an honest gen- tleman for the rest of his days.’’ “* Ay,’’ said Ben, ‘‘ but an honest gentleman is sparing of his expenditures.”’ 360 DIFFICULT WORK FOR GREENWAY ‘¢ And you think I am not that kind of a nae do you? ’’ shouted the pirate. or But let “ve you this. I am sailing now for Topsal In 7 ‘ on the North Carolina coast, and I am going to run in there, disperse this fleet, sell my goods, and. 72 ‘‘ Be hanged? ’’ interpolated Greenway ue Not a bit of it, you croaking crow! ’? roared the pirate. ‘‘ Not a bit of it. Don’t yon ners you dull-head, that our good King George has issued a proclamation to the Brethren of the Coast to come in and behave themselves like honest citizens and receive their pardon? I have done that once, and so I know all about it; but I backslid, showing that my conversion was badly ra It must hae been a poor hand that did the job for ye,’’ said Greenway, ‘‘ for truly the con- version washed off in the first rain.’’ The pirate laughed a great laugh. ‘‘ The fact is,’’? he said, ‘‘ I did the work myself, and knowing nothing about it made a bad botch. of it, but this time it will be different. I am going to give the matter into your hands, and I shall expect you to do it well. If I become not an honest gentleman this time you shall pay for it, first with your ears and then with your head.’’ ‘* An’ ye’re goin’ to keep me by ye? ’’ said Greenway, with an expression not of the best. ‘¢ Truly so,’? said Blackbeard. ‘‘I shall 24 361 ii tc RT et MEE KATE BONNET make you my clerk as long as I am a pirate, for I have much writing and figuring work to be done, and after that you shall be my chaplain. And whether or not your work will be easier than it is now, it is not for me to say.’’ The Scotchman was about to make an ex- clamation which might not have been compli- mentary, but he restrained himself. ‘¢ An’ Master Bonnet? ’’ he asked. ‘‘ If ye go out 0’ piracy he may go too, and take the oath.’’ ‘« Of course he may,’’ cried the pirate, ‘‘ and of course he shall; I will see to that myself. Then I will give him back his ship, for I don’t want it, and let him become an honest mer- chant.’’ ‘¢ Give him back his ship! ’’ exclaimed Green- way, his countenance downcast. ‘‘ That will be puttin’ into his hands the means 0’ beginnin’ again a life o’ sin. I pray ye, don’t do that.”’ Blackbeard leaned back and laughed. ‘‘ I swear that I thought it would be one of the very first steps in conversion for me to give back to the fellow the ship which is his own and which I have taken from him. But fear not, my noble pirate’s clerk; he is not the man that I am; he is a vile coward, and when he has taken the oath he will be afraid to break. it. More- over i! ‘¢ And if, with that ship,’’ said Greenway, his eyes beginning to sparkle, ‘‘ he become an honest merchant 46 362 DIFFICULT WORK FOR GREENWAY ‘‘ T don’t trust him,’’ said Blackbeard ; ‘“ he is a knave and a sharper, and there 1s no truth in him. But when you have settled up my busi- ness, my clerk, and have gotten me well con- verted, I will send you away with him, and yon shall take up again the responsibility of his soul.’’ The Scotchman clapped his horny hands to- gether. ‘‘ And once I get him back to Bridge- town, I will burn his cursed ship! ”’ ‘‘ Heigho! ’’ cried Blackbeard, ‘‘ and that will be your way of converting him? You know your business, my royal chaplain, you know it well.’? And with that he gave Greenway a tre- mendous slap on the back which would have dashed to the deck an ordinary man, but Ben Greenway was a Scotchman, tough as a yew-tree. CHAPTER XXXIV CAPTAIN THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAMES HEN Blackbeard’s little fleet anchored in Topsail Inlet, Stede Bonnet, who had not been in- formed of the intentions of the pirate, was a good deal puzzled. Since joining Blackbeard’s fleet in the vessel which came up from Belize, Bonnet had considered himself very shabbily treated, and his reasons for that opin- ion were not bad. During the engagements off Charles Town his services had not been re- quired and his opinion had not been consulted, Blackbeard having no use for the one and no respect for the other. The pirate captain had taken a fancy to Ben Greenway, while his con- tempt for the Scotchman’s master increased day by day; and it was for this reason that Green- way had been taken on board the flag-ship, while Bonnet remained on one of the smaller vessels. Bonnet was in a discontented and somewhat sulky mood, but when Blackbeard’s full plans were made known to him and he found that he might again resume command of his own vessel, 364 AL JAMES CAPT. THOMAS OF THE ROY chose to do so, his eyes began the Revenge, if he to sparkle once more. Ben Greenway soon resumed his former posl- tion with Bonnet, for it did not take reser very long to settle up his affairs, an i 7 mo short time he became tired of vee — a version; or, to speak more correct eae! aug of talking about it. Bonnet was ae = a a the Scotchman back again, althoug mt Es ceased to declare his desire to get rl i i Iper; for, when the Re- Fart preg erigveeng hands, there were me in le to hel many things to be done, and few people p him do it. ‘< Tt will be merch b time,’’ said Ben, ‘‘ an’ ye ; as your piracies, though safer. An’ sgt be off to see the Governor an’ hae got your } ; ? it’ll be a happy day, Master Age i bn sei ? for your bro -in- for your daughter, an’ tor y as aie an’ everybody in Bridgetown W spected ye.”’ ‘ aes No ive of that,’? cried Bonnet. ** I did not say I was going to Bridgetown, or that I wanted anybody there to respect me. Tt is my purpose to fit out the Revenge as a privateer and get a commission to sail in her in the war between Spain and the Allies. This will be much more to my taste, Ben Greenway, than trading in sugar and hides.’’ Greenway was very grave. 365 andise an’ fair trade this 1] find it no’ so easy KATE BONNET ‘* There is so little difference,’’ said he, ‘‘ be- tween a privateer an’ a pirate that it is a great strain on a common mind to keep them separate ; but a commission from the king is better than a commission from the de’il, an’ we’ll hope there won’t be much o’ a war after all is said an’ done.”’ There was not much intercourse between Blackbeard and Bonnet at Topsail Inlet. The pirate was on very good terms with the author- ities at that place, who for their own sakes cared not much to interfere with him, and Bonnet had his own work in hand and industriously engaged in it. He went to Bath and got his pardon; he procured a clearance for St. Thomas, where he freely announced his intention to take out a com- mission as privateer, and he fitted out his ves- sel as best he could. Of men he had not many, but when he left the inlet he sailed down to an island on the coast, where Blackbeard, having had too many men on his return from Charles Town, had marooned a large number of the sailors belonging to his different crews, finding this the easiest way of getting rid of them. Bon- net took these men on board with the avowed intention of taking them to St. Thomas, and then he set sail upon the high seas as free and un- trammelled as a fish-hawk sweeping over the surface of a harbour with clearance papers tied to his leg. Stede Bonnet had changed very much since 366 CAPT. THOMAS OF T he last trod the qu her captain. He w ; at, and he put on fewer he issued fact, he had learned m™ : pa of navigation and the manag and was far b me he had ever been before. HE ROYAL J AMES arter-deck of the Revenge = as not so important to look airs of authority, but ereat many more commands. in poe uch about a sailor’s life, : ent of a vessel, ip than " to command a ship ora He had had a long of a pirate captain, and les- he had not failed to take igre Pe rae “ sons which had been involuntaruy Z evireaee 4 ‘an scoundrels who had held hir net pa vt. He was now, to a great extent, a out sane r well as captain of the Revenge ; os Canadas who was much given to that sor i vice of thing, undertook to offer Bonnet some advice in regard to his course. Di ‘©T am no sailor,”’ said ne, Aube hart when I see it, an’ it 1s my eprens lanl no need o’ your sailin’ so far to the oncom ye turn about southward. There is i ickin’ rom the coast be- naething much stickin out fi re an’ St. Thomas.”’ Sean 1oened at the Scotchman with lofty rest from the position contempt. ee oe ne, ‘* wha ‘< Perhaps you can tell me, said he, there is stickin’ out from the coast between here and Ocracoke Inlet, where you yourself told me that Blackbeard had gone with the one sloop he sept for himself? ”’ et Blackbeard! ’’ shouted the Scotchman, 367 KATE BONNET ‘‘ an’ what in the de’il have ye got to do wi’ Blackbeard? ”’ “* Do with that infernal dog? ’’ cried Bonnet, ‘* T have everything to do with him before T do aught with anybody or anything besides. He stole from me my possessions, he degraded me from my position, he made me a laughing-stock to my men, and he even made me blush and bow my head with shame before my daughter and my brother-in-law, two people in whose sight I would have stood up grander and bolder than before any others in the world. He took away from me my sword and he gave me instead a wretched pen; he made me nothing where I had been everything. He even ceased to consider me any more than if I had been the dirty deck under his feet. And then, when he had done with my property and could get no more good out of it, he cast it to me in charity as a man would toss a penny to a beggar. Before T gail anywhere else, Ben Greenway,’’ continued Bonnet, ‘‘ I sail for Ocracoke Inlet, and when I sight Black- beard’s miserable little sloop I shall pour broad- side after broadside into her until I sink his wretched craft with his bedizened carcass on board of it.’’ ** But wi’ your men stand by ye? ’’ cried Greenway. ‘‘ Ye’re neither a pirate nor a vessel 0’ war to enter into a business like that.’ Bonnet swore one of his greatest oaths. “There is no business nor war for me, Ben 368 ES CAPT. THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAM c y “] i av ug ht G . he eried, a until I hav e€ ta £ reenwa ; tha e 3 3; Ww I of man ac ie ‘ Ee AH of Master Bonnet sinking him,’’ he said to n If. ““ and would be kind enough to maroon my self, aa the best for every- old master an’ me, it might be t is vera humble- : ne body after all. Master Bon a ade minded an’ complacent when é a ed on him, an’ it is my opeemon tha up ; . i , od 0’ island I could weel manage him for the go satire’ ruise. ro But there were no vessels sunk on that ¢ here, and Blackbeard had gone, opine ampere a time Bonnet gave up aren a goer and turned his bow southwar d. eens” Il be a glad day at Spanish Town when i ' tter.’” i Kate shall get my letter.” i‘ seaport have you been writing to her? i nnet. en a her,’’ said Ben Greenway, ‘‘ how at se ind, an’ how last ye hae come to your right m aay: 8 e are a true servant o’ the king, wi’ your pa heat 2ket an’ your commission waitin don in your pocket an’ y itn for ye at St. Thomas, an’ that, whatever else ye may do at sea, there’ll be no more Ae = i } < wob- floatin’ over your head, nor a see-saw p . : blin’ under the feet 0’ onybody else. 1e day 369 KATE BONNET 0’ your piracies are over, an’ ye’re an honest mon once more.’’ ‘* You wrote her that? ’’ said Bonnet, with a frown. ‘* Ay,’’ said Greenway, ‘‘ an’ I left it in the care 0’ a good mon, whose ship is weel on its way to Kingston by this day.’’ That afternoon Captain Bonnet called all his men together and addressed them. He made a very good speech, a better one than that delivered when he first took real com- mand of the Revenge after sailing out of the river at Bridgetown, and it was listened to with respectful and earnest interest. In brief man- ner he explained to all on board that he had thrown to the winds all idea of merchandising or privateering; that his pardon and his ship’s clearance were of no value to him except he should happen to get into some uncomfortable predicament with the law; that he had no idea of sailing towards St. Thomas, but intended to proceed up the coast to burn and steal and rob and slay wherever he might find it convenient to do so; that he had brought the greater part of his crew from the desert island where Black- beard had left them because he knew that they were stout and reckless fellows, just the sort of men he wanted for the piratical cruise he was about to begin; and that, in order to mislead any government authorities who by land or sea might seek to interfere with him, he had changed the 370 OF THE ROYAL J AMES CAPT. THOMAS old Revenge to the Royal ain, once Stede Bonnet, was ard and everywhere else as Captain Thomas, with nothing aaa — He concluded by saying that all einai es done on that ship from the time she first ho1 i sent moment was noth- black flag until the presen oe at all compared to the fire and the blood and i eollow in the wake of he booty which should fo iad pi A vessel, the Royal James, command Captain Thomas. a Ta ne looked at each other, but did not say much. They were all pirates, iganay rere of them had regularly started out on a es - career, and there was nothing new oars this sort of piratical dishonour. In a oer eruise after Blackbeard their new cap mel "> shown himself to be a apc _ sg bigee aw very certain about W tk <. Sera Stede Bonnet candy gen up the Jolly Roger, he might do it for all they d. pare. Ben Greenway sat apart, his head bowed upon his hands. ; Z ‘You seem to be in a bad case, old Ben, said Bonnet, gazing down upon him, ‘‘ but you throw yourself into needless trouble. As soon as I lay hold of some craft which I am willing shall eo away with a sound hull, 1 will put you on board of her and let you go back to the farm. T will keep you. no a among these wicked 37 name of the good James, while its capt now to be known on bo KATE BONNET people, B Z i i 1 ee ” en Greenway, and in this wicked Ben shook his head. ‘‘ I 1 shook tas i started wi’ ye an’ . tay wi ye, said he, ‘‘ an’ I’ll follow Fini the era gates o’ hell, but farther than that, Master Bonnet, I wil ; does yd hae Ina go; at the gates o’ hell I CHAPTER XXXV A CHAPTER or HAPPENINGS R happiness with a flaw in it, Ca it .was a very fair happiness ad which now hung over the Dela- plaine home near Spanish Town. Kate Bonnet’s father was still a pirate, but there was no Cap- f him, seeking his tain Vince in hot pursuit 0 blood. Kate could sing with the birds and laugh with Dickory whenever she thought of the death of the wicked enemy. This was not, it may be thought, a proper joy for a young heart, but it came to Kate whether she or not; the change was 80 great from the fear which had possessed her before. ' The old home life began again, although it was a very quiet life. Dickory went into Mr. Delaplaine’s counting-house, but it was hard for the young man to doff the naval uniform which had been bestowed upon him by Blackbeard, for he knew he looked very well in it, and everybody else thought so and told him so; but it could not be helped, and with all convenient speed he dis- 373 KATE BONNET carded his cocked hat and all the rest of it, and clothed himself in the simple garb of a mer- chant’s clerk, although it might be said, that in all the West Indies, at that day, there was no clerk so good-looking as was Dickory. Dame Charter was so thankful that her boy had come safely through all his troubles, so proud of him, and so eminently well satisfied with his present position, that she asked nothing of her particular guardian angel but that Stede Bonnet might stay away. If, after tiring of piracy, that man came back, as his relatives wished him to do, the good dame was sure he would make mischief of some sort, and as like as not in the direction of her Dickory. If this evil family genius should be lost at sea or should disappear from the world in some equally painless and undis- graeeful fashion, Dame Charter was sure that she could in a reasonable time quiet the grief of poor Kate; for what right-minded damsel could fail to mingle thankfulness with her sor- row that a kind death should relieve a parent from the sins and disgraces which in life always seemed to open up in front of him. About this time there came a letter from Bar- badoes, which was of great interest to everybody in the household. It was from Master Martin Newcombe, and of course was written to Kate, but she read many portions of it to the others. The first part of the epistle was not read aloud, but it was very pleasant for Kate to read it to 374 A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS was a close lover and an ar- - for- hatever had happened to her for- rE had interfered be ee : whateper he had said he still : wir gang and to whatever she had objec He drat how A obstacles he had paid no attenti In the parts of the ; and the others, Master N I -d from them rego nee greatly troubled, but the 5 : hing ival of the Black Swan, which, after ehep its aiiinason had continued her wari elie waned had given him new oy eae sn is 1 i on é ne Saft , tn Per om and there say ~ Mek atic haat: ta A sen a te hima for which a letter was totally inadeq iso The Mk of seeing Kate oat a Sa tremble pon he walked through sed e Aap was read inadvertently, and ae ge 2 Dame Charter frowned too. She se hai posed that Master Newcombe sat ong Spanish Town; she had always looke a neon as a very worthy young farmer ; so age he would not neglect his interest by ye re about to other islands than his own. 5 r¥ a not know exactly how her son felt abou * - nor did she like to ask him, but Dickory save the trouble. aon soa if that Newcombe comes here,”’ he said, ‘‘ I ing to fight him.’’ am going g oe herself. This man letter read to her uncle ewcombe told how, not for so long, he had KATE BONNET ‘** What! ’’ cried his mother. ‘‘ You would not do that. That would be terrible; it would ruin everything.’’ ** Ruin what? ’’ he asked. His mother answered diplomatically. ‘‘ It would ruin all your fine opportunities in this family.’’ Dickory smiled with a certain sarcastic hard- ness. ‘‘ I don’t mean,’’ said he, ‘‘ that I am going to hack at him with a sword, because neither he nor I properly know how to use swords, and after the wonderful practice that I have seen, I would not want to prove myself a bungler even if the other man were a worse one. No, mother, I mean to fight with him by all fair means to gain the hand of my dear Kate. I love her, and I am far more worthy of her than he is. He is not a well-disposed man, being rough and inconsiderate in his speech.’? Dickory had never forgiven the interview by the river bank when he had gone to see Madam Bonnet. ‘‘ And as to his being a stout lover, he is none of it. Had he been that, he would long ago have crossed the little sea between Barbadoes and here.’’ ‘* Do you mean, you foolish boy,’’ exclaimed Dame Charter, ‘‘ to say that you presume to love our Mistress Kate? ’’ And her eyes glowed upon him with all the warmth of a mother’s pride, for this was the wish of her heart, and never absent from it. ‘ Ay, mother,’’ said Dickory, ‘‘ I shall fight 376 A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS for her; I shall show her that I am gprs rs he is and that I love her better. I ori bathe strive for her if that mad pirate comes bac tries to overset everything.” ‘¢ Oh, do it before that! ter, anxiety in every wrinkle. qa? es Delaplaine was a little troubled by the promised visit from Barbadoes. oman sor Ce ee tact dnnat nb, 1 bik ogee roung man, but the fault about ,» ie ie that he resided not 1n foresee : ssi a long time the good merchant had gt un ie” life, with no one to love him, and so Pasa with him his sister’s child, whom ames <4 to look upon as a nessa wep ae . beeen e ive her up. It was true the ghi péveible diet favourable pressure, to poured young Newcombe to come to Jamaica c “ei there, but this was all very vague. Hs a his own way, he would have driven spi Z e every thought of love or marriage until the a when his new clerk, Dickory Charter, had _ be- come a young merchant of good standing, worthy of such a wife. Then he might have been willing to give Kate to Dickory, and Dickory would have given her to him, and they might have all been That is, if that hare-brained Bonnet did cried Dame Char- ‘¢ Do it before happy. not come home. ; The Delaplaine family did not go much into at that time, for people had known about ciet ape 25 87 KATE BONNET the pirate and his ship, the Revenge, and the pursuit upon which Captain Vince of the royal corvette Badger had been sent. They had all heard, too, of the death of Captain Vince, and some of them were not quite certain whether he had been killed by the pirate Bonnet or another desperado equally dangerous. Knowing all this, although if they had not known it they would searcely have found it out from the speech of their neighbours, the Delaplaines kept much to themselves. And they were happy, and the key- note of their happiness was struck by Kate, whose thankful heart could never forget the death of Captain Vince. Mr. Delaplaine made his proper visit to Spanish Town, to carry his thanks and to tell the Governor how things had happened to him; and the Governor still showed his interest in Mistress Kate Bonnet, and expressed his regret that she had not come with her uncle, which was a very natural wish indeed for a governor of good taste. This is a chapter of happenings, and the next happening was a letter from that good man, Ben Greenway, and it told the most wonderful, splen- did, and glorious news that had ever been told under the bright sun of the beautiful West In- dies. It told that Captain Stede Bonnet was no longer a pirate, and that Kate was no longer a pirate’s daughter. These happy people did not join hands and dance and sing over the great 378 A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS news, but Kate’s joy was so great that she might have done all these things without knowing it, so thankful was she that once again she had a father. This rapture so far outshone her relief at the news of the death of Captain Vince that she almost forgot that that wicked man was safe and dead. Kate was in such a state of wild de- light that she insisted that her uncle should make another visit to the Governor’s house and take her with him, that she herself might carry the Governor the good news; and the Governor said such heart-warming things when he heard it that Kate kissed him in very joy. But as Dickory was not of the party, this incident was not en- tered as part of the proceedings. Now society, both in Spanish Town and Kingston, opened its arms and insisted that the fair star of Barbadoes should enter them, and there were parties and dances and dinners, and it might have been supposed that everybody had been a father or a mother to a prodigal son, so genial and joyful were the festivities—Kate high above all others. At some of these social functions Dickory Charter was present, but it is doubtful whether he was happier when he saw Kate surrounded by gay admirers or when he was at home im- agining what was going on about her. There was but one cloud in the midst of all this sunshine, and that was that Mr. Delaplaine, Dame Charter, and her son Dickory could not 379 KATE BONNET forget that it was now in the line of events that Stede Bonnet would soon be with them, and beyond that all was chaos. "4 And over the seas sailed the good ship the CHAPTER XXXVI Royal James, Captain Thomas in command. THE TIDE DECIDES mT was now September, and the = ; > weather was beautiful on the SZ North Carolina coast. Cap- tain Thomas (late Bonnet) of the Royal James (late Revenge) had always enjoyed cool nights and invigorating morning air, and therefore it was that he said to his faithful servitor, Ben Greenway, when first he stepped out upon the deck as his vessel lay comfortably anchored in a little cove in the Cape Fear River, that he did not remember ever having been in a more pleas- ant harbour. This well-tried pirate captain— Stede Bonnet, as we shall call him, notwithstand- ing his assumption of another name—was in a genial mood as he drank in the morning air. From his point of view he had a right to be genial; he had a right to be pleased with the scenery and the air; he had a right to swear at the Scotchman, and to ask him why he did not put on a merrier visage on such a sparkling morning, for since he had first started out as 381 KATE BONNET Captain Thomas of the Royal James he had been a most successful pirate. He had sailed up the Virginia coast; he had burned, he had sunk, he had robbed, he had ‘slain; he had gone up the Delaware Bay, and the people in ships and the people on the coasts trembled even when they heard that his black flag had been sighted. No man could now say that the former cap- tain of the Revenge was not an accomplished and seasoned desperado. Even the great Blackbeard would not have cared to give him nicknames, nor dared to play his blithesome tricks upon him; he was now no more Captain Nightecap to any man. His crew of hairy ruffians had learned to understand that he knew what he wanted, and, more than that, he knew how to order it done. They listened to his great oaths and they re- spected him. This powerful pirate now com- manded a small fleet, for in the cove where lay his flag-ship also lay two good-sized sloops, manned by their own crews, which he had cap- tured in Delaware Bay and had brought down with him to this quiet spot, a few miles up the Cape Fear River, where now he was repairing his own ship, which had had a hard time of it since she had again come into his hands. For many a long day the sound of the ham- mer and the saw had mingled with the song of the birds, and Captain Bonnet felt that in a day or two he might again sail out upon the sea, con- veying his two prizes to some convenient mart, 382 THE TIDE DECIDES while he, with his good ship, freshened and ae stored would go in search of more victories, ? more booty, and more blood. i ef pein T tell you,”’ said eat tinuing his remarks, ‘* you are too ae sh abs ot the only long face 1n Seceugee ines poor fellows who man my prizes efi so solemn, although they know not, when done with them, whether T shall maroon them to quietly starve or shall sink them in their own vessels. ’’ Be , cheerfu ‘¢ But I hae no such reason to be ; said Ben. ‘‘ I hae bound mysel’ to gts oe ye till ye hae gone to the de’il, om mf mae chance 0’ freein’ ahaa pe ee ies -ishin’ on land or 1n t ; st arena could make me glum, on Greenway, it would be you,’’ said the other ; ‘but I am getting used to you, and aga these days when I have captured a ship a on with Seotch liquors and Scotch plaids I ‘oper that you will turn pirate yourself for the sake of your share of the prizes.’’ Lie «« Which is likely to be on the same mornin that ye turn to be an honest mon,”’ said Ben ; ‘¢ but I am no’ in the way 0’ expectin miracles. On went the pounding and the sawing and the hammering and the swearing and the singing of birds, although the latter were a little farther away than they had been, and in the course of the day the pirate a erect, scrutinizing, KATE BONNET and blasphemous, went over his ship, superin- tending the repairs. In a day or two everything would be finished, and then he and his two prizes could up sail and away. It was a beautiful har- bour in which he lay, but he was getting tired of it. There were great prospects before our pirate captain. Perhaps he might have the grand good fortune to fall in with that low-born devil, Black- beard, who, when last he had been heard from, commanded but a small vessel, fearing no attack upon this coast. What a proud and glorious mo- ment it would be when a broadside and another and another should be poured in upon his little craft from the long guns of the Royal James. Bonnet was still standing, reflecting, with bright eyes, upon this dazzling future, and won- dering what would be the best way of letting the dastardly Blackbeard know whose guns they were which had sunk his ship, when a boat was seen coming around the headland. This was one of his own boats, which had been posted as a sentinel, and which now brought the news that two vessels were coming in at the mouth of the river, but that as the distance was great and the night was coming on they could not decide what manner of craft they were. This information made everybody jump, on board the Royal James, and the noise of the sawing and the hammering ceased as completely as had the songs of the birds. In a few min- 384 THE TIDE DECIDES le mariner, Bonnet, had down the river to recon- ing the river were utes that quick and ab sent three armed boats : ls enter noltyyy:: S25 ere d not be allowed to get ] merehentmen, they #0" ies, although it was away ; but if they were enemies, © difficult to understand how enemies 8 ae their appearance in these quiet waters, they m i , fight or flight. be attended to, either by fig am When the three boats came back, and it was late before they appeared, every magenta Royal James was crowded along her bide rena the news, and even the people on the pr me = that something had happened, and stoo he every point of Siacten sie that in som nd out what it was. ay set brought by the boats was et on effect that two vessels, not sailing as mere nant- men and well armed and manned, were oie ashore on sand-bars, not very far above the gp of the river. Now Bonnet swore bravely. the work upon his vessels had been finished he would up anchor and away and sail past these two grounded ships, whatever they were and whatever they came for. He would sail past them and take with him his two prizes; he would glide out to sea with the tide, and he would laugh at them as he left them behind. But the Royal James was not ready to sail. The tide was now low; five hours afterward, when it should be high, those two ships, what- ever they were, would float again, and the Royal 385 KATE BONNET James, whatever her course of action should be, would be cut off from the mouth of the river. This was a greater risk than even a pirate as bold as Bonnet would wish to run, and so there was no sleep that night on the Royal James. The blows of the hammers and the sounds of the saws made a greater noise than they had ever done before, so that the night birds were fright- ened and flew shrieking away. Every man worked with all the energy that was in him, for each hairy rascal had reason to believe that if the vessel they were on did not get out of the river before the two armed strangers should be afloat there might be hard times ahead for them. Even Ben Greenway was aroused. ‘‘ The de’il shall not get him any sooner than can be helped,”’ he said to himself, and he hammered and sawed with the rest of them. On his stout and well-armed sloop the Henry, Mr. William Rhett, of Charles Town, South Carolina, paced anxiously all night. Frequent- ly from the sand-bar on which his vessel was grounded he called over to his other sloop, also fast grounded, giving orders and asking ques- tions. On both vessels everybody was at work, getting ready for action when the tide should rise. Some weeks before the wails and complaints of a tortured sea-coast had come down from the Jersey shores to South Carolina, asking for help at the only place along that coast whence help 386 could come. A pirate named rag _— veer ing his way southward, eppeene is Ghats” him and leaving misery behind. dj e - pet touched the hearts of the people ni C eT si already sore from the injuries and 1 flicted upon them by when Bonnet sat silen nothing and learning much. a ia bake There was no hesitancy; 10? and for the sake of their commerce, > onde pirate must not come to Charles ele sia and an expedition of two vessels, heav > . ~— and well manned and commanded pate - liam Rhett, was sent welsh lt 2 poor : irate namec as a eatroy a ane aC Mr. Rhett was not a military e was man, nor did he belong to the paghss aa a a citizen capable of commanding soldiers, as such he went forth to destroy the pirate Thomas. Mr. Rhett met people eno ho told him where he mig ape but he found no one to tell him how to navigate the dangerous waters of the Cape Fear River, and so it was that soon after entering that fine stream he and his consort found themselves Blackbeard in those days tly on the pirate ship, doing ugh along the coast ht find the pirate, ound. Tir. Rhett was quite sure that he had discov- ered the lair of the big game he was looking for. Just before dark, three boats, well filled with men, had appeared from up the river, and they ? 387 KATE BONNET had looked so formidable that everything had been made ready to resist an attack from them. They retired, but every now and then during the night, when there was quiet for a few minutes, there would come down the river on the wind the sound of distant hammering and the noise of saws. It was after midnight before the Henry and the Sea Nymph floated free, but they anchored where they were and waited for the morning. Whether they would sail up the river after the pirate or whether he would come down to them, daylight would show. é Mr. Rhett’s vessels had been at anchor for five hours, and every man on board of them were watching and waiting, when daylight ap- peared and showed them a tall ship, under full sail, rounding the distant headland up the river. Now up came their anchors and their sails were set. The pirate was coming! Whatever the Royal James intended to do, Mr. Rhett had but one plan, and that was to meet the enemy as soon as possible and fight him. So up sailed the Henry and up sailed the Sea Nymph, and they pressed ahead go steadily to meet the Royal James that the latter vessel, in carrying out what was now her obvious inten- tion of getting out to sea, was forced shoreward, where she speedily ran upon a bar. Then, from the vessels of Charles Town there came great shouts of triumph, which ceased when first the 388 THE TIDE DECIDES ph ran upon other Henry and then the Sea Nym bars and remained Pe ai sees aaa sua Here was an unu y eround and about to begin a battle, ipa pos a probably last for five ior if : “ more of the stationary vessels pasta plana before that time. It ae bir ? however, that ~_ pce ag afin tev . a soe jase Roval James 5 an cn ehh over her opponents, sag see gio slightly careened, her decks on ’ aid from the enemy, while the latter sented to her fire. At it they went, hot his men now knew that commissioned war vessels, their lives. Mr. ring — at as, the dreaded pirate : De ‘that he must destroy him eaceryel should float again. The cannon roare fas see blazed away, and the on Me ci vans enough even to use pistols upon yous 1 ‘ sada ome died, blood flowed, and the fight grew fie fiercer. Bonne and heavy. Bonnet and they were engaged with ‘and they fought for that he was fighting e coast, and he t roared like an incarnate devil; he swore at his men, he swore at the enemy, “ swore at his bad fortune, for had he not misse the channel the game would have been in his 1g OC fought, and the tide kept steadily 389 KATE BONNET rising. The five hours must pass at last, and the vessel which first floated would win the day. The five hours did pass, and the Henry float- ed, and Bonnet swore louder and more fiercely than before. He roared to his men to fire and to fight, no matter whether they were still aground or not, and with many oaths he vowed that if any one of them showed but a sign of weakening he would cut him down upon the spot. But the hairy scoundrels who made up the crew of the Royal James had no idea of lying there with their ship on its side, while two other ships —for the Sea Nymph was now afloat—should sail around them, rake their decks, and shatter them to pieces. So the crew consulted together, despite their captain’s roars and oaths, and many of them counselled surrender. Their vessel was much farther inshore than the two others, and no matter what happened afterward they pre- ferred to live longer than fifteen or twenty