The Pirate

By Frederick Marryat

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Title: The Pirate

Author: Frederick Marryat

Release Date: May 22, 2007 [EBook #21580]

Language: English


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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Pirate, by Captain Marryat.

________________________________________________________________________

"The Pirate" was published in 1836, the ninth book to flow from
Marryat's pen.

It was created as an eBook in 1998, by Nick Hodson, and reformatted in
2005.

________________________________________________________________________

THE PIRATE, BY CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE BAY OF BISCAY.

It was in the latter part of the month of June, of the year seventeen
hundred and ninety something, that the angry waves of the Bay of Biscay
were gradually subsiding, after a gale of wind as violent as it was
unusual during that period of the year.  Still they rolled heavily; and,
at times, the wind blew up in fitful, angry gusts, as if it would fain
renew the elemental combat; but each effort was more feeble, and the
dark clouds which had been summoned to the storm, now fled in every
quarter before the powerful rays of the sun, who burst their masses
asunder with a glorious flood of light and heat; and, as he poured down
his resplendent beams, piercing deep into the waters of that portion of
the Atlantic to which we now refer, with the exception of one object,
hardly visible, as at creation, there was a vast circumference of water,
bounded by the fancied canopy of heaven.  We have said, with the
exception of one object; for in the centre of this picture, so simple,
yet so sublime, composed of the three great elements, there was a
remnant of the fourth.  We say a remnant, for it was but the hull of a
vessel, dismasted, water-logged, its upper works only floating
occasionally above the waves, when a transient repose from their still
violent undulation permitted it to reassume its buoyancy.  But this was
seldom; one moment it was deluged by the seas, which broke as they
poured over its gunwale; and the next, it rose from its submersion, as
the water escaped from the portholes at its sides.

How many thousands of vessels--how many millions of property--have been
abandoned, and eventually consigned to the all-receiving depths of the
ocean, through ignorance or through fear!  What a mine of wealth must
lie buried in its sands! what riches lie entangled amongst its rocks, or
remain suspended in its unfathomable gulf, where the compressed fluid is
equal in gravity to that which it encircles, there to remain secured in
its embedment from corruption and decay, until the destruction of the
universe and the return of chaos!--Yet, immense as the accumulated loss
may be, the major part of it has been occasioned from an ignorance of
one of the first laws of nature, that of specific gravity.  The vessel
to which we have referred was, to all appearance, in a situation of as
extreme hazard as that of a drowning man clinging to a single rope-yarn;
yet, in reality, she was more secure from descending to the abyss below
than many gallantly careering on the waters, their occupants dismissing
all fear, and only calculating upon a quick arrival into port.

The _Circassian_ had sailed from New Orleans, a gallant and
well-appointed ship, with a cargo, the major part of which consisted of
cotton.  The captain was, in the usual acceptation of the term, a good
sailor; the crew were hardy and able seamen.  As they crossed the
Atlantic, they had encountered the gale to which we have referred, were
driven down into the Bay of Biscay, where, as we shall hereafter
explain, the vessel was dismasted, and sprang a leak, which baffled all
their exertions to keep under.  It was now five days since the
frightened crew had quitted the vessel in two of her boats, one of which
had swamped, and every soul that occupied it had perished; the fate of
the other was uncertain.

We said that the crew had deserted the vessel, but we did not assert
that every existing being had been removed out of her.  Had such been
the case, we should not have taken up the reader's time in describing
inanimate matter.  It is life that we portray, and life there still was
in the shattered hull thus abandoned to the mockery of the ocean.  In
the _caboose_ of the _Circassian_, that is, in the cooking-house secured
on deck, and which fortunately had been so well fixed as to resist the
force of the breaking waves, remained three beings--a man, a woman, and
a child.  The two first mentioned were of that inferior race which have,
for so long a period, been procured from the sultry Afric coast, to
toil, but reap not for themselves; the child which lay at the breast of
the female was of European blood, now, indeed, deadly pale, as it
attempted in vain to draw sustenance from its exhausted nurse, down
whose sable cheeks the tears coursed, as she occasionally pressed the
infant to her breast, and turned it round to leeward to screen it from
the spray which dashed over them at each returning swell.  Indifferent
to all else, save her little charge, she spoke not, although she
shuddered with the cold as the water washed her knees each time that the
hull was careened into the wave.  Cold and terror had produced a change
in her complexion, which now wore a yellow, or sort of copper hue.

The male, who was her companion, sat opposite to her upon the iron range
which once had been the receptacle of light and heat, but was now but a
weary seat to a drenched and worn-out wretch.  He, too, had not spoken
for many hours; with the muscles of his face relaxed, his thick lips
pouting far in advance of his collapsed cheeks, his high cheekbones
prominent as budding horns, his eyes displaying little but their whites,
he appeared to be an object of greater misery than the female, whose
thoughts were directed to the infant and not unto herself.  Yet his
feelings were still acute, although his faculties appeared to be
deadened by excess of suffering.

"Eh, me!" cried the negro woman faintly, after a long silence, her head
falling back with extreme exhaustion.  Her companion made no reply, but,
roused at the sound of her voice, bent forward, slided open the door a
little, and looked out to windward.  The heavy spray dashed into his
glassy eyes, and obscured his vision; he groaned, and fell back into his
former position.  "What you tink, Coco?" inquired the negress, covering
up more carefully the child, as she bent her head down upon it.  A look
of despair, and a shudder from cold and hunger, were the only reply.

It was then about eight o'clock in the morning, and the swell of the
ocean was fast subsiding.  At noon the warmth of the sun was
communicated to them through the planks of the _caboose_, while its rays
poured a small stream of vivid light through the chinks of the closed
panels.  The negro appeared gradually to revive; at last he rose, and
with some difficulty contrived again to slide open the door.  The sea
had gradually decreased its violence, and but occasionally broke over
the vessel; carefully holding on by the door-jambs, Coco gained the
outside, that he might survey the horizon.

"What you see, Coco?" said the female, observing from the _caboose_ that
his eyes were fixed upon a certain quarter.

"So help me God, me tink me see something; but ab so much salt water in
um eye, me no see clear," replied Coco, rubbing away the salt which had
crystallised on his face during the morning.

"What you tink um like, Coco?"

"Only one bit cloud," replied he, entering the _caboose_, and resuming
his seat upon the grate with a heavy sigh.

"Eh, me!" cried the negress, who had uncovered the child to look at it,
and whose powers were sinking fast.  "Poor lilly Massa Eddard, him look
very bad indeed--him die very soon, me fear.  Look, Coco, no ab breath."

The child's head fell back upon the breast of its nurse, and life
appeared to be extinct.

"Judy, you no ab milk for piccaninny; suppose um ab no milk, how can
live?  Eh! stop, Judy, me put lilly fingers in um mouth; suppose Massa
Eddard no dead, him pull."

Coco inserted his finger into the child's mouth, and felt a slight
drawing pressure.  "Judy," cried Coco, "Massa Eddard no dead yet.  Try
now, suppose you ab lilly drop oder side."

Poor Judy shook her head mournfully, and a tear rolled down her cheek;
she was aware that nature was exhausted.  "Coco," said she, wiping her
cheek with the back of her hand, "me give me heart blood for Massa
Eddard; but no ab milk--all gone."

This forcible expression of love for the child, which was used by Judy,
gave an idea to Coco.  He drew his knife out of his pocket, and very
coolly sawed to the bone of his fore-finger.  The blood flowed and
trickled down to the extremity, which he applied to the mouth of the
infant.

"See, Judy, Massa Eddard suck--him not dead," cried Coco, chuckling at
the fortunate result of the experiment, and forgetting at the moment
their almost hopeless situation.

The child, revived by the strange sustenance, gradually recovered its
powers, and in a few minutes it pulled at the finger with a certain
degree of vigour.

"Look Judy, how Massa Eddard take it," continued Coco.  "Pull away,
Massa Eddard, pull away.  Coco ab ten finger, and take long while suck
em all dry."  But the child was soon satisfied, and fell asleep in the
arms of Judy.

"Coco, suppose you go see again," observed Judy.  The negro again
crawled out, and again he scanned the horizon.

"So help me God, dis time me tink, Judy--yes, so help me God, me see a
ship!" cried Coco, joyfully.

"Eh!" screamed Judy, faintly, with delight: "den Massa Eddard no die."

"Yes, so help me God--he come dis way!" and Coco, who appeared to have
recovered a portion of his former strength and activity, clambered on
the top of the _caboose_, where he sat, cross-legged, waving his yellow
handkerchief, with the hope of attracting the attention of those on
board; for he knew that it was very possible that an object floating
little more than level with the water's surface might escape notice.

As it fortunately happened, the frigate, for such she was, continued her
course precisely for the wreck, although it had not been perceived by
the look-out men at the mast-heads, whose eyes had been directed to the
line of the horizon.  In less than an hour our little party were
threatened with a new danger, that of being run over by the frigate,
which was now within a cable's length of them, driving the seas before
her in one widely extended foam, as she pursued her rapid and impetuous
course.  Coco shouted to his utmost, and fortunately attracted the
notice of the men who were on the bowsprit, stowing away the
foretopmast-staysail, which had been hoisted up to dry after the gale.

"Starboard, hard!" was roared out.

"Starboard it is," was the reply from the quarterdeck, and the helm was
shifted without inquiry, as it always is on board of a man-of-war,
although, at the same time, it behoves people to be rather careful how
they pass such an order, without being prepared with a subsequent and
most satisfactory explanation.

The topmast studding-sail flapped and fluttered, the foresail shivered,
and the jib filled as the frigate rounded to, narrowly missing the
wreck, which was now under the bows, rocking so violently in the white
foam of the agitated waters, that it was with difficulty that Coco
could, by clinging to the stump of the mainmast, retain his elevated
position.  The frigate shortened sail, hove to, and lowered down a
quarter-boat, and in less than five minutes Coco, Judy, and the infant,
were rescued from their awful situation.  Poor Judy, who had borne up
against all for the sake of the child, placed it in the arms of the
officer who relieved them, and then fell back in a state of
insensibility, in which condition she was carried on board.  Coco, as he
took his place in the stern-sheets of the boat, gazed wildly round him,
and then broke out into peals of extravagant laughter, which continued
without intermission, and were the only replies which he could give to
the interrogatories of the quarter-deck, until he fell down in a swoon,
and was entrusted to the care of the surgeon.



CHAPTER TWO.

THE BACHELOR.

On the evening of the same day on which the child and the two negroes
had been saved from the wreck by the fortunate appearance of the
frigate, Mr Witherington, of Finsbury Square, was sitting alone in his
dining-room wondering what could have become of the _Circassian_, and
why he had not received intelligence of her arrival.  Mr Witherington,
as we said before, was alone; he had his port and his sherry before him;
and although the weather was rather warm, there was a small fire in the
grate, because, as Mr Witherington asserted, it looked comfortable.
Mr Witherington having watched the ceiling of the room for some time,
although there was certainly nothing new to be discovered, filled
another glass of wine, and then proceeded to make himself more
comfortable by unbuttoning three more buttons of his waistcoat, pushing
his wig further off his head, and casting loose all the buttons at the
knees of his breeches; he completed his arrangements by dragging towards
him two chairs within his reach, putting his legs on one, while he
rested his arm on the other.  And why was not Mr Witherington to make
himself comfortable?  He had good health, a good conscience, and eight
thousand a-year.

Satisfied with all his little arrangements, Mr Witherington sipped his
port wine, and putting down his glass again, fell back in his chair,
placed his hands on his breast, interwove his fingers; and in this most
comfortable position recommenced his speculations as to the non-arrival
of the _Circassian_.

We will leave him to his cogitations while we introduce him more
particularly to our readers.

The father of Mr Witherington was a younger son of one of the oldest
and proudest families in the West Riding of Yorkshire: he had his choice
of the four professions allotted to younger sons whose veins are filled
with patrician blood--the army, the navy, the law, and the church.  The
army did not suit him, he said, as marching and counter-marching were
not comfortable; the navy did not suit him, as there was little comfort
in gales of wind and mouldy biscuit: the law did not suit him, as he was
not sure that he would be at ease with his conscience, which would not
be comfortable; the church was also rejected, as it was, with him,
connected with the idea of a small stipend, hard duty, a wife and eleven
children, which were anything but comfortable.  Much to the horror of
his family he eschewed all the liberal professions, and embraced the
offer of an old backslider of an uncle, who proposed to him a situation
in his banking-house, and a partnership as soon as he deserved it; the
consequence was, that his relations bade him an indignant farewell, and
then made no further inquiries about him: he was as decidedly cut as one
of the female branches of the family would have been had she committed a
_faux pas_.

Nevertheless, Mr Witherington senior stuck diligently to his business,
in a few years was partner, and, at the death of the old gentleman, his
uncle, found himself in possession of a good property, and every year
coining money at his bank.

Mr Witherington senior then purchased a house in Finsbury Square, and
thought it advisable to look out for a wife.

Having still much of the family pride in his composition, he resolved
not to muddle the blood of the Witheringtons by any cross from Cateaton
Street or Mincing Lane; and, after a proper degree of research, he
selected the daughter of a Scotch earl, who went to London with a bevy
of nine in a Leith smack to barter blood for wealth.  Mr Witherington
being so unfortunate as to be the first comer, had the pick of the nine
ladies by courtesy; his choice was light-haired, blue-eyed, a little
freckled, and very tall, by no means bad-looking, and standing on the
list in the family Bible, Number Four.  From this union Mr Witherington
had issue; first, a daughter, christened Moggy, whom we shall soon have
to introduce to our readers as a spinster of forty-seven; and second,
Antony Alexander Witherington Esquire, whom we just now have left in a
very comfortable position, and in a very brown study.

Mr Witherington senior persuaded his son to enter the banking-house,
and, as a dutiful son, he entered it every day; but he did nothing more,
having made the fortunate discovery that "his father was born before
him;" or, in other words, that his father had plenty of money, and would
be necessitated to leave it behind him.

As Mr Witherington senior had always studied comfort, his son had early
imbibed the same idea, and carried his feelings, in that respect, to a
much greater excess; he divided things into comfortable and
uncomfortable.  One fine day, Lady Mary Witherington, after paying all
the household bills, paid the debt of Nature; that is, she died: her
husband paid the undertaker's bill, so it is to be presumed that she was
buried.

Mr Witherington senior shortly afterwards had a stroke of apoplexy,
which knocked him down.  Death, who has no feelings of honour, struck
him when down.  And Mr Witherington, after having laid a few days in
bed, was by a second stroke laid in the same vault as Lady Mary
Witherington: and Mr Witherington junior (our Mr Witherington) after
deducting 40,000 pounds for his sister's fortune, found himself in
possession of a clear 8,000 pounds per annum, and an excellent house in
Finsbury Square.  Mr Witherington considered this a comfortable income,
and he therefore retired altogether from business.

During the lifetime of his parents he had been witness to one or two
matrimonial scenes, which had induced him to put down matrimony as one
of the things not comfortable: therefore he remained a bachelor.

His sister Moggy also remained unmarried; but whether it was from a very
unprepossessing squint which deterred suitors, or from the same dislike
to matrimony as her brother had imbibed, it is not in our power to say.
Mr Witherington was three years younger than his sister; and although
he had for some time worn a wig, it was only because he considered it
more comfortable.  Mr Witherington's whole character might be summed up
in two words--eccentricity and benevolence: eccentric he certainly was,
as most bachelors usually are.  Man is but a rough pebble without the
attrition received from contact with the gentler sex: it is wonderful
how the ladies pumice a man down to a smoothness which occasions him to
roll over and over with the rest of his species, jostling but not
wounding his neighbours, as the waves of circumstances bring him into
collision with them.

Mr Witherington roused himself from his deep reverie, and felt for the
string connected with the bell-pull, which it was the butler's duty
invariably to attach to the arm of his master's chair previous to his
last exit from the dining-room; for, as Mr Witherington very truly
observed, it was very uncomfortable to be obliged to get up and ring the
bell: indeed, more than once Mr Witherington had calculated the
advantages and disadvantages of having a daughter about eight years old
who could ring bells, air the newspapers, and cut the leaves of a new
novel.

When, however, he called to mind that she could not always remain at
that precise age, he decided that the balance of comfort was against it.

Mr Witherington, having pulled the bell again, fell into a brown study.

Mr Jonathan, the butler, made his appearance; but observing that his
master was occupied, he immediately stopped at the door, erect,
motionless, and with a face as melancholy as if he was performing mute
at the porch of some departed peer of the realm; for it is an understood
thing, that the greater the rank of the defunct the longer must be the
face, and, of course, the better must be the pay.

Now, as Mr Witherington is still in profound thought, and Mr Jonathan
will stand as long as a hackney-coach horse, we will just leave them as
they are, while we introduce the brief history of the latter to our
readers.  Jonathan Trapp has served as foot_boy_, which term, we
believe, is derived from those who are in that humble capacity receiving
a _quantum suff._ of the application of the feet of those above them to
increase the energy of their service; then as foot_man_; which implies
that they have been promoted to the more agreeable right of
administering instead of receiving the above dishonourable applications;
and lastly, for promotion could go no higher in the family, he had been
raised to the dignity of butler in the service of Mr Witherington
senior.  Jonathan then fell in love, for butlers are guilty of
indiscretions as well as their masters: neither he nor his fair flame,
who was a lady's maid in another family, notwithstanding that they had
witnessed the consequences of this error in others, would take warning;
they gave warning, and they married.

Like most butlers and ladies' maids who pair off, they set up a
public-house; and it is but justice to the lady's maid to say, that she
would have preferred an eating-house, but was overruled by Jonathan, who
argued, that although people would drink when they were not dry, they
never would eat unless they were hungry.

Now, although there was truth in the observation, this is certain, that
business did not prosper: it has been surmised that Jonathan's tall,
lank, lean figure injured his custom, as people are but too much
inclined to judge of the goodness of the ale by the rubicund face and
rotundity of the landlord; and therefore inferred that there could be no
good beer where mine host was the picture of famine.  There certainly is
much in appearances in this world; and it appears that, in consequence
of Jonathan's cadaverous appearance, he very soon appeared in the
_Gazette_; but what ruined Jonathan in one profession procured him
immediate employment in another.  An appraiser, upholsterer, and
undertaker, who was called in to value the fixtures, fixed his eye upon
Jonathan, and knowing the value of his peculiarly lugubrious appearance,
and having a half-brother of equal height, offered him immediate
employment as a mute.  Jonathan soon forgot to mourn his own loss of a
few hundreds in his new occupation of mourning the loss of thousands;
and his erect, stiff, statue-like carriage, and long melancholy face, as
he stood at the portals of those who had entered the portals of the next
world, were but too often a sarcasm upon the grief of the inheritors.
Even grief is worth nothing in this trafficking world unless it be paid
for.  Jonathan buried many, and at last buried his wife.  So far all was
well; but at last he buried his master, the undertaker, which was not
quite so desirable.  Although Jonathan wept not, yet did he express mute
sorrow as he marshalled him to his long home, and drank to his memory in
a pot of porter as he returned from the funeral, perched, with many
others, like carrion crows on the top of the hearse.

And now Jonathan was thrown out of employment from a reason which most
people would have thought the highest recommendation.  Every undertaker
refused to take him, because they could not match him.  In this
unfortunate dilemma, Jonathan thought of Mr Witherington junior; he had
served and he had buried Mr Witherington his father, and Lady Mary his
mother; he felt that he had strong claims for such variety of services,
and he applied to the bachelor.  Fortunately for Jonathan, Mr
Witherington's butler-incumbent was just about to commit the same folly
as Jonathan had done before, and Jonathan was again installed, resolving
in his own mind to lead his former life, and have nothing more to do
with ladies' maids.  But from habit Jonathan still carried himself as a
mute on all ordinary occasions--never indulging in an approximation to
mirth, except when he perceived that his master was in high spirits, and
then rather from a sense of duty than from any real hilarity of heart.

Jonathan was no mean scholar for his station in life, and during his
service with the undertaker, he had acquired the English of all the
Latin mottoes which are placed upon the hatchments; and these mottoes,
when he considered them as apt, he was very apt to quote.  We left
Jonathan standing at the door; he had closed it, and the handle still
remained in his hand.  "Jonathan," said Mr Witherington, after a long
pause--"I wish to look at the last letter from New York, you will find
it on my dressing-table."

Jonathan quitted the room without reply, and made his reappearance with
the letter.

"It is a long time that I have been expecting this vessel, Jonathan,"
observed Mr Witherington, unfolding the letter.

"Yes, sir, a long while; _tempus fugit_," replied the butler in a low
tone, half shutting his eyes.

"I hope to God no accident has happened," continued Mr Witherington:
"my poor little cousin and her twins e'en now that I speak, they may be
all at the bottom of the sea."

"Yes, sir," replied the butler; "the sea defrauds many an honest
undertaker of his profits."

"By the blood of the Witheringtons!  I may be left without an heir, and
shall be obliged to marry, which would be very uncomfortable."

"Very little comfort," echoed Jonathan--"my wife is dead.  In caelo
quies."

"Well, we must hope for the best; but this suspense is anything but
comfortable," observed Mr Witherington, after looking over the contents
of the letter for at least the twentieth time.

"That will do, Jonathan; I'll ring for coffee presently;" and Mr
Witherington was again alone and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

A cousin of Mr Witherington, and a very great favourite (for Mr
Witherington, having a large fortune, and not having anything to do with
business, was courted by his relations), had, to a certain degree,
committed herself; that is to say, that, notwithstanding the injunctions
of her parents, she had fallen in love with a young lieutenant in a
marching regiment, whose pedigree was but respectable, and whose fortune
was anything but respectable, consisting merely of a subaltern's pay.
Poor men, unfortunately, always make love better than those who are
rich, because, having less to care about, and not being puffed up with
their own consequence, they are not so selfish and think much more of
the lady than of themselves.  Young ladies, also, who fall in love,
never consider whether there is sufficient "to make the pot boil"--
probably because young ladies in love lose their appetites, and, not
feeling inclined to eat at that time, they imagine that love will always
supply the want of food.  Now, we will appeal to the married ladies
whether we are not right in asserting that, although the collation
spread for them and their friends on the day of the marriage is looked
upon with almost loathing, they do not find their appetites return with
interest soon afterwards.  This was precisely the case with Cecilia, or
rather, Cecilia Templemore, for she had changed her name the day before.
It was also the case with her husband, who always had a good appetite,
even during his days of courtship; and the consequence was, that the
messman's account, for they lived in barracks, was, in a few weeks,
rather alarming.  Cecilia applied to her family, who very kindly sent
her word that she might starve; but, the advice neither suiting her nor
her husband, she then wrote to her cousin Antony, who sent her word that
he would be most happy to receive them at his table, and that they
should take up their abode in Finsbury Square.  This was exactly what
they wished; but still there was a certain difficulty; Lieutenant
Templemore's regiment was quartered in a town in Yorkshire, which was
some trifling distance from Finsbury Square; and to be at Mr
Witherington's dinner-table at six p.m., with the necessity of appearing
at parade every morning at nine a.m., was a dilemma not to be got out
of.  Several letters were interchanged upon this knotty subject: and at
last it was agreed that Mr Templemore should sell out, and come up to
Mr Witherington with his pretty wife: he did so, and found that it was
much more comfortable to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning to a
good breakfast than to a martial parade.  But Mr Templemore had an
honest pride and independence of character which would not permit him to
eat the bread of idleness, and after a sojourn of two months in most
comfortable quarters, without a messman's bill, he frankly stated his
feelings to Mr Witherington, and requested his assistance to procure
for himself an honourable livelihood.  Mr Witherington, who had become
attached to them both, would have remonstrated, observing that Cecilia
was his own cousin, and that he was a confirmed bachelor; but, in this
instance, Mr Templemore was firm, and Mr Witherington very unwillingly
consented.  A mercantile house of the highest respectability required a
partner who could superintend their consignments to America.  Mr
Witherington advanced the sum required; and, in a few weeks, Mr and
Mrs Templemore sailed for New York.

Mr Templemore was active and intelligent; their affairs prospered; and,
in a few years, they anticipated a return to their native soil with a
competence.  But the autumn of the second year after their arrival
proved very sickly; the yellow fever raged; and among the thousands who
were carried off, Mr Templemore was a victim, about three weeks after
his wife had been brought to bed of twins.  Mrs Templemore rose from
her couch a widow and the mother of two fine boys.  The loss of Mr
Templemore was replaced by the establishment with which he was
connected, and Mr Witherington offered to his cousin that asylum which,
in her mournful and unexpected bereavement, she so much required.  In
three months her affairs were arranged; and with her little boys hanging
at the breasts of two negro nurses,--for no others could be procured who
would undertake the voyage,--Mrs Templemore, with Coco as male servant,
embarked on board of the good ship _Circassian_, A1, bound to Liverpool.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE GALE.

Those who, standing on the pier, had witnessed the proud bearing of the
_Circassian_ as she gave her canvas to the winds, little contemplated
her fate: still less did those on board; for confidence is the
characteristic of seamen, and they have the happy talent of imparting
their confidence to whomsoever may be in their company.  We shall pass
over the voyage, confining ourselves to a description of the
catastrophe.

It was during a gale from the north-west, which had continued for three
days, and by which the _Circassian_ had been driven into the Bay of
Biscay, that at about twelve o'clock at night, a slight lull was
perceptible.  The captain, who had remained on deck, sent down for the
chief mate.  "Oswald," said Captain Ingram, "the gale is breaking, and I
think before morning we shall have had the worst of it.  I shall lie
down for an hour or two; call me if there be any change."

Oswald Bareth, a tall, sinewy-built, and handsome specimen of
transatlantic growth, examined the whole circumference of the horizon
before he replied.  At last his eyes were steadily fixed to leeward:
"I've a notion not, sir," said he; "I see no signs of clearing off to
leeward: only a lull for relief, and a fresh hand at the bellows, depend
upon it."

"We have now had it three days," replied Captain Ingram, "and that's the
life of a summer gale."

"Yes," rejoined the mate; "but always provided that it don't blow back
again.  I don't like the look of it, sir; and have it back we shall, as
sure as there's snakes in Virginny."

"Well, so be if so be," was the safe reply of the captain.  "You must
keep a sharp look out, Bareth, and don't leave the deck to call me; send
a hand down."

The captain descended to his cabin.  Oswald looked at the compass in the
binnacle--spoke a few words to the man at the helm--gave one or two
terrible kicks in the ribs to some of the men who were caulking--sounded
the pump-well--put a fresh quid of tobacco into his cheek, and then
proceeded to examine the heavens above.  A cloud, much darker and more
descending than the others, which obscured the firmament, spread over
the zenith, and based itself upon the horizon to leeward.  Oswald's eye
had been fixed upon it but a few seconds, when he beheld a small lambent
gleam of lightning pierce through the most opaque part; then another,
and more vivid.  Of a sudden the wind lulled, and the _Circassian_
righted from her careen.  Again the wind howled, and again the vessel
was pressed down to her bearings by its force: again another flash of
lightning, which was followed by a distant peal of thunder.

"Had the worst of it, did you say, captain?  I've a notion that the
worst is yet to come," muttered Oswald, still watching the heavens.

"How does she carry her helm, Matthew?" inquired Oswald, walking aft.

"Spoke a-weather."

"I'll have the trysail off her, at any rate," continued the mate.  "Aft,
there my lads! and lower down the trysail.  Keep the sheet fast till
it's down, or the flogging will frighten the lady-passenger out of her
wits.  Well, if ever I own a craft, I'll have no women on board.
Dollars shan't tempt me."

The lightning now played in rapid forks; and the loud thunder, which
instantaneously followed each flash, proved its near approach.  A deluge
of slanting rain descended--the wind lulled--roared again--then lulled--
shifted a point or two, and the drenched and heavy sails flapped.

"Up with the helm, Mat!" cried Oswald, as a near flash of lightning for
a moment blinded, and the accompanying peal of thunder deafened, those
on deck.  Again the wind blew strong--it ceased, and it was a dead calm.
The sails hung down from the yards, and the rain descended in
perpendicular torrents, while the ship rocked to and fro in the trough
of the sea, and the darkness became suddenly intense.

"Down there, one of you! and call the captain," said Oswald.  "By the
Lord! we shall have it.  Main braces there, men, and square the yards.
Be smart!  That topsail should have been in," muttered the mate; "but
I'm not captain.  Square away the yards, my lads!" continued he; "quick,
quick!--there's no child's play here!"

Owing to the difficulty of finding and passing the ropes to each other,
from the intensity of the darkness, and the deluge of rain which blinded
them, the men were not able to execute the order of the mate so soon as
it was necessary; and before they could accomplish their task, or
Captain Ingram could gain the deck, the wind suddenly burst upon the
devoted vessel from the quarter directly opposite to that from which the
gale had blown, taking her all a-back, and throwing her on her
beam-ends.  The man at the helm was hurled over the wheel; while the
rest, who were with Oswald at the main-bits, with the coils of ropes,
and every other article on deck not secured, were rolled into the
scuppers, struggling to extricate themselves from the mass of confusion
and the water in which they floundered.  The sudden revulsion awoke all
the men below, who imagined that the ship was foundering; and, from the
only hatchway not secured, they poured up in their shirts with their
other garments in their hands, to put them on--if fate permitted.

Oswald Bareth was the first who clambered up from to leeward.  He gained
the helm, which he put hard up.  Captain Ingram and some of the seamen
also gained the helm.  It is the rendezvous of all good seamen in
emergencies of this description: but the howling of the gale--the
blinding of the rain and salt spray--the seas checked in their running
by the shift of wind, and breaking over the ship in vast masses of
water--the tremendous peals of thunder--and the intense darkness which
accompanied these horrors, added to the inclined position of the vessel,
which obliged them to climb from one part of the deck to another, for
some time checked all profitable communication.  Their only friend, in
this conflict of the elements, was the lightning (unhappy, indeed, the
situation in which lightning can be welcomed as a friend); but its vivid
and forked flames, darting down upon every quarter of the horizon,
enabled them to perceive their situation; and, awful as it was, when
momentarily presented to their sight, it was not so awful as darkness
and uncertainty.  To those who have been accustomed to the difficulties
and dangers of a sea-faring life, there are no lines which speak more
forcibly to the imagination, or prove the beauty and power of the Greek
poet, than those in the noble prayer of Ajax:

  "Lord of earth and air,
  O king!  O father! hear my humble prayer.
  Dispel this cloud, that light of heaven restore;
  Give me to see--and Ajax asks no more,
  If Greece must perish--we Thy will obey;
  But _let us perish in the face of day_!"

Oswald gave the helm to two of the seamen, and with his knife cut adrift
the axes, which were lashed round the mizen-mast in painted canvas
covers.  One he retained for himself,--the others he put into the hands
of the boatswain and the second mate.  To speak so as to be heard was
almost impossible, from the tremendous roaring of the wind; but the lamp
still burned in the binnacle, and by its feeble light Captain Ingram
could distinguish the signs made by the mate, and could give his
consent.  It was necessary that the ship should be put before the wind;
and the helm had no power over her.  In a short time the lanyards of the
mizen rigging were severed, and the mizen-mast went over the side,
almost unperceived by the crew on the other parts of the deck, or even
those near, had it not been from blows received by those who were too
close to it, from the falling of the topsail-sheets and the rigging
about the mast.

Oswald, with his companions, regained the binnacle, and for a little
while watched the compass.  The ship did not pay off, and appeared to
settle down more into the water.  Again Oswald made his signs, and again
the captain gave his assent.  Forward sprang the undaunted mate,
clinging to the bulwark and belaying-pins, and followed by his hardy
companions, until they had all three gained the main channels.  Here,
their exposure to the force of the breaking waves, and the stoutness of
the ropes yielding but slowly to the blows of the axes, which were used
almost under water, rendered the service one of extreme difficulty and
danger.  The boatswain was washed over the bulwark and dashed to
leeward, where the lee-rigging only saved him from a watery grave.
Unsubdued, he again climbed up to windward, rejoined and assisted his
companions.  The last blow was given by Oswald--the lanyards flew
through the dead-eyes--and the tall mast disappeared in the foaming
seas.  Oswald and his companions hastened from their dangerous position,
and rejoined the captain, who, with many of the crew, still remained
near the wheel.  The ship now slowly paid off and righted.  In a few
minutes she was flying before the gale, rolling heavily, and
occasionally striking upon the wrecks of the masts, which she towed with
her by the lee-rigging.

Although the wind blew with as much violence as before, still it was not
with the same noise, now that the ship was before the wind with her
after-masts gone.  The next service was to clear the ship of the wrecks
of the masts; but, although all now assisted, but little could be
effected until the day had dawned, and even then it was a service of
danger, as the ship rolled gunwale under.  Those who performed the duty
were slung in ropes, that they might not be washed away; and hardly was
it completed, when a heavy roll, assisted by a jerking heave from a sea
which struck her on the chess-tree, sent the foremast over the starboard
cathead.  Thus was the _Circassian_ dismasted in the gale.



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE LEAK.

The wreck of the foremast was cleared from the ship; the gale continued,
but the sun shone brightly and warmly.  The _Circassian_ was again
brought to the wind.  All danger was now considered to be over, and the
seamen joked and laughed as they were busied in preparing jury-masts to
enable them to reach their destined port.

"I wouldn't have cared so much about this spree," said the boatswain,
"if it warn't for the mainmast; it was such a beauty.  There's not
another stick to be found equal to it in the whole length of the
Mississippi."

"Bah! man," replied Oswald; "there's as good fish in the sea as ever
came out of it, and as good sticks growing as ever were felled; but I
guess we'll pay pretty dear for our spars when we get to Liverpool,--but
that concerns the owners."

The wind, which, at the time of its sudden change to the southward and
eastward, had blown with the force of a hurricane, now settled into a
regular strong gale, such as sailors are prepared to meet and laugh at.
The sky was also bright and clear, and they had not the danger of a lee
shore.  It was a delightful change after a night of darkness, danger,
and confusion and the men worked that they might get sufficient sail on
the ship to steady her, and enable them to shape a course.

"I suppose now that we have the trysail on her forward, the captain will
be for running for it," observed one who was busy turning in a dead-eye.

"Yes," replied the boatswain; "and with this wind on our quarter we
shan't want much sail, I've a notion."

"Well, then, one advantage in losing your mast--you haven't much trouble
about the rigging."

"Trouble enough, though, Bill, when we get in," replied another,
gruffly; "new lower rigging to parcel and sarve, and every block to turn
in afresh."

"Never mind, longer in port--I'll get spliced."

"Why, how often do you mean to get spliced, Bill?  You've a wife in
every State, to my sartin knowledge."

"I ain't got one at Liverpool, Jack."

"Well, you may take one there, Bill; for you've been sweet upon that
nigger girl for these last three weeks."

"Any port in a storm, but she won't do for harbour duty.  But the fact
is, you're all wrong there, Jack, its the babbies I likes--I likes to
see them both together, hanging at the niggers' breasts, I always think
of two spider-monkeys nursing two kittens."

"I knows the women, but I never knows the children.  It's just six of
one and half-a-dozen of the other; ain't it, Bill?"

"Yes; like two bright bullets out of the same mould.  I say, Bill, did
any of your wives ever have twins?"

"No; nor I don't intend, until the owners give us double pay."

"By-the-bye," interrupted Oswald, who had been standing under the
weather bulk-head, listening to the conversation, and watching the work
in progress, "we may just as well see if she has made any water with all
this straining and buffeting.  By the Lord I never thought of that.
Carpenter, lay down your adze and sound the well."

The carpenter, who, notwithstanding the uneasiness of the dismasted
vessel, was performing his important share of the work, immediately
complied with the order.  He drew up the rope-yarn, to which an iron
rule had been suspended, and lowered down into the pump-well, and
perceived that the water was dripping from it.  Imagining that it must
have been wet from the quantity of water shipped over all, the carpenter
disengaged the rope-yarn from the rule, drew another from the junk lying
on the deck, which the seamen were working up, and then carefully
proceeded to plumb the well.  He hauled it up, and, looking at it for
some moments aghast, exclaimed, "_Seven feet_ of water in the hold, by
God."

If the crew of the _Circassian_, the whole of which were on deck, had
been struck with an electric shock, the sudden change of their
countenances could not have been greater than was produced by this
appalling intelligence.

Heap upon sailors every disaster, every danger which can be accumulated
from the waves, the wind, the elements, or the enemy, and they will bear
up against them with a courage amounting to heroism.  All that they
demand is, that the one plank "between them and death" is sound, and
they will trust to their own energies, and will be confident in their
own skill: but _spring a leak_ and they are half paralysed; and if it
gain upon them they are subdued; for when they find that their exertions
are futile, they are little better than children.

Oswald sprang to the pumps when he heard the carpenter's report.  "Try
again, Abel--it cannot be: cut away that line; hand us here a dry
rope-yarn."

Once more the well was sounded by Oswald, and the result was the same.
"We must rig the pumps, my lads," said the mate, endeavouring to conceal
his own fears; "half this water must have found its way in when she was
on her beam-ends."

This idea, so judiciously thrown out, was caught at by the seamen, who
hastened to obey the order, while Oswald went down to acquaint the
captain, who, worn out with watching and fatigue, had, now that danger
was considered to be over, thrown himself into his cot to obtain a few
hours' repose.

"Do you think, Bareth, that we have sprung a leak?" said the captain,
earnestly, "She never could have taken in that quantity of water."

"Never, sir," replied the mate; "but she has been so strained, that she
may have opened her top-sides.  I trust it is no worse."

"What is your opinion, then?"

"I am afraid that the wrecks of the masts have injured her: you may
recollect how often we struck against them before we could clear
ourselves of them; once, particularly, the mainmast appeared to be right
under her bottom, I recollect, and she struck very heavy on it."

"Well, it is God's will: let us get on deck as fast as we can."

When they arrived on deck, the carpenter walked up to the captain, and
quietly said to him, "_Seven feet three, sir_."  The pumps were then in
full action; the men had divided, by the direction of the boatswain,
and, stripped naked to the waist, relieved each other every two minutes.
For half an hour they laboured incessantly.

This was the half-hour of suspense: the great point to be ascertained
was, whether she leaked through the top-sides, and had taken in the
water during the second gale; if so, there was every hope of keeping it
under.  Captain Ingram and the mate remained in silence near the
capstan, the former with his watch in his hand, during the time that the
sailors exerted themselves to the utmost.  It was ten minutes past seven
when the half hour had expired; the well was sounded and the line
carefully measured--_Seven feet six inches_!  So that the water had
gained upon them, notwithstanding that they had plied the pumps to the
utmost of their strength.

A mute look of despair was exchanged among the crew, but it was followed
up by curses and execrations.  Captain Ingram remained silent, with his
lips compressed.

"It's all over with us!" exclaimed one of the men.

"Not yet, my lads; we have one more chance," said Oswald.  "I've a
notion that the ship's sides have been opened by the infernal straining
of last night, and that she is now taking it in at the top-sides
generally: if so, we have only to put her before the wind again, and
have another good spell at the pumps.  When no longer strained, as she
is now with her broadside to the sea, she will close all up again."

"I shouldn't wonder if Mr Bareth is not right," replied the carpenter;
"however, that's my notion, too."

"And mine," added Captain Ingram.  "Come, my men! never say die while
there's a shot in the locker.  Let's try her again."  And, to encourage
the men, Captain Ingram threw off his coat and assisted at the first
spell, while Oswald went to the helm and put the ship before the wind.

As the _Circassian_ rolled before the gale, the lazy manner in which she
righted proved how much water there was in the hold.  The seamen exerted
themselves for a whole hour without intermission, and the well was again
sounded--_eight feet_!

The men did not assert that they would pump no longer; but they too
plainly showed their intentions by each resuming in silence his shirt
and jacket, which had been taken off at the commencement of his
exertions.

"What's to be done, Oswald?" said Captain Ingram, as they walked aft.
"You see the men will pump no longer: nor, indeed, would it be of any
use.  We are doomed."

"The _Circassian_ is, sir, I am afraid," replied the mate: "pumping is
of no avail; they could not keep her afloat till day-break.  We must
therefore, trust to our boats, which I believe to be all sound, and quit
her before night."

"Crowded boats in such a sea as this!" replied Captain Ingram, shaking
his head mournfully.

"Are bad enough, I grant; but better than the sea itself.  All we can do
now is to try and keep the men sober, and if we can do so it will be
better than to fatigue them uselessly; they'll want all their strength
before they put foot again upon dry land--if ever they are so fortunate.
Shall I speak to them?"

"Do, Oswald," replied the captain; "for myself I care little, God knows;
but my wife--my children!"

"My lads," said Oswald, going forward to the men, who had waited in
moody silence the result of the conference--"as for pumping any longer
it would be only wearing out your strength for no good.  We must now
look to our boats; and a good boat is better than a bad ship.  Still
this gale and cross-running sea are rather too much for boats at
present; we had therefore better stick to the ship as long as we can.
Let us set to with a will and get the boats ready, with provisions,
water, and what may be needful, and then we must trust to God's mercy
and our own endeavours."

"No boat can stand this sea," observed one of the men.  "I'm of opinion,
as it's to be a short life, it may as well be a merry one.  What d'ye
say, my lads?" continued he, appealing to the men.

Several of the crew were of the same opinion: but Oswald, stepping
forward, seized one of the axes which lay at the main-bits, and going up
to the seaman who had spoken, looked him steadfastly in the face:--

"Williams," said the mate, "a short life it may be to all of us, but not
a merry one; the meaning of which I understand very well.  Sorry I shall
be to have your blood, or that of others, on my hands; but as sure as
there's a heaven, I'll cleave to the shoulder the first man who attempts
to break into the spirit-room.  You know I never joke.  Shame upon you!
Do you call yourselves men, when, for the sake of a little liquor now,
you would lose your only chance of getting drunk every day as soon as we
get on shore again?  There's a time for all things; and I've a notion
this is a time to be sober."

As most of the crew sided with Oswald, the weaker party were obliged to
submit, and the preparations were commenced.  The two boats on the booms
were found to be in good condition.  One party was employed cutting away
the bulwarks, that the boats might be launched over the side, as there
were no means of hoisting them out.  The well was again sounded.  Nine
feet of water in the hold, and the ship evidently settling fast.  Two
hours had now passed, and the gale was not so violent; the sea, also,
which at the change of wind had been cross, appeared to have recovered
its regular run.  All was ready; the sailors, once at work again, had,
in some measure, recovered their spirits, and were buoyed up with fresh
hopes at the slight change in their favour from the decrease of the
wind.  The two boats were quite large enough to contain the whole of the
crew and passengers; but, as the sailors said among themselves (proving
the kindness of their hearts), "What was to become of those two poor
babbies, in an open boat for days and nights, perhaps?"  Captain Ingram
had gone down to Mrs Templemore, to impart to her their melancholy
prospects; and the mother's heart, as well as the mother's voice, echoed
the words of the seamen, "What will become of my poor babes?"

It was not till nearly six o'clock in the evening that all was ready:
the ship was slowly brought to the wind again, and the boats launched
over the side.  By this time the gale was much abated; but the vessel
was full of water, and was expected soon to go down.

There is no time in which coolness and determination are more required
than in a situation like the one which we have attempted to describe.
It is impossible to know the precise moment at which a water-logged
vessel, in a heavy sea, may go down: and its occupants are in a state of
mental fever, with the idea of their remaining in her so late that she
will suddenly submerge, and leave them to struggle in the waves.  This
feeling actuated many of the crew of the _Circassian_, and they had
already retreated to the boats.  All was arranged; Oswald had charge of
one boat, and it was agreed that the larger should receive Mrs
Templemore and her children, under the protection of Captain Ingram.
The number appointed to Oswald's boat being completed, he shoved off, to
make room for the other, and laid-to to leeward, waiting to keep
company.  Mrs Templemore came up with Captain Ingram, and was assisted
by him into the boat.  The nurse, with one child, was at last placed by
her side; Coco was leading Judy, the other nurse, with the remaining
infant in her arms, and Captain Ingram, who had been obliged to go into
the boat with the first child, was about to return to assist Judy with
the other, when the ship gave a heavy pitch, and her forecastle was
buried in the wave: at the same time the gunwale of the boat was stove
by coming in contact with the side of the vessel.  "She's down, by God!"
exclaimed the alarmed seamen in the boat; shoving off to escape from the
vortex.

Captain Ingram, who was standing on the boat's thwarts to assist Judy,
was thrown back into the bottom of the boat; and, before he could
extricate himself, the boat was separated from the ship, and had drifted
to leeward.

"My child!" screamed the mother: "my child!"

"Pull to again, my lads!" cried Captain Ingram, seizing the tiller.

The men, who had been alarmed at the idea that the ship was going down,
now that they saw that she was still afloat, got out the oars and
attempted to regain her, but in vain--they could not make head against
the sea and wind.  Further and further did they drift to leeward,
notwithstanding their exertions; while the frantic mother extended her
arms, imploring and entreating.  Captain Ingram, who had stimulated the
sailors to the utmost, perceived that further attempts were useless.

"My child! my child!" screamed Mrs Templemore, standing up, and holding
out her arms towards the vessel.  At a sign from the captain, the head
of the boat was veered round.  The bereaved mother knew that all hope
was gone, and she fell down in a state of insensibility.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE OLD MAID.

One morning, shortly after the disasters which we have described, Mr
Witherington descended to his breakfast-room somewhat earlier than
usual, and found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by no
less a personage than William the footman, who, with his feet on the
fender, was so attentively reading the newspaper that he did not hear
his master's entrance.  "By my ancestor, who fought on his stumps! but I
hope you are quite comfortable, Mr William; nay, I beg I may not
disturb you, sir."

William, although as impudent as most of his fraternity, was a little
taken aback.  "I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr Jonathan had not time to
look over the paper."

"Nor is it required that he should, that I know of, sir."

"Mr Jonathan says, sir, that it is always right to look over the
_deaths_, that news of that kind may not shock you."

"Very considerate, indeed."

"And there is a story there, sir, about a shipwreck."

"A shipwreck! where, William?  God bless me! where is it?"

"I am afraid it is the same ship you are so anxious about, sir,--the--I
forget the name, sir."

Mr Witherington took the newspaper, and his eye soon caught the
paragraph in which the rescue of the two negroes and child from the
wreck of the _Circassian_ was fully detailed.

"It is indeed!" exclaimed Mr Witherington.  "My poor Cecilia in an open
boat! one of the boats was seen to go down,--perhaps she's dead--
merciful God! one boy saved.  Mercy on me! where's Jonathan?"

"Here, sir," replied Jonathan, very solemnly, who had just brought in
the eggs, and now stood erect as a mute behind his master's chair, for
it was a case of danger, if not of death.

"I must go to Portsmouth immediately after breakfast--shan't eat
though--appetite all gone."

"People seldom do, sir, on these melancholy occasions," replied
Jonathan.  "Will you take your own carriage, sir, or a mourning coach?"

"A mourning coach at fourteen miles an hour, with two pair of horses!
Jonathan, you're crazy."

"Will you please to have black silk hatbands and gloves for the coachman
and servants who attend you, sir?"

"Confound your shop! no; this is a resurrection, not a death; it appears
that the negro thinks only one of the boats went down."

"_Mors omnia vincit_," quoth Jonathan, casting up his eyes.

"Never you mind that; mind your own business.  That's the postman's
knock--see if there are any letters."

There were several; and amongst the others there was one from Captain
Maxwell, of the _Eurydice_, detailing the circumstances already known,
and informing Mr Witherington that he had despatched the two negroes
and the child to his address by that day's coach, and that one of the
officers, who was going to town by the same conveyance, would see them
safe to his house.

Captain Maxwell was an old acquaintance of Mr Witherington--had dined
at his house in company with the Templemores, and therefore had
extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to
direct them.

"By the blood of my ancestors! they'll be here to night," cried Mr
Witherington; "and I have saved my journey.  What is to be done? better
tell Mary to get rooms ready: d'ye hear, William? beds for one little
boy and two niggers."

"Yes, sir," replied William; "but where are the black people to be put?"

"Put!  I don't care; one may sleep with cook, the other with Mary."

"Very well, sir, I'll tell them," replied William, hastening away,
delighted at the row which he anticipated in the kitchen.

"If you please, sir," observed Jonathan, "one of the negroes is, I
believe, a man."

"Well, what then?"

"Only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him."

"By all the plagues of the Witheringtons! this is true; well, you may
take him, Jonathan--you like that colour."

"Not in the dark, sir," replied Jonathan with a bow.

"Well, then, let them sleep together: so that affair is settled."

"Are they man and wife, sir?" said the butler.

"The devil take them both! how should I know?  Let me have my breakfast,
and we'll talk over the matter by-and-by."

Mr Witherington applied to his eggs, and muffin, eating his breakfast
as fast as he could, without knowing why; but the reason was that he was
puzzled and perplexed with the anticipated arrival, and longed to think
quietly over the dilemma, for it was a dilemma to an old bachelor.  As
soon as he had swallowed his second cup of tea he put himself into his
easy-chair, in an easy attitude, and was very soon soliloquising as
follows:--

"By the blood of the Witheringtons! what am I, an old bachelor, to do
with a baby, and a wet-nurse as black as the ace of spades, and another
black fellow in the bargain.  Send him back again? yes, that's best: but
the child--woke every morning at five o'clock with its squalling--
obliged to kiss it three times a-day--pleasant!--and then that nigger of
a nurse--thick lips--kissing child all day, and then holding it out to
me--ignorant as a cow--if child has the stomach-ache she'll cram a
pepper-pod down its throat--West India fashion--children never without
the stomach-ache!--my poor, poor cousin!--what has become of her and the
other child, too?--wish they may pick her up, poor dear! and then she
will come and take care of her own children--don't know what to do--
great mind to send for sister Moggy--but she's so fussy--won't be in a
hurry.  Think again."

Here Mr Witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door.

"Come in," said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had
been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the
usual clean apron.

"If you please, sir," said she, curtseying, "I will thank you to suit
yourself with another cook."

"Oh, very well," replied Mr Witherington, angry at the interruption.

"And if you please, sir, I should like to go this very day--indeed, sir,
I shall not stay."

"Go to the devil! if you please," replied Mr Witherington, angrily;
"but first go out and shut the door after you."

The cook retired, and Mr Witherington was again alone.

"Confound the old woman--what a huff she is in! won't cook for black
people, I suppose--yes, that's it."

Here Mr Witherington was again interrupted by a second double tap at
the door.

"Oh! thought better of it, I suppose.  Come in."

It was not the cook, but Mary, the housemaid, that entered.

"If you please, sir," said she, whimpering, "I should wish to leave my
situation."

"A conspiracy, by heavens!  Well, you may go."

"To-night, sir, if you please," answered the woman.

"This moment, for all I care!" exclaimed Mr Witherington in his wrath.

The housemaid retired; and Mr Witherington took some time to compose
himself.

"Servants all going to the devil in this country," said he at last;
"proud fools--won't clean rooms after black people, I suppose--yes,
that's it, confound them all, black and white! here's my whole
establishment upset by the arrival of a baby.  Well, it is very
uncomfortable--what shall I do?--send for sister Moggy?--no, I'll send
for Jonathan."

Mr Witherington rang the bell, and Jonathan made his appearance.

"What is all this, Jonathan?" said he; "cook angry--Mary crying--both
going away--what's it all about?"

"Why, sir, they were told by William that it was your positive order
that the two black people were to sleep with them; and I believe he told
Mary that the man was to sleep with her."

"Confound that fellow! he's always at mischief; you know, Jonathan, I
never meant that."

"I thought not, sir, as it is quite contrary to custom," replied
Jonathan.

"Well, then, tell them so, and let's hear no more about it."

Mr Witherington then entered into a consultation with his butler, and
acceded to the arrangements proposed by him.  The parties arrived in due
time, and were properly accommodated.  Master Edward was not troubled
with the stomach-ache, neither did he wake Mr Witherington at five
o'clock in the morning; and, after all, it was not very uncomfortable.
But, although things were not quite so uncomfortable as Mr Witherington
had anticipated, still they were not comfortable; and Mr Witherington
was so annoyed by continual skirmishes with his servants, complaints
from Judy, in bad English, of the cook, who, it must be owned, had taken
a prejudice against her and Coco, occasional illness of the child, et
cetera, that he found his house no longer quiet and peaceable.  Three
months had now nearly passed, and no tidings of the boats had been
received; and Captain Maxwell, who came up to see Mr Witherington, gave
it as his decided opinion that they must have foundered in the gale.
As, therefore, there appeared to be no chance of Mrs Templemore coming
to take care of her child, Mr Witherington at last resolved to write to
Bath, where his sister resided, and acquaint her with the whole story,
requesting her to come and superintend his domestic concerns.  A few
days afterwards he received the following reply:--

  "_Bath, August_.

  "My dear Brother Antony,

  "Your letter arrived safe to hand on Wednesday last, and I must say
  that I was not a little surprised at its contents; indeed, I thought
  so much about it that I revoked at Lady Betty Blabkin's whist-party,
  and lost four shillings and sixpence.  You say that you have a child
  at your house belonging to your cousin, who married in so indecorous a
  manner.  I hope what you say is true; but, at the same time, I know
  what bachelors are guilty of; although, as Lady Betty says, it is
  better never to talk or even to hint about these improper things.  I
  cannot imagine why men should consider themselves, in an unmarried
  state, as absolved from that purity which maidens are so careful to
  preserve; and so says Lady Betty, with whom I had a little
  conversation on the subject.  As, however, the thing is done, she
  agrees with me that it is better to hush it up as well as we can.

  "I presume that you do not intend to make the child your heir, which I
  should consider as highly improper; and, indeed, Lady Betty tells me
  that the legacy-duty is ten per cent, and that it cannot be avoided.
  However, I make it a rule never to talk about these sort of things.
  As for your request that I will come up and superintend your
  establishment, I have advised with Lady Betty on the subject, and she
  agrees with me that, for the honour of the family, it is better that I
  should come, as it will save appearances.  You are in a peck of
  troubles, as most men are who are free-livers and are led astray by
  artful and alluring females.  However, as Lady Betty says, `the least
  said, the soonest mended.'

  "I will, therefore, make the necessary arrangements for letting my
  house, and hope to join you in about ten days; sooner, I cannot, as I
  find that my engagements extend to that period.  Many questions have
  already been put to me on this unpleasant subject; but I always give
  but one answer, which is, that bachelors will be bachelors; and that,
  at all events, it is not so bad as if you were a married man: for I
  make it a rule never to talk about, or even to hint about, these sort
  of things, for, as Lady Betty says, `Men will get into scrapes, and
  the sooner things are hushed up the better.'  So no more at present
  from your affectionate sister,

  "Margaret Witherington.

  "PS.  Lady Betty and I both agree that you are very right in hiring
  two black people to bring the child into your house, as it makes the
  thing look _foreign_ to the neighbours, and we can keep our own
  secrets.

  "M.W."

"Now, by all the sins of the Witheringtons, if this is not enough to
drive a man out of his senses!--Confound the suspicious old maid!  I'll
not let her come into this house.  Confound Lady Betty, and all
scandal-loving old tabbies like her!  Bless me!" continued Mr
Witherington, throwing the letter on the table with a deep sigh, "this
is anything but comfortable."

But if Mr Witherington found it anything but comfortable at the
commencement, he found it unbearable in the sequel.

His sister Moggy arrived, and installed herself in the house with all
the pomp and protecting air of one who was the saviour of her brother's
reputation and character.  When the child was first brought down to her,
instead of perceiving at once its likeness to Mr Templemore, which was
very strong, she looked at it and at her brother's face with her only
eye, and shaking her finger, exclaimed--

"Oh, Antony!  Antony! and did you expect to deceive me?--the nose--the
mouth exact--Antony, for shame! fie, for shame!"

But we must hurry over the misery that Mr Witherington's kindness and
benevolence brought upon him.  Not a day passed--scarcely an hour,
without his ears being galled with his sister's insinuations.  Judy and
Coco were sent back to America; the servants, who had remained so long
in his service, gave warning one by one, and afterwards, were changed as
often almost as there was a change in the moon.  She ruled the house and
her brother despotically; and all poor Mr Witherington's comfort was
gone until the time arrived when Master Edward was to be sent to school.
Mr Witherington then plucked up courage, and after a few stormy months
drove his sister back to Bath, and once more found himself comfortable.

Edward came home during the holidays, and was a great favourite; but the
idea had become current that he was the son of the old gentleman, and
the remarks made were so unpleasant and grating to him, that he was not
sorry, much as he was attached to the boy, when he declared his
intention to choose the profession of a sailor.

Captain Maxwell introduced him into the service; and afterwards, when,
in consequence of ill health and exhaustion, he was himself obliged to
leave it for a time, he procured for his _protege_ other ships.  We
must, therefore, allow some years to pass away, during which time Edward
Templemore pursues his career, Mr Witherington grows older and more
particular, and his sister Moggy amuses herself with Lady Betty's
remarks and her darling game of whist.

During all this period no tidings of the boats, or of Mrs Templemore
and her infant, had been heard; it was therefore naturally conjectured
that they had all perished, and they were remembered but as things that
had been.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE MIDSHIPMAN.

The weather side of the quarter-deck of H.M. frigate _Unicorn_ was
occupied by two very great personages: Captain Plumbton, commanding the
ship, who was very great in width if not in height, taking much more
than his allowance of the deck, if it were not that he was the
proprietor thereof, and entitled to the lion's share.  Captain P was not
more than four feet ten inches in height; but then he was equal to that
in girth: there was quite enough of him, if he had only been _rolled
out_.  He walked with his coat flying open, his thumbs stuck into the
arm holes of his waistcoat, so as to throw his shoulders back and
increase his horizontal dimensions.  He also held his head well aft,
which threw his chest and stomach well forward.  He was the prototype of
pomposity and good nature, and he strutted like an actor in a
procession.

The other personage was the first lieutenant, whom Nature had pleased to
fashion in another mould.  He was as tall as the captain was short--as
thin as his superior was corpulent.  His long, lanky legs were nearly up
to the captain's shoulders; and he bowed down over the head of his
superior, as if he were the crane to hoist up, and the captain the bale
of goods to be hoisted.  He carried his hands behind his back, with two
fingers twisted together; and his chief difficulty appeared to be to
reduce his own stride to the parrot march of the captain.  His features
were sharp and lean as was his body, and wore every appearance of a
cross-grained temper.

He had been making divers complaints of divers persons, and the captain
had hitherto appeared imperturbable.  Captain Plumbton was an
even-tempered man, who was satisfied with a good dinner.  Lieutenant
Markitall was an odd-tempered man, who would quarrel with his bread and
butter.

"Quite impossible, sir," continued the first-lieutenant, "to carry on
the duty without support."

This oracular observation, which, from the relative forms of the two
parties, descended as it were from above, was replied to by the captain
with a "Very true."

"Then, sir, I presume you will not object to my putting that man in the
report for punishment?"

"I'll think about it, Mr Markitall."  This, with Captain Plumbton, was
as much as to say, No.

"The young gentlemen, sir, I am sorry to say, are very troublesome."

"Boys always are," replied the captain.

"Yes sir: but the duty must be carried on, and I cannot do without
them."

"Very true--midshipmen are very useful."

"But I am sorry to say, sir, that they are not.  Now sir, there's Mr
Templemore; I can do nothing with him--he does nothing but laugh."

"Laugh!--Mr Markitall, does he laugh at you?"

"Not exactly, sir; but he laughs at everything.  If I send him to the
mast-head, he goes up laughing; if I call him down, he comes down
laughing; if I find fault with him, he laughs the next minute: in fact,
sir, he does nothing but laugh.  I should particularly wish, sir, that
you would speak to him, and see if any interference on your part--"

"Would make him cry--eh? better to laugh than cry in this world.  Does
he never cry, Mr Markitall?"

"Yes, sir, and very unseasonably.  The other day, you may recollect,
when you punished Wilson the marine, whom I appointed to take care of
his chest and hammock, he was crying the whole time; almost tantamount--
at least an indirect species of mutiny on his part, as it implied--"

"That the boy was sorry that his servant was punished; I never flog a
man but I'm sorry myself, Mr Markitall."

"Well, I do not press the question of his crying--that I might look
over; but his laughing, sir, I must beg that you will take notice of
that.  Here he is, sir, coming up the hatchway.  Mr Templemore, the
captain wishes to speak to you."

Now the captain did not wish to speak to him, but, forced upon him as it
was by the first-lieutenant, he could do no less.  So Mr Templemore
touched his hat, and stood before the captain, we regret to say, with
such a good-humoured, sly, confiding smirk on his countenance, as at
once established the proof of the accusation, and the enormity of the
offence.

"So, sir," said Captain Plumbton, stopping in his perambulation, and
squaring his shoulders still more, "I find that you laugh at the
first-lieutenant."

"I, sir?" replied the boy, the smirk expanding into a broad grin.

"Yes; you, sir," said the first-lieutenant, now drawing up to his full
height; "why you're laughing now, sir."

"I can't help it, sir--it's not my fault; and I'm sure it's not yours,
sir," added the boy, demurely.

"Are you aware, Edward--Mr Templemore, I mean--of the impropriety of
disrespect to your superior officer?"

"I never laughed at Mr Markitall but once, sir, that I can recollect,
and that was when he tumbled over the messenger."

"And why did you laugh at him then, sir?"

"I always do laugh when any one tumbles down," replied the lad; "I can't
help it, sir."

"Then, sir, I suppose you would laugh if you saw me rolling in the
lee-scuppers?" said the captain.

"Oh!" replied the boy, no longer able to contain himself, "I'm sure I
should burst myself with laughing--I think I see you now, sir."

"Do you, indeed!  I'm very glad that you do not; though I'm afraid,
young gentleman, you stand convicted by your own confession."

"Yes, sir, for laughing, if that is any crime; but it's not in the
Articles of War."

"No, sir; but disrespect is.  You laugh when you go to the mast-head."

"But I obey the order, sir, immediately--Do I not, Mr Markitall?"

"Yes, sir, you obey the order; but, at the same time, your laughing
proves that you do not mind the punishment."

"No more I do, sir.  I spend half my time at the mast-head, and I'm used
to it now."

"But, Mr Templemore, ought you not to feel the disgrace of the
punishment?" inquired the captain, severely.

"Yes, sir, if I felt I deserved it I should.  I should not laugh, sir,
if _you_ sent me to the mast-head," replied the boy, assuming a serious
countenance.

"You see, Mr Markitall, that he can be grave," observed the captain.

"I've tried all I can to make him so, sir," replied the
first-lieutenant; "but I wish to ask Mr Templemore what he means to
imply by saying, `when he deserves it.'  Does he mean to say that I have
ever punished him unjustly?"

"Yes, sir," replied the boy, boldly; "five times out of six, I am
mast-headed for nothing--and that's the reason why I do not mind it."

"For nothing, sir!  Do you call laughing nothing?"

"I pay every attention that I can to my duty, sir; I always obey your
orders; I try all I can to make you pleased with me--but you are always
punishing me."

"Yes, sir, for laughing, and, what is worse, making the ship's company
laugh."

"They `haul and hold' just the same, sir--I think they work all the
better for being merry."

"And pray, sir, what business have you to think?" replied the
first-lieutenant, now very angry.  "Captain Plumbton, as this young
gentleman thinks proper to interfere with me and the discipline of the
ship, I beg you will see what effect your punishing may have upon him."

"Mr Templemore," said the captain, "you are, in the first place, too
free in your speech, and, in the next place, too fond of laughing.
There is, Mr Templemore, a time for all things--a time to be merry, and
a time to be serious.  The quarter-deck is not a fit place for mirth."

"I'm sure the gangway is not," shrewdly interrupted the boy.

"No--you are right, nor the gangway; but you may laugh on the
forecastle, and when below with your messmates."

"No, sir, we may not; Mr Markitall always sends out if he hears us
laughing."

"Because, Mr Templemore, you're always laughing."

"I believe I am, sir; and if it's wrong I'm sorry to displease you, but
I mean no disrespect.  I laugh in my sleep--I laugh when I awake--I
laugh when the sun shines--I always feel so happy; but though you do
mast-head me, Mr Markitall, I should not laugh, but be very sorry, if
any misfortune happened to you."

"I believe you would, boy--I do indeed, Mr Markitall," said the
captain.

"Well, sir," replied the first-lieutenant, "as Mr Templemore appears to
be aware of his error, I do not wish to press my complaint--I have only
to request that he will never laugh again."

"You hear, boy, what the first-lieutenant says; it's very reasonable,
and I beg I may hear no more complaints.  Mr Markitall, let me know
when the foot of that foretopsail will be repaired--I should like to
shift it to-night."

Mr Markitall went down under the half-deck to make the inquiry.

"And, Edward," said Captain Plumbton, as soon as the lieutenant was out
of ear-shot, "I have a good deal more to say to you upon this subject,
but I have no time now.  So come and dine with me--at my table, you
know, I allow laughing in moderation."

The boy touched his hat, and with a grateful, happy countenance, walked
away.

We have introduced this little scene, that the reader may form some idea
of the character of Edward Templemore.  He was indeed the soul of mirth,
good-humour, and kindly feelings towards others; he even felt kindly
towards the first-lieutenant, who persecuted him for his risible
propensities.  We do not say that the boy was right in laughing at all
times, or that the first-lieutenant was wrong in attempting to check it.
As the captain said, there is a time for all things, and Edward's laugh
was not always seasonable; but it was his nature, and he could not help
it.  He was joyous as the May morning; and thus he continued for years,
laughing at everything--pleased with everybody--almost universally
liked--and his bold, free, and happy spirit unchecked by vicissitude or
hardship.

He served his time--was nearly turned back when he was passing his
examination for laughing, and then went laughing to sea again--was in
command of a boat at the cutting-out of a French corvette, and when on
board was so much amused by the little French captain skipping about
with his rapier, which proved fatal to many, that at last he received a
pink from the little gentleman himself, which laid him on deck.  For
this affair, and in consideration of his wound, he obtained his
promotion to the rank of lieutenant--was appointed to a line-of-battle
ship in the West Indies--laughed at the yellow-fever--was appointed to
the tender of that ship, a fine schooner, and was sent to cruise for
prize-money for the admiral, and promotion for himself, if he could, by
any fortunate encounter, be so lucky as to obtain it.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

SLEEPER'S BAY.

On the western coast of Africa, there is a small bay, which has received
more than one name from its occasional visitors.  That by which it was
designated by the adventurous Portuguese, who first dared to cleave the
waves of the Southern Atlantic, has been forgotten with their lost
maritime pre-eminence; the name allotted to it by the woolly-headed
natives of the coast has never, perhaps, been ascertained; it is,
however, marked down in some of the old English charts as Sleeper's Bay.

The mainland which, by its curvature, has formed this little dent on a
coast possessing, and certainly at present requiring few harbours,
displays, perhaps, the least inviting of all prospects; offering to the
view nothing but a shelving beach of dazzling white sand, backed with a
few small hummocks beat up by the occasional fury of the Atlantic
gales--arid, bare, and without the slightest appearance of vegetable
life.  The inland prospect is shrouded over by a dense mirage, through
which here and there are to be discovered the stems of a few distant
palm-trees, so broken and disjoined by refraction that they present to
the imagination anything but the idea of foliage or shade.  The water in
the bay is calm and smooth as the polished mirror; not the smallest
ripple is to be heard on the beach, to break through the silence of
nature; not a breath of air sweeps over its glassy surface, which is
heated with the intense rays of a vertical noonday sun, pouring down a
withering flood of light and heat: not a sea-bird is to be discovered
wheeling on its flight, or balancing on its wings as it pierces the deep
with its searching eye, ready to dart upon its prey.  All is silence,
solitude, and desolation, save that occasionally may be seen the fin of
some huge shark, either sluggishly moving through the heated element, or
stationary in the torpor of the mid-day heat.  A site so sterile, so
stagnant, so little adapted to human life, cannot well be conceived,
unless, by flying to extremes, we were to portray the chilling blast,
the transfixing cold, and "close-ribbed ice," at the frozen poles.

At the entrance of this bay, in about three fathoms water, heedless of
the spring cable which hung down as a rope which had fallen overboard,
there floated, motionless as death, a vessel whose proportions would
have challenged the unanimous admiration of those who could appreciate
the merits of her build, had she been anchored in the most frequented
and busy harbour of the universe.  So beautiful were her lines, that you
might almost have imagined her a created being that the ocean had been
ordered to receive, as if fashioned by the Divine Architect, to add to
the beauty and variety of His works; for, from the huge leviathan to the
smallest of the finny tribe--from the towering albatross to the boding
petrel of the storm--where could be found, among the winged or finned
frequenters of the ocean, a form more appropriate, more fitting, than
this specimen of human skill, whose beautiful model and elegant tapering
spars were now all that could be discovered to break the meeting lines
of the firmament and horizon of the offing.

Alas! she was fashioned, at the will of avarice, for the aid of cruelty
and injustice, and now was even more nefariously employed.  She had been
a slaver--she was now the far-famed, still more dreaded,
pirate-schooner, the _Avenger_.

Not a man-of-war which scoured the deep but had her instructions
relative to this vessel, which had been so successful in her career of
crime--not a trader in any portion of the navigable globe but whose crew
shuddered at the mention of her name, and the remembrance of the
atrocities which had been practised by her reckless crew.  She had been
everywhere--in the east, the west, the north, and the south, leaving a
track behind her of rapine and of murder.  There she lay in motionless
beauty; her low sides were painted black, with one small, narrow riband
of red--her raking masts were clean scraped--her topmasts, her
cross-trees, caps, and even running-blocks, were painted in pure white.
Awnings were spread fore and aft to protect the crew from the powerful
rays of the sun; her ropes were hauled taut; and in every point she wore
the appearance of being under the control of seamanship and strict
discipline.  Through the clear smooth water her copper shone brightly;
and as you looked over her taffrail down into the calm blue sea, you
could plainly discover the sandy bottom beneath her and the anchor which
then lay under her counter.  A small boat floated astern, the weight of
the rope which attached her appearing, in the perfect calm, to draw her
towards the schooner.

We must now go on board, and our first cause of surprise will be the
deception relative to the tonnage of the schooner, when viewed from a
distance.  Instead of a small vessel of about ninety tons, we discover
that she is upwards of two hundred; that her breadth of beam is
enormous; and that those spars, which appeared so light and elegant, are
of unexpected dimensions.  Her decks are of narrow fir planks, without
the least spring or rise; her ropes are of Manilla hemp, neatly secured
to copper belaying-pins, and coiled down on the deck, whose whiteness is
well contrasted with the bright green paint of her bulwarks; her
capstern and binnacles are cased in fluted mahogany, and ornamented with
brass; metal stanchions protect the skylights, and the bright muskets
are arranged in front of the mainmast, while the boarding-pikes are
lashed round the mainboom.

In the centre of the vessel, between the fore and main masts, there is a
long brass 32-pounder fixed upon a carriage revolving in a circle, and
so arranged that in bad weather it can be lowered down and _housed_;
while on each side of her decks are mounted eight brass guns of smaller
calibre and of exquisite workmanship.  Her build proves the skill of the
architect; her fitting-out, a judgment in which nought has been
sacrificed to, although everything has been directed by, taste; and her
neatness and arrangement, that, in the person of her commander, to the
strictest discipline there is united the practical knowledge of a
thorough seaman.  How, indeed, otherwise could she have so long
continued her lawless yet successful career?  How could it have been
possible to unite a crew of miscreants, who feared not God nor man, most
of whom had perpetrated foul murders, or had been guilty of even blacker
iniquities?  It was because he who commanded the vessel was so superior
as to find in her no rivalry.  Superior in talent, in knowledge of his
profession, in courage, and, moreover, in physical strength--which in
him was almost Herculean--unfortunately he was also superior to all in
villainy, in cruelty, and contempt of all injunctions, moral and Divine.

What had been the early life of this person was but imperfectly known.
It was undoubted that he had received an excellent education, and it was
said that he was of an ancient border family on the banks of the Tweed:
by what chances he had become a pirate--by what errors he had fallen
from his station in society, until he became an outcast, had never been
revealed; it was only known that he had been some years employed in the
slave-trade previous to his seizing this vessel and commencing his
reckless career.  The name by which he was known to the crew of the
pirate-vessel was "Cain," and well had he chosen this appellation; for,
had not his hand for more than three years been against every man's, and
every man's hand against his?  In person he was about six feet high,
with a breadth of shoulders and of chest denoting the utmost of physical
force which, perhaps, has ever been allotted to man.  His features would
have been handsome had they not been scarred with wounds; and, strange
to say, his eye was mild and of a soft blue.  His mouth was well formed,
and his teeth of a pearly white: the hair of his head was crisped and
wavy, and his beard, which he wore, as did every person composing the
crew of the pirate, covered the lower part of his face in strong,
waving, and continued curls.  The proportions of his body were perfect;
but from their vastness they became almost terrific.  His costume was
elegant, and well adapted to his form: linen trousers, and untanned
yellow leather boots, such as are made at the Western Isles; a
broad-striped cotton shirt; a red Cashmere shawl round his waist as a
sash; a vest embroidered in gold tissue, with a jacket of dark velvet,
and pendant gold buttons, hanging over his left shoulder, after the
fashion of the Mediterranean seamen; a round Turkish skull-cap,
handsomely embroidered; a pair of pistols, and a long knife in his sash,
completed his attire.

The crew consisted in all of 165 men, of almost every nation; but it was
to be remarked that all those in authority were either Englishmen or
from the northern countries; the others were chiefly Spaniards and
Maltese.  Still there were Portuguese, Brazilians, negroes, and others,
who made up the complement, which at the time we now speak of was
increased by twenty-five additional hands.  These were Kroumen, a race
of blacks well known at present, who inhabit the coast near Cape Palmas,
and are often employed by our men-of-war stationed on the coast to
relieve the English seamen from duties which would be too severe to
those who were not inured to the climate.  They are powerful, athletic
men, good sailors, of a happy, merry disposition, and, unlike other
Africans, will work hard.  Fond of the English, they generally speak the
language sufficiently to be understood, and are very glad to receive a
baptism when they come on board.  The name first given them they usually
adhere to as long as they live; and you will now on the coast meet with
a Blucher, a Wellington, a Nelson, etcetera, who will wring swabs, or do
any other of the meanest description of work, without feeling that it is
discreditable to sponsorials so grand.

It is not to be supposed that these men had voluntarily come on board of
the pirate; they had been employed in some British vessels trading on
the coast, and had been taken out of them when the vessels were burnt,
and the Europeans of the crews murdered.  They had received a promise of
reward, if they did their duty; but, not expecting it, they waited for
the earliest opportunity to make their escape.

The captain of the schooner is abaft with his glass in his hand,
occasionally sweeping the offing in expectation of a vessel heaving in
sight: the officers and crew are lying down, or lounging listlessly,
about the decks, panting with the extreme heat, and impatiently waiting
for the sea-breeze to fan their parched foreheads.  With their rough
beards and exposed chests, and their weather-beaten fierce countenances,
they form a group which is terrible even in repose.

We must now descend into the cabin of the schooner.  The fittings-up of
this apartment are simple: on each side is a standing bed-place; against
the after bulkhead is a large buffet, originally intended for glass and
china, but now loaded with silver and gold vessels of every size and
description, collected by the pirate from the different ships which he
had plundered; the lamps are also of silver, and evidently had been
intended to ornament the shrine of some Catholic saint.

In this cabin there are two individuals, to whom we shall now direct the
reader's attention.  The one is a pleasant-countenanced, good-humoured
Krouman, who had been christened "Pompey the Great;" most probably on
account of his large proportions.  He wears a pair of duck trousers; the
rest of his body is naked, and presents a sleek, glossy skin, covering
muscle, which an anatomist or a sculptor would have viewed with
admiration.  The other is a youth of eighteen, or thereabouts, with an
intelligent, handsome countenance, evidently of European blood.  There
is, however, an habitually mournful cast upon his features: he is
dressed much in the same way as we have described the captain, but the
costume hangs more gracefully upon his slender, yet well-formed limbs.
He is seated on a sofa, fixed in the fore part of the cabin, with a book
in his hand, which occasionally he refers to, and then lifts his eyes
from, to watch the motions of the Krouman, who is busy in the office of
steward, arranging and cleaning the costly articles in the buffet.

"Massa Francisco, dis really fine ting," said Pompey, holding up a
splendidly embossed tankard, which he had been rubbing.

"Yes," replied Francisco, gravely; "it is, indeed, Pompey."

"How Captain Cain came by dis?"

Francisco shook his head, and Pompey put his finger up to his mouth, his
eyes, full of meaning, fixed upon Francisco.

At this moment the personage referred to was heard descending the
companion-ladder.  Pompey recommenced rubbing the silver, and Francisco
dropped his eyes upon the book.

What was the tie which appeared to bind the captain to this lad was not
known; but, as the latter had always accompanied, and lived together
with him, it was generally supposed that he was the captain's son; and
he was as often designated by the crew as young Cain as he was by his
Christian name of Francisco.  Still it was observed that latterly they
had frequently been heard in altercation, and that the captain was very
suspicious of Francisco's movements.

"I beg I may not interrupt your conversation," said Cain, on entering
the cabin; "the information you may obtain from a Krouman must be very
important."

Francisco made no reply, but appeared to be reading his book.  Cain's
eyes passed from one to the other, as if to read their thoughts.

"Pray what were you saying, Mr Pompey?"

"Me say, Massa Captain? me only tell young Massa dis very fine ting; ask
where you get him--Massa Francisco no tell."

"And what might it be to you, you black scoundrel?" cried the captain,
seizing the goblet, and striking the man with it a blow on the head
which flattened the vessel, and at the same time felled the Krouman,
powerful as he was, to the deck.  The blood streamed, as the man slowly
rose, stupefied and trembling from the violent concussion.  Without
saying a word, he staggered out of the cabin, and Cain threw himself on
one of the lockers in front of the standing bed-place, saying, with a
bitter smile, "So much for your intimates, Francisco!"

"Rather, so much for your cruelty and injustice towards an unoffending
man," replied Francisco, laying his book on the table.  "His question
was an innocent one,--for he knew not the particulars connected with the
obtaining of that flagon."

"And you, I presume, do not forget them?  Well, be it so, young man; but
I warn you again--as I have warned you often--nothing but the
remembrance of your mother has prevented me, long before this, from
throwing your body to the sharks."

"What influence my mother's memory may have over you, I know not; I only
regret that, in any way, she had the misfortune to be connected with
you."

"She had the influence," replied Cain, "which a woman must have over a
man when they have for years swung in the same cot; but that is wearing
off fast.  I tell you so candidly; I will not [even] allow even her
memory to check me, if I find you continue your late course.  You have
shown disaffection before the crew--you have disputed my orders--and I
have every reason to believe that you are now plotting against me."

"Can I do otherwise than show my abhorrence," replied Francisco, "when I
witness such acts of horror, of cruelty--cold-blooded cruelty, as lately
have been perpetrated?  Why do you bring me here? and why do you now
detain me?  All I ask is, that you will allow me to leave the vessel.
You are not my father; you have told me so."

"No, I am not your father; but--you are your mother's son."

"That gives you no right to have power over me, even if you had been
married to my mother; which--"

"I was not."

"I thank God; for marriage with you would have been even greater
disgrace."

"What!" cried Cain, starting up, seizing the young man by the neck, and
lifting him off his seat as if he had been a puppet; "but no--I cannot
forget your mother."  Cain released Francisco, and resumed his seat on
the locker.

"As you please," said Francisco, as soon as he had recovered himself;
"it matters little whether I am brained by your own hand, or launched
overboard as a meal for the sharks; it will be but one more murder."

"Mad fool! why do you tempt me thus?" replied Cain, again starting up,
and hastily quitting the cabin.

The altercation which we have just described was not unheard on deck, as
the doors of the cabin were open, and the skylight removed to admit the
air.  The face of Cain was flushed as he ascended the ladder.  He
perceived his chief mate standing by the hatchway, and many of the men,
who had been slumbering abaft, with their heads raised on their elbows,
as if they had been listening to the conversation below.

"It will never do, sir," said Hawkhurst, the mate, shaking his head.

"No," replied the captain; "not if he were my own son.  But what is to
be done?--he knows no fear."

Hawkhurst pointed to the entering port.

"When I ask your advice, you may give it," said the captain, turning
gloomily away.

In the meantime, Francisco paced the cabin in deep thought.  Young as he
was, he was indifferent to death; for he had no tie to render life
precious.  He remembered his mother, but not her demise; that had been
concealed from him.  At the age of seven he had sailed with Cain in a
slaver, and had ever since continued with him.  Until lately, he had
been led to suppose that the captain was his father.  During the years
that he had been in the slave-trade, Cain had devoted much time to his
education; it so happened that the only book which could be found on
board of the vessel, when Cain first commenced teaching, was a Bible
belonging to Francisco's mother.  Out of this book he learned to read;
and, as his education advanced, other books were procured.  It may
appear strange that the very traffic in which his reputed father was
engaged did not corrupt the boy's mind, but, accustomed to it from his
infancy, he had considered these negroes as another species,--an idea
fully warranted by the cruelty of the Europeans towards them.

There are some dispositions so naturally kind and ingenuous that even
example and evil contact cannot debase them: such was the disposition of
Francisco.  As he gained in years and knowledge, he thought more and
more for himself, and had already become disgusted with the cruelties
practised upon the unfortunate negroes, when the slave-vessel was seized
upon by Cain and converted into a pirate.  At first, the enormities
committed had not been so great; vessels had been seized and plundered,
but life had been spared.  In the course of crime, however, the descent
is rapid: and as, from information given by those who had been released,
the schooner was more than once in danger of being captured, latterly no
lives had been spared; and but too often the murders had been attended
with deeds even more atrocious.

Francisco had witnessed scenes of horror until his young blood curdled:
he had expostulated to save, but in vain.  Disgusted with the captain
and the crew, and their deeds of cruelty, he had latterly expressed his
opinions fearlessly, and defied the captain; for, in the heat of an
altercation, Cain had acknowledged that Francisco was not his son.

Had any of the crew or officers expressed but a tithe of what had fallen
from the bold lips of Francisco, they would have long before paid the
forfeit of their temerity; but there was a feeling towards Francisco
which could not be stifled in the breast of Cain--it was the feeling of
association and habit.  The boy had been his companion for years: and
from assuetude had become, as it were, a part of himself.  There is a
principle in our nature which, even when that nature is most debased,
will never leave us--that of requiring something to love, something to
protect and watch over: it is shown towards a dog, or any other animal,
if it cannot be lavished upon one of our own species.  Such was the
feeling which so forcibly held Cain towards Francisco; such was the
feeling which had hitherto saved his life.

After having paced up and down for some time, the youth took his seat on
the locker which the captain had quitted: his eye soon caught the head
of Pompey, who looked into the cabin and beckoned with his finger.

Francisco rose, and, taking up a flagon from the buffet which contained
some spirits, walked to the door, and, without saying a word, handed it
to the Krouman.

"Massa Francisco," whispered Pompey, "Pompey say--all Kroumen say--
suppose they run away, you go too?  Pompey say--all Kroumen say--suppose
they try to kill you?  Nebber kill you while one Krouman alive."

The negro then gently pushed Francisco back with his hand, as if not
wishing to hear his answer, and hastened forward on the berth deck.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE ATTACK.

In the meantime, the sea-breeze had risen in the offing, and was
sweeping along the surface to where the schooner was at anchor.  The
captain ordered a man to the cross-trees, directing him to keep a good
look-out, while he walked the deck in company with his first mate.

"She may not have sailed until a day or two later," said the captain,
continuing the conversation; "I have made allowance for that, and,
depend upon it, as she makes the eastern passage, we must soon fall in
with her; if she does not heave in sight this evening, by daylight I
shall stretch out in the offing; I know the Portuguese well.  The
sea-breeze has caught our craft: let them run up the inner jib, and see
that she does not foul her anchor."

It was now late in the afternoon, and dinner had been sent into the
cabin; the captain descended, and took his seat at the table with
Francisco, who ate in silence.  Once or twice the captain, whose wrath
had subsided, and whose kindly feelings towards Francisco, checked for a
time, had returned with greater force, tried, but in vain, to rally him
to conversation, when "_Sail ho_!" was shouted from the mast-head.

"There she is, by God!" cried the captain, jumping from, and then, as if
checking himself, immediately resuming, his seat.

Francisco put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes as his elbow
leant upon the table.

"A large ship, sir; we can see down to the second reef of her topsails,"
said Hawkhurst, looking down the skylight.

The captain hastily swallowed some wine from a flagon, cast a look of
scorn and anger upon Francisco, and rushed on deck.

"Be smart, lads!" cried the captain, after a few seconds' survey of the
vessel through his glass; "that's her: furl the awnings, and run the
anchor up to the bows: there's more silver in that vessel, my lads, than
your chests will hold: and the good saints of the churches at Goa will
have to wait a little longer for their gold candlesticks."

The crew were immediately on the alert; the awnings were furled, and all
the men, stretching aft the spring cable, walked the anchor up to the
bows.  In two minutes more the _Avenger_ was standing out on the
starboard tack, shaping her course so as to cut off the ill-fated
vessel.  The breeze freshened, and the schooner darted through the
smooth water with the impetuosity of a dolphin after its prey.  In an
hour the hull of the ship was plainly to be distinguished; but the sun
was near to the horizon, and before they could ascertain what their
force might be, daylight had disappeared.  Whether the schooner had been
perceived or not, it was impossible to say; at all events, the course of
the ship had not been altered, and if she had seen the schooner, she
evidently treated her with contempt.  On board the _Avenger_, they were
not idle; the long gun in the centre had been cleared from the
incumbrances which surrounded it, the other guns had been cast loose,
shot handed up, and everything prepared for action, with all the energy
and discipline of a man-of-war.  The chase had not been lost sight of,
the eyes of the pirate-captain were fixed upon her through a
night-glass.  In about an hour more the schooner was within a mile of
the ship, and now altered her course so as to range up within a cable's
length of her to leeward.  Cain stood upon the gunwale and hailed.  The
answer was in Portuguese.

"Heave to, or I'll sink you!" replied he in the same language.

A general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley
of muskets from the Portuguese, was the decided answer.  The broadside,
too much elevated to hit the low hull of the schooner, was still not
without effect--the foretopmast fell, the jaws of the main-gaff were
severed, and a large proportion of the standing as well as the running
rigging came rattling down on her decks.  The volley of musketry was
more fatal: thirteen of the pirates were wounded, some of them severely.

"Well done!  John Portuguese," cried Hawkhurst: "by the holy poker!  I
never gave you credit for so much pluck."

"Which they shall dearly pay for," was the cool reply of Cain, as he
still remained in his exposed situation.

"Blood for blood! if I drink it," observed the second mate, as he looked
at the crimson rivulet trickling down the fingers of his left hand from
a wound in his arm--"just tie my handkerchief round this, Bill."

In the interim, Cain had desired his crew to elevate their guns, and the
broadside was returned.

"That will do, my lads: starboard; ease off the boom-sheet; let her go
right round, Hawkhurst,--we cannot afford to lose our men."

The schooner wore round, and ran astern of her opponent.

The Portuguese on board the ship, imagining that the schooner, finding
she had met with unexpected resistance, had sheered off, gave a loud
cheer.

"The last you will ever give, my fine fellows!" observed Cain, with a
sneer.

In a few moments the schooner had run a mile astern of the ship.

"Now then, Hawkhurst, let her come too and about; man the long gun, and
see that every shot is pitched into her, while the rest of them get up a
new foretopmast, and knot and splice the rigging."

The schooner's head was again turned towards the ship; her position was
right astern, about a mile distant or rather more; the long 82-pounder
gun amidships was now regularly served, every shot passing through the
cabin-windows, or some other part of the ship's stern, raking her fore
and aft.  In vain did the ship alter her course, and present her
broadside to the schooner; the latter was immediately checked in her
speed, so as to keep the prescribed distance at which the carronades of
the ship were useless, and the execution from the long gun decisive.
The ship was at the mercy of the pirate; and, as may be expected, no
mercy was shown.  For three hours did this murderous attack continue,
when the gun, which, as before observed, was of brass, became so heated
that the pirate-captain desired his men to discontinue.  Whether the
ship had surrendered or not it was impossible to say, as it was too dark
to distinguish: while the long gun was served, the foretop-mast and
main-gaff had been shifted, and all the standing and running rigging
made good; the schooner keeping her distance, and following in the wake
of the ship until daylight.

We must now repair on board of the ship; she was an Indiaman; one of the
very few that occasionally are sent out by the Portuguese government to
a country which once owned their undivided sway, but in which, at
present, they hold but a few miles of territory.  She was bound to Goa,
and had on board a small detachment of troops, a new governor and his
two sons, a bishop and his niece, with her attendant.  The sailing of a
vessel with such a freight was a circumstance of rare occurrence, and
was, of course, generally bruited about long before her departure.  Cain
had, for some months, received all the necessary intelligence relative
to her cargo and destination; but, as usual with the Portuguese of the
present day, delay upon delay had followed, and it was not until about
three weeks previous that he had been assured of her immediate
departure.  He then ran down the coast to the bay we have mentioned,
that he might intercept her; and, as the event had proved, showed his
usual judgment and decision.  The fire of the schooner had been most
destructive; many of the Indiaman's crew, as well as of the troops, had
been mowed down one after another; until at last, finding that all their
efforts to defend themselves were useless, most of those who were still
unhurt had consulted their safety, and hastened down to the lowest
recesses of the hold to avoid the raking and destructive shot.  At the
time that the schooner had discontinued her fire to allow the gun to
cool, there was no one on deck but the Portuguese captain and one old
weatherbeaten seaman who stood at the helm.  Below, in the orlop-deck,
the remainder of the crew and the passengers were huddled together in a
small space: some were attending to the wounded, who were numerous;
others were invoking the saints to their assistance; the bishop, a tall,
dignified person, apparently nearly sixty years of age, was kneeling in
the centre of the group, which was dimly lighted by two or three
lanterns, at one time in fervent prayer, at another, interrupted, that
he might give absolution to those wounded men whose spirits were
departing, and who were brought down and laid before him by their
comrades.  On one side of him knelt his orphan niece, a young girl of
about seventeen years of age, watching his countenance as he prayed, or
bending down with a look of pity and tearful eyes on her expiring
countrymen, whose last moments were gladdened by his holy offices.  On
the other side of the bishop, stood the governor, Don Philip de Ribiera,
and his two sons, youths in their prime, and holding commissions in the
king's service.  There was melancholy on the brow of Don Ribiera; he was
prepared for, and he anticipated, the worst.  The eldest son had his
eyes fixed upon the sweet countenance of Teresa de Silva--that very
evening, as they walked together on the deck, had they exchanged their
vows--that very evening they had luxuriated in the present, and had
dwelt with delightful anticipation on the future.  But we must leave
them and return on deck.

The captain of the Portuguese ship had walked aft, and now went up to
Antonio, the old seaman, who was standing at the wheel.

"I still see her with the glass, Antonio, and yet she has not fired for
nearly two hours; do you think any accident has happened to her long
gun? if so, we may have some chance."

Antonio shook his head.  "We have but little chance, I am afraid, my
captain; I knew by the ring of the gun, when she fired it, that it was
brass; indeed, no schooner could carry a long iron gun of that calibre.
Depend upon it, she only waits for the metal to cool and daylight to
return: a long gun or two might have saved us; but now, as she has the
advantage of us in heels, we are at her mercy."

"What can she be--a French privateer?"

"I trust it may be so; and I have promised a silver candlestick to St.
Antonio that it may prove no worse: we then may have some chance of
seeing our homes again; but I fear not."

"What, then, do you imagine her to be, Antonio?"

"The pirate which we have heard so much of."

"Jesu protect us! we must then sell our lives as dearly as we can."

"So I intend to do, my captain," replied Antonio, shifting the helm a
spoke.

The day broke, and showed the schooner continuing her pursuit at the
same distance astern, without any apparent movement on board.  It was
not until the sun was some degrees above the horizon that the smoke was
again seen to envelop her bows, and the shot crashed through the timbers
of the Portuguese ship.  The reason for this delay was, that the pirate
waited till the sun was up to ascertain if there were any other vessels
to be seen, previous to his pouncing on his quarry.  The Portuguese
captain went aft and hoisted his ensign, but no flag was shown by the
schooner.  Again whistled the ball, and again did it tear up the decks
of the unfortunate ship: many of those who had re-ascended to ascertain
what was going on, now hastily sought their former retreat.

"Mind the helm, Antonio," said the Portuguese captain; "I must go down
and consult with the governor."

"Never fear, my captain; as long as these limbs hold together, I will do
my duty," replied the old man, exhausted as he was by long watching and
fatigue.

The captain descended to the orlop-deck, where he found the major part
of the crew and passengers assembled.

"My lords," said he, addressing the governor and the bishop, "the
schooner has not shown any colours, although our own are hoisted.  I am
come down to know your pleasure.  Defence we can make none; and I fear
that we are at the mercy of a pirate."

"A pirate!" ejaculated several, beating their breasts, and calling upon
their saints.

"Silence, my good people, silence," quietly observed the bishop; "as to
what it may be best to do," continued he, turning to the captain, "I
cannot advise; I am a man of peace, and unfit to hold a place in a
council of war.  Don Ribiera, I must refer the point to you and your
sons.  Tremble not, my dear Teresa; are we not under the protection of
the Almighty?"

"Holy Virgin, pity us!"

"Come, my sons," said Don Ribiera, "we will go on deck and consult: let
not any of the men follow us; it is useless risking lives which may yet
be valuable."

Don Ribiera and his sons followed the captain to the quarter deck, and
with him and Antonio they held a consultation.

"We have but one chance," observed the old man, after a time: "let us
haul down our colours as if in submission; they will then range up
alongside, and either board us from the schooner, or from their boats;
at all events, we shall find out what she is, and, if a pirate, we must
sell our lives as dearly as we can.  If, when we haul down the colours,
she ranges up alongside, as I expect she will, let all the men be
prepared for a desperate struggle."

"You are right, Antonio," replied the governor; "go aft captain, and
haul down the colours!--let us see what she does now.  Down, my boys!
and prepare the men to do their duty."

As Antonio had predicted, so soon as the colours were hauled down, the
schooner ceased firing and made sail.  She ranged up on the quarter of
the ship, and up to her main peak soared the terrific black flag; her
broadside was poured into the Indiaman, and before the smoke had cleared
away there was a concussion from the meeting sides, and the bearded
pirates poured upon her decks.

The crew of the Portuguese, with the detachment of troops, still formed
a considerable body of men.  The sight of the black flag had struck ice
into every heart, but the feeling was resolved into one of desperation.

"Knives, men, knives!" roared Antonio, rushing on to the attack,
followed by the most brave.

"Blood for blood!" cried the second mate, aiming a blow at the old man.

"You have it," replied Antonio, as his knife entered the pirate's heart,
while, at the same moment, he fell and was himself a corpse.

The struggle was deadly, but the numbers and ferocity of the pirates
prevailed.  Cain rushed forward followed by Hawkhurst, bearing down all
who opposed them.  With one blow from the pirate-captain, the head of
Don Ribiera was severed to the shoulder; a second struck down the eldest
son, while the sword of Hawkhurst passed through the body of the other.
The Portuguese captain had already fallen, and the men no longer stood
their ground.  A general massacre ensued, and the bodies were thrown
overboard as fast as the men were slaughtered.  In less than five
minutes there was not a living Portuguese on the bloody decks of the
ill-fated ship.



CHAPTER NINE.

THE CAPTURE.

"Pass the word for not a man to go below, Hawkhurst," said the
pirate-captain.

"I have, sir; and sentries are stationed at the hatchways.  Shall we
haul the schooner off?"

"No, let her remain; the breeze is faint already: we shall have a calm
in half an hour.  Have we lost many men?"

"Only seven, that I can reckon; but we have lost Wallace," (the second
mate).

"A little promotion will do no harm," replied Cain; "take a dozen of our
best men and search the ship, there are others alive yet.  By-the-by,
send a watch on board of the schooner; she is left to the mercy of the
Kroumen, and--"

"One who is better out of her," replied Hawkhurst.

"And those we find below--" continued the mate.

"Alive!"

"True; we may else be puzzled where to find that portion of her cargo
which suits us," said Hawkhurst, going down the hatchway to collect the
men who were plundering