min- utes. But Bonnet quailed not before fate, before the enemy, or before his crew; if he heard an- other word of surrender he would fire the maga- zine and blow the ship to the sky with every man in it. Raising his cutlass in air, he was about to bring it down upon one of the cowards he berated, when suddenly he was seized by two powerful hands, which pinned his arms behind him. With a scream of rage, he turned his head 890 THE TIDE DECIDES i f Ben and found that he was 10 the grasp 0 ¥ . ”? said rata zo your sword, Master a flsoms ; r ye pec it is ashore niier mh ye are, : ’ ae olde ; nae get awa’ from me. . a ot abe hander caus oh I look it, an uw Se ek? though | ' 1 makin’ your way steadily : cles. Ye may , it mayna be poss surely to the gates 0 PEE ble that I can prevent ye; tig let ye tumble in by acciden two arms left to me.” writhing, Stede Bonnet Pale, haggard, and > down. was Ppa and the Jolly Roger came CHAPTER XXXVII BONNET AND GREENWAY PART COMPANY T was three days after this tag combat — for the vessels engaged in i considerable repairs— when Me. Rhett ot pres ne sailed down the Cape Fear River with a vessels—the two with which he had en- ere it, the pirate Royal James, and the two- dns of the latter, which had waited quietly ; - : orphan to see how matters were going to ' On the Henry sailed the pirate discovered to be the iain “eet a a very quiet and respectful man he was. As has been seen before, Bonnet was a man able to adapt himself to circumstances. There never esa more demure counting-house clerk than was Bonnet at Belize; there never was an humbler dependent than the almost unnoticed Bonnet after he had joined Blackbeard’s fleet before Charles Town, and there never was a more 892 BONNET AND GREENWAY SEPARATE deferential and respectful prisoner than Stede Bonnet on board the Henry. It was really touching to see how this cursing and raging pirate deported himself as a meek and uncom- plaining gentleman. There was no prison-house in Charles Town, but Stede Bonnet’s wicked crew, including Ben Greenway —for his captors were not making any distinctions in regard to common men taken on a pirate ship—were clapped into the watch- house—and a crowded and uncomfortable place it was—and put under a heavy and military guard. The authorities were, however, making distinctions where gentlemen of family and owners of landed estates were concerned, no matter if they did happen to be taken on a pirate Major Bonnet of Barbadoes was house, in com- out- ship, and lodged in the provost marshal’s fortable quarters, with only two sentinels side to make him understand he was a prisoner. The capture of this celebrated pirate created n in Charles Town, and many of the citizens were not slow to pay the unfortunate prisoner the attentions due to his former posi- tion in society. He was very well satisfied with his treatment in Charles Town, which city he had never before had the pleasure of visiting. The attentions paid to Ben Greenway were not pleasing ; sometimes he was shoved into one corner and sometimes into another. He fre- quently had enough to eat and drink, but very 26 393 a sensatio KATE BONNET often this was not the case. Bonnet never in- quired after him. If he thought of him at all, he hoped that he had been killed in the fight, for if that were the case he would be rid of his eternal preachments. Greenway made known the state of his own case whenever he had a chance to do so, but his complaints received no attention, and he might have remained with the crew of the Royal James as long as they were shut up in the watch-house had not some of the hairy cut-throats themselves taken pity upon him and assured the guards that this man was not one of them, and that they knew from what they had heard him say and seen him do that there was no more determined enemy of piracy in all the Western continent. So it happened, that after some weeks of confine- ment Greenway was let out of the watch-house and allowed to find quarters for himself. The first day the Scotchman was free he went to the provost-marshal’s house and petitioned an interview with his old master, Bonnet. ‘« Heigho! ’? cried the latter, who was com- fortably seated in a chair reading a letter. ‘‘ And ‘where do you come from, Ben Greenway? I had thought you were dead and buried in the Cape Fear River.’’ ‘¢ Ye did not think I was dead,’’ replied Ben, <¢ when I seized ye an’ held ye an’ kept ye from buryin’ yoursel’ in that same river.’’ Bonnet waved his hand. ‘‘ No more of 394 ° BONNET AND GREENWAY SEPARATE that,’’ said he; ‘‘ I was unfortunate, but that is over now and things have turned out better than any man could have expected.’’ ‘¢ Better! ’’ exclaimed Ben. ‘‘ I vow I know not what that means.’’ Bonnet laughed. He was looking very well; he was shaved, and wore a neat suit of clothes. ‘¢ Ben Greenway,’’ said he, ‘‘ you are now looking upon a man of high distinction. At this moment I am the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. Yes, Greenway, the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. I have a letter here, which was received by the provost-marshal and which he gave me to read, which tells that Black- beard, the first pirate of his age, is dead. There- fore, Ben Greenway, I take his place, and there is no living pirate greater than I am.’’ ‘¢ An? ye pride yoursel’ on that, an’ at this moment? ’’ asked Ben, truly amazed. ‘< That do I,’’ said Bonnet. ‘‘ And think of it, Ben Greenway, that presumptuous, overbear- ing Blackbeard was killed, and his head brought away sticking up on the bow of a vessel. What arare sight that must have been, Ben! Think of his long beard, all tied up with ribbons, stuck up on the bow of a ship! ”’ ‘« An’ ye are now the head de’il on earth? ”’ said Ben. ‘¢ You can put it that way, if you like,’’ said Bonnet, ‘‘ but I am not so looked upon in this 395 KATE BONNET town. Iam an honoured person. I doubt very much if any prisoner in this country was ever treated with the distinction that is shown me, but I don’t wonder at it; I have the reputation of two great pirates joined in one—the pirate Bonnet, of the dreaded ship Revenge, and the terrible Thomas of the Royal James. My man, there are people in this town who have been to me and who have said that a man so famous should not even be imprisoned. I have good reason to believe that it will not be long before pardon papers are made out for me, and that I may go my way.’’ ‘« An’ your men? ’’ asked Greenway. ‘‘ Will they go free or will they be hung like common pirates? ”’ Bonnet frowned impatiently. ‘‘ I don’t want to hear anything about the men,’’ he said; ‘‘ of course they will be hung. What could be done with them if they were not hung? But it is entirely different with me. I am a most respect- able person, and, now that I am willing to resign my piratical career, having won in it all the glory that can come to one man, that respectability must be considered.”’ ‘¢ Weel, weel,’’? said the Scotchman; ‘‘ an’ when it comes that respectabeelity is better for a man’s soul an’ body than righteousness, then T am no fit counsellor for ye, Master Bonnet,’’ and he took his leave. The next morning, when Ben Greenway left 396 BONNET AND GREENWAY SEPARATE his lodging he found the town in an uproar. The pirate Bonnet had pribed his sentinels and, with some others, had escaped. Ben stood still and stamped his foot. Such infamy, such perfidy to the authorities who had treated him so well, the Scotchman could not at first imagine, but when the truth became plain to him, his face glowed, his eye purned; this vile conduct of his old master was a triumph to Ben’s principles. Wickedness was wickedness, and could not be washed away by respectability. The days passed 0n ; Bonnet was recaptured, more securely imprisoned, put upon trial, found guilty, and, in spite of the efforts of the advo- cates of respectability, was condemned to be hung on the same spot where nearly all the mem- bers of his pirate crew had been executed. During all this time Ben Greenway kept away from his old master; he had borne ill-treatment of every kind, but the deception practised upon him when, at his latest interview, Bonnet talked to him of his respectability, having already planned an escape and return to his evil ways, was too much for the honest Scotchman. He had done with this man, faithless to friend and foe, to his own blood, and even to his own bad repu- tation. But not quite done. It was but half an hour before the time fixed for the pirate’s execution that Ben Greenway gained access to him. ‘‘ What! ’? cried Bonnet, raising his head 397 KATE BONNET from his hands. ‘‘ You here? I thought I had done with you! ’’ ‘¢ Ay, I am here,’’ said Ben Greenway. ‘‘ I hae stood by ye in good fortune an’ in bad for- tune, an’ I hae never left ye, no matter what happened; an’ I told ye I would follow ye to the gates o’ hell, but I could go no farther. I hae kept my word an’ here I stop. Fareweel! ”’ ‘¢ The only comfortable thing about this busi- ness,’’ said Bonnet, ‘‘ is to know that at last I am rid of that fellow! ’’ CHAPTER XXXVUI AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE HERE d gay times SW in Spanish Town, and with WSS the two loads lifted from her heart, Kate helped very much to promote the gaiety. If this young lady ye wished to make @ good colonial match, she ha opportunities enough for so doing, but she was = in that frame of mind, and encouraged no suitor. But, bright as she was, she was not so bright ? ‘i he re- t great and glorious day when s — = Greenway’s letter, telling her that eived Ben i s no longer a pirate. There were ather wa . posts nen for this gradually growig twl light of her happiness, and one was that no letter sme from her father. ‘To be sure, there were ssi reasons why no letter should come. There er no regular mails in these colonies which could be depended upon, and, besides, the 5 career of her father, sailing as a privateer be ; a the king’s flag, would — make it very aull- 39 KATE BONNET ‘ eult for him to send a letter to Jamaica by any regular or irregular method. Moreover, her father was a miserable correspondent, and al- ways had been. Thus she comforted herself and was content, though not very well content, to wait. Then there was another thing which troubled her, when. she thought of it. That good man and steady lover, Martin Newcombe, had written that he was coming to Spanish Town, and she * knew very well what he was coming for and what he would say, but she did not know what she would say to him; and the thought of this troubled her. In a letter she might put off the answer for which he had been so long and pa- tiently waiting, but when she met him face to face there could be no more delay; she must tell him yes or no, and she was not ready to do this. There was so much to think of, so many plans to be considered in regard to going back to Bar- badoes or staying in Jamaica, that really she eould not make up her mind, at least not until she had seen her father. She would be so sorry if Mr. Newcombe came to Spanish Town before her father should arrive, or at least before she should hear from him. Then there was another thing which added to the twilight of these cheerful days, and this Kate could scarcely understand, because she could see no reason why it should affect her. The Governor, whom they frequently met in the 400 gent! ances, but it grieve him. ; 7 cheerful; he was now just as kind as ever, per- AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE course of the pleasant social functions of the town, looked troubled, and was not the genial eman he used to be. Of course he had a right to his own private perplexities and annoy- d Kate to see the change in He had always been so cordial and so haps a little more 80, in his manner, but he was not cheerful. Kate mentioned to her uncle the changed demeanour of the Governor, but he could give no explanation ; he had heard of no political trou- bles, but supposed that family matters might easily have saddened the good man. He himself was not very cheerful, for day: after day brought nearer the time when that un- certain Stede Bonnet might arrive in Jamaica, and what would happen after that no man could tell. One thing he greatly feared, and that was, that his dear niece, Kate, might be taken away from him. Dame Charter was not so very cheer- ful either. Only in one way did she believe nm Stede Bonnet, and that was, that after some fashion or another he would come between her and her bright dreams for her dear Mickory. | And so there were some people in Spanish Town who were not as happy as they had been. Still there were dinners and little parties, and society made itself very pleasant; and in the midst of them all a ship came in from Barbadoes, pringing a letter from Martin Newcombe. 401 fe ne pat Sa MO OTE SEE A RAN OO CLIT a Pow | i AY }| i pea ET oe KATE BONNET A strange thing about this letter was that it was addressed to Mr. Delaplaine and not to Miss Kate Bonnet. This, of course, proved the letter must be on business; and, although he was with his little family when he opened his letter, he thought it well to glance at it before reading it aloud. The first few lines showed him that it was indeed a business letter, for it told of the death of Madam Bonnet, and how the writer, Martin Newcombe, as a neighbour and friend of the family, had been called in to take temporary charge of her effects, and, having done so, he hastened to inform Mr. Delaplaine of his pro- ceedings and to ask advice. This letter he now read aloud, and Kate and the others were greatly interested therein, although they cautiously for- bore the expression of any opinion which might rise in their minds regarding this turn of affairs. Having finished these business details, Mr. Delaplaine went on and read aloud, and in the succeeding portion of the letter Mr. Newcombe begged Mr. Delaplaine to believe that it was the hardest duty of his whole life to write what he was now obliged to write, but that he knew he must do it, and therefore would not hesitate. At this the reader looked at his niece and stopped. ‘** Go on,’’ cried Kate, her face a little flushed, 73 go on!” The face of Mr. Delaplaine was pale, and for a moment he hesitated, then, with a sudden jerk, he nerved himself to the effort and read on; he 402 In an instant Dickory was there. AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE had seen enough to make him understand that the duty before him was to read on. Briefly and tersely, but with tears in the very ink, so sad were the words, the writer assured Mr. Delaplaine that his love for his niece had been, and was, the overpowering impulse of his life; that to win this love he had dared every- thing, he had hoped for everything, he had been willing to pass by and overlook everything, but that now, and it tore his heart to write it, his evil fortune had been too much for him; he could do anything for the sake of his love that a man with respect for himself could do, but there was one thing at which he must stop, at which he must bow his head and submit to his fate—he could not marry the daughter of an executed felon. Thus came to that little family group the news of the pirate Bonnet’s death. There was more of the letter, put Mr. Delaplaine did not read it. Kate did not scream, nor moan, nor faint, but she sat up straight in her chair and gazed, with a wild intentness, at her uncle. No one spoke. At such a moment condolence or sympathy would have been a cruel mockery. They were all as pale as chalk. In his heart, Mr. Delaplaine said: << T see it all; the Governor must have known, and he loved her so he could not break her heart.’’ In the midst of the silence, in the midst of 403 KATE BONNET the chalky whiteness of their faces, in the midst of the blackness which was settling down upon them, Kate Bonnet still sat upright, a coldness creeping through every part of her. Suddenly she turned her head, and in a voice of wild en- treaty she called out: ‘‘ Oh, Dickory, why don’t you come to me! ’’ In an instant Dickory was there, and, cold and lifeless, Kate Bonnet was in his arms. CHAPTER XXxXIX § WHICH COME FROM THE DEATH ‘ ESSING bs monies oF THE WICKED T was three weeks after Mar- tin Newcombe’s letter came before Ben Greenway arrived n. He had had a _— pons = i j money and no Iriends sche megln =F “icp cane heart and an see whe he was bound to get there at last; ? and, although Kate saw 10 visitors, she ete ne SI was bt dressed in mourning ; she could no 1e a < for herself. aa the Scotchman with earnestness ; he ee “ friend out of the old-past, but she gave im o speak first. him no chance t ‘¢ Ben,’’ she exclaimed, ‘‘ have you a mes 9 ? sage for me?’ lied, ‘‘ but I hae 5 Nig SEE at wah to say to ye. I : rh ke to get to ye an’ to say 1 gram dor at him, with her brows knit, won- 405 in Spanish Tow KATE BONNET dering if she should allow him to speak; then, with the words scarcely audible between her tightly closed lips, she said: ‘‘ Ben, what is it? ”’ ‘¢ Tt is this, an’ no more nor less,’’ replied the Scotchman; ‘‘ he was never fit to be your father, an’ it is not fit now for ye to remember him as your father. I was faithful to him-to the vera last, but there was no truth in him. It is an abomination an’ a wickedness for ye to re- member him as your father! ’’ Kate spoke no word, nor did she shed a tear. ‘‘ Tt was my heart’s desire ye should know it,’’ said the Scotchman, ‘‘ an’ I came mony a weary league to tell ye so.’’ “‘ Ben,’’ said she, ‘‘ I think I have known it for a long time, but I would not suffer myself to believe it; but now, having heard your words, I am sure of it.’’ ‘‘ Uncle,’’ said she an hour afterward, ‘‘ I have no father, and I never had one.’’ With tears in his eyes he folded her to his breast, and peace began to rise in his soul. No greater blessing can come to really good people than the absolute disappearance of the wicked. And the wickedness which had so long shad- owed and stained the life of Kate Bonnet was now removed from it. It was hard to get away from the shadow and to wipe off the stain, but she was a brave girl and she did it. In this work of her life—a work which if not accomplished would make that life not worth the 406 BLESSINGS FROM DEATH OF WICKED as much helped by Dickory ; and he helped her by not saying a word about it or ever allowing himself, when in her presence, to remember that there had been a shadow or a stain. And if he thought of it at all when by himself, his only feeling was one of thankful- ness that what had happened had given her to him. Even the Gove living— Kate w rnor brightened. He had striven hard to keep from Kate the news whieh had come to him from Charles Town, suppress- ing it in the hopes that it might reach her — gradually and with less terrible effect than if he told it, but now i ich are S ih gs “poh wicked affected him also, and There were no functions for < brightened, striving with all her aes peli for her own sake as well as that of others. As for Mr. Delaplaine, Dame Charter, and Dickory, they brightened without any trouble at all, the disappearance of the wicked having such a direct and forcible effect upon them. Dickory Charter, who matured in a fashion pS which made everybody forget that Kate Bonnet y a oP “AD ; e, was eleven months his senior, entered into busi ness with Mr. Delaplaine, and Jamaica became i i hose welfare of this happy family, whose vielen Nel as on a rock, upon the disappear- f the wicked. ance 0 i KATE BONNET Here, then, was a brave girl who had loved her father with a love which was more than that of a daughter, which was the love of a mother, of a wife; who had loved him in prosperity and in times’ of sorrow and of shame; who had re- joiced like an angel whenever he turned his foot- steps into the right way, and who had mourned like an angel whenever he went wrong. She had longed to throw her arms around her father’s neck, to hold him to her, and thus keep off the hangman’s noose. Her courage and affection never waned until those arms were rudely thrust aside and their devoted owner dastardly re- pulsed. True to herself and to him, she loved her father so long as there was anything parental | in him which she might love; and, true to her- self, when he had left her nothing she might love, she bowed her head and suffered him, as he passed out of his life, to pass out of her own. CHAPTER XL CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS T che a : elk N the river at Bridgetown lay g King and Queen, On her deck was assenger in the stern. man was Dickory Charter, that morning arrived at Bridgetown i hore. He came for d not yet having been on s ji re | the caved of settling some business affairs, partly on account of Miss Kate Bonnet and partly for his mother. As the boat came nearer, one of the men who were mir Heigho! Tom Hilyer,’’ he cried, ‘*T am right glad to see you on this river again. I want a boat to go to my mother’s house; know you of one at liberty? dy The man ceased rowing for a moment and then addressed the passenger in the stern, 27 409 two men rowing and a p This impatient young Dickory recognised rowing and hailed KATE BONNET who, having heard what he had to say, nodded briefly. ‘¢ Well, well, Dick Charter! ’’ cried out the man, ‘‘ and have you come back as governor of the colony? You look fine enough, anyway. But if you want a boat to go to your mother’s old home, you can have a seat in this one; we’re going there, and our passenger does not object.’ ‘¢ Pull up here,’’ cried. Dickory, and in a moment he had dropped into the bow of the boat, which then proceeded on its way. The man in the stern was fairly young, hand- some, sunburned, and well dressed in a suit of black. When Dickory thanked him for allowing him to share his boat the passenger in the stern nodded his head with a jerk and an air which indicated that he took the incident as a matter of course, not to be further mentioned or con- sidered. The men who rowed the boat were good oars- men, but they were not thoroughly, acquainted with the cove, especially at low tide, and pres- ently they ran upon a sand-bar. Then uprose the passenger in the stern and began to swear with an ease and facility which betokened long practice. Dickory did not swear, but he knit his brows and berated himself for not having taken the direction of the course into his own hands, he who knew the river and the cove so well. The tide was rising, but Dickory was too im- 410 CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE patient to sit still and wait until it should be high enough to float the boat. That was his old home, that little house at the head of the cove, and he wanted to get there, he wanted to see it. Part of the business which brought him to Bar- badoes concerned that little house. With a sud- den movement he made a dive at his shoes and stockings and speedily had them lying at the bottom of the boat. Then he stepped overboard and waded towards the shore. In some of the deeper places he wetted the bottom of his breeches, but he did not mind that. The pas- senger in the stern sat down, but he continued to swear. Presently Dickory was on the dry sand, and running up to that cottage door. A little back from the front of the house and in the shade there was a bench, and on this bench there sat a girl, reading. She lifted her head in surprise as Dickory approached, for his bare feet had made no noise, then she stood up quickly, blush- ing. ‘¢ You! ’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘ Yes,” cried Dickory; ‘‘ and you look just the same as when you first put your head above the bushes and talked to me.”’ «¢ Except that I am more suitably clothed,”’ she said. And she was entirely right, for her present dress was feminine, and extremely becoming. Dickory did not wish to say anything more 411 KATE BONNET on this subject, and so he remarked: ‘‘ I have just arrived at the town, and I came directly here.’’ Lucilla blushed again. ‘‘ This is my old home,’’ added Dickory. ‘* But you knew we were here? ’’ she asked, with a hesitating look of inquiry. ‘¢ Oh, yes,’’ said he, ‘‘ I knew that the house had been let to your father.’’ Now she changed colour twice—first red, then white. ‘‘ Are you,’’ she said, ‘‘ I mean. . . the other, is she——”’ ‘< T left her in Jamaica,’’ said Dickory, ‘‘ but I am going to marry her.’’ For a moment the rim of her hat got between the sun and her face, and one could not decide very well whether her countenance was red or white. ‘¢T am very glad to find you here,’’ said Dickory, ‘‘ and may I see your father and mother? ’’ ‘“ Yes,’’ said she, ‘‘ but they are both in the field with my young sister. But who is this man walking up the shore? And is that the boat you came in? ’’ ‘¢ Tt is,’’? said Dickory. ‘‘ We stuck fast, but I was in such a hurry that I waded ashore. I don’t know the man; he had hired the boat, and kindly took me in, I was in such haste to get here.’’ For a moment Lucilla bent her eyes on the 412 CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE ground. ‘‘ In such haste to get here! ’’ she said to herself; then she raised her head and ex- claimed: ‘‘ Oh, I know that man ; he is the pirate i Belinda, which after- captain who captured the a, ward brought us here.’’ And with both hands str he ran to meet him. sagt: of Captain Ichabod glowed with irrepressible delight ; one might have thought he was about to embrace the young woman, not- withstanding the presence of Dickory and the two boatmen, but he did ving ppd he could do ‘tnesses to express HIS JOY. pene now stepped up to Captain Ichabod. ‘¢ Oh, now I know you,’’ cried he, and he held out his hand. ‘‘ You were very kind indeed to my friends, and they have spoken much about: you. This is my old home; this is the house here I was born.”’ : J i a Yes, yes, indeed,’’ said Captain Ichabod, ‘« a very good house, bedad, a very good house.’’ But hesitating a little and addressing Lucilla: << You don’t live here alone, do you? ’”’ The girl laughed. if On, no,’? she cried. My father and mother will be here presently ; in fact, I see them coming.”’ si That's very well,’’ said Ichabod, ‘‘ very well indeed. It’s quite right that they should live with you. I remember them now; they were on the ship with you.”’ ‘¢ Oh, yes,’’ said Lucilla, still laughing. 413 KATE BONNET ““ Quite right, quite right,’’ said Ichabod; ** that was very right.’’ ‘* T will go meet your father and mother and the dear little Lena; I remember them so well,’’ said Dickory. He started to run off in spite of his bare feet, but he had gone but a little way when Lucilla stopped him. She looked up at him, and this time her face was white. ‘* Are you sure,’’ said she, ‘‘ that everything is settled between you and that other girl? ”’ ‘* Very sure,’’ said Dickory, looking kindly upon her and remembering how pretty she had looked when he first saw her face over the bushes. She did not say anything, but turned and walked back to Captain Ichabod. She found that tall gentleman somewhat agitated; he seemed to have a great deal on his mind which he wished to say, feeling, at the same time, that he ought to say everything first. ‘“‘'That’s your father and mother,’’ said he, *“ stopping to talk to the. young man who was born here? ”’ ** Yes,’’ she answered, ‘‘ and they will be with us presently.’’ ‘“ Very good, very good, that’s quite right,”’ said Captain Ichabod hurriedly; ‘‘ but before they come, I want to say—that is, I would like you to know—that I have sold my ship. I am not a pirate any longer, I am a sugar-planter, bedad. Beg your pardon! That is, I intend to 414 CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE be one. You remember that you once sa Sa MH me about sugar-planting 10 Barbadoes, ey Tam here. I want to find a good a gd tion, to buy it, and live on it; 1 hens ; se were stopping on this side of the river, a T came here.”’ ‘¢ But there 1s no id Lucilla, ver demurely. ene ah 2 said Ichabod, ‘‘ oh, no, of course 7 7 e, and I wanted to find you; apie re eeadeenould be of no use without ger looked at him, still very demurely. e T don’t quite understand you,”’ prseigwee sae 3 turned her head a little and saw t ap 1e im nA and Dickory were slowly moving ower s : house. She knew that with diffident per ie n time should be lost, for, if interrupted, it often hey did not begin again. ea eens.” she said, her face turned i ; cast down, ‘‘ that -ds him, but her eyes cas Sh i aes sili to say that you would like to 99 marry me? ae Ns ‘¢ Of course, of course, exclaimed Ichabod ; ‘¢ T thought you knew that that is what I came bedad.’’ : ; ve ey wall then,’’ said Lucilla, turning her had dreamed of to the face of the man she cake happy nights. ‘‘ No, no,’’ she added quickly, ‘‘ you must not kiss me; they are all coming, and there are the two boatmen.”’ 415 sugar plantation here,”’ ? KATE BONNET He did not kiss her, but later he made up for the omission. The moment Mrs. Mander saw Captain Icha- bod and her daughter standing together she knew exactly what had happened; she had no- ticed things on board the Belinda. She hurried up to Lucilla and drew her aside. “* My dear,’’ she whispered, with a fright- ened face, ‘‘ you cannot marry a pirate; you never, never can! ”’ ‘* Dear mother,’’ said Lucilla, ‘‘ he is not a pirate; he has sold his ship and is going to be a sugar-planter.’’ Now they all came up and heard these words of Lucilla. “* Yes, indeed,’’ said Captain Ichabod, ‘‘ you may not suppose it, but your daughter and I are about to marry, and will plant sugar to- gether. Now, I want to buy a plantation. Where is that young man who was born here, be- dad? ’’ Dickory advanced, laughing. Here was a fine opportunity, a miraculous opportunity, of dis- posing of the Bonnet estate, which was part of the business which had brought him here. So he told the beaming captain that he knew of a fine plantation up the river, which he thought would suit him. ““ Very good,’’ said Captain Ichabod. ‘TI have a boat here; let us go and look at the place, and if it suits us I will buy it, bedad.’’ 416 CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE So with Mrs. Mander and her husband be- side her, and with Lucilla and the captain: by her, the boat was rowed up re river, with Dick- y young Lena in the bow. a Hig" reached the Bonnet estate it was run up on the shore near the shady spot where Kate Bonnet had once caught a fish. Then they all stepped out upon the little beach, even the oarsmen made the boat fast and joined the party, who started to walk up to the house, Suddenly Captain Ichabod stopped and said to Mr. Mander: ‘‘ I don’t think I care to walk up that hill, you know; and if you and your good wife will look over that house and cast your eyes about the place, I will buy it, if you say 80; you know a good deal more about such things than I do, bedad. I suppose, of course, that will suit Re aid to Lucilla. ae fache Lucilla exactly. They sat in the shade in the very place where Kate had sat when she saw Master Newcombe crossing the pee gen boat came down the river, rowed by ayoung man. Ashe passed the old Bonnet prop- erty he carelessly cast his eyes shoreward, but his heart took no interest in what he saw there. What did it matter to him if two lovers sat there in the shade, close to the river’s brink? His sad soul now took no interest in lovers. He had just been up the river to arrange for the sale of his plantation to one of his neighbours. He 417 KATE BONNET had decided to leave the island of Barbadoes and to return to England. The house suited Captain Ichabod exactly, when Mrs. Mander told him about it, and Lu- cilla agreed with him because she was always accustomed to trust her mother in such things. So they all got into the boat and rowed back to Dickory’s old home, and on the way Captain Ichabod told Dickory that when they returned together to the’ town he would pay him for the plantation, having brought specie sufficient for the purpose. It was a gay party in the boat as they rowed down the river; it was a gay party at the house when they reached it, and they would have all taken supper together had the Manders been pre- pared for such hospitality; but they were poor, having taken the place upon a short lease and having had but few returns so far. But they were all going to live at the old Bonnet place, and happiness shone over everything. It was twilight, and the two young men were about to walk down to the boat, one of them promising to come again early in the morning, when Lucilla approached Dickory. ‘* Where are you going to live with that girl? ’’ she asked in a low voice. ‘“ In Jamaica,’’ said he. ““ Tam glad of it,’’ she replied, quite frankly. They were well content, those Jamaica peo- 418 CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE ple, when Ben Greenway came to live with them. It had been proposed at one time that he should go to his old Bridgetown home and take charge of the place as he used to, but the good Scotch- man demurred to this. ‘<< T hae served ane master before he became a pirate,’’ he said, ‘‘ an’ I don’t want to try anither after he has* finished bein’ ane. If I serve ony mon, let him be one wha has been right- eous, wha is righteous now, an’ wha will continue PV fe in righteousness. ‘Then serve Mr. Delaplaine,’’ said Dickory. The Manders soon removed to the little house where Dickory was born. The mansion of their daughter and her husband was a hospitable place and a lively, but the life there was SO wayward, erratic, and eccentric that it did not suit their sober lives and the education of their young daughter. So they dwelt contentedly in the cot- — % an d tage at the head of the cove, and there was much co fe) : : rowing up and down the river. It was upon a fine morning that the ex-pirate Ichabod thus addressed a citizen of the town: <¢ Yes, sir, I know well who once lived in the iS, 8 house I own. I knew the man myself; I knew him at Belize. He was a dastardly knave, and would have played false to the sun, the moon, and the stars had they shown him an opportu- nity, bedad. But I also knew his daughter; she A419 KATE BONNET sailed on my ship for many days, and her pres- ence blessed the very boards she trod on. She is a most noble lady; and if you will not admit, sir, that her sweet spirit and pure soul have not banished from this earth every taint of wicked- ness left here by her father, then, sir, bedad, stand where you are and draw! ”’ THE END RECENT FICTION. A Nest of Linnets. By F. Franxrort Moors, author of «*'The Jessamy Bride,’’ «©A Gray Eye or So,”’ etc. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. «“‘That ‘A Nest of Linnets’ is bright, clever, and well written follows as a matter of course, considering that it was written by F. Frankfort Moore.’’— Philadelphia Telegraph. The Eternal City. By Haut Caine, author of ‘¢ The Christian,’’ «*'The Manx- man,’’ ‘‘The Bondman,’’ ‘* The Deemster,’’ etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. “A powerful novel, inspired by a lofty conception, and carried out with unusual force, It is the greatest thing that Hall Caine has ever attempted.’’— Brooklyn Eagle. The Teller. By Epwarp Noyes Wesrcorr, author of ‘* David Harum.’’ Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. The publishers of ‘* David Harum’” have the pleasure of presenting the only other story written by the lamented Edward Noyes Westcott. Mr. West- cott’s business life lay with practical financial matters, and in ‘* The Teller ’’ he has drawn upon his knowledge of life in a bank. When Love Flies Out o’ the Win- dow. By Leonarp Merrick. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents, ‘©The attention of the reader is held from start to finish, because the whole plot is original, and one can not tell what is going to happen next.’’—Wash- ington Times. The Beleaguered Forest. By Evia W. Pearriz. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. ‘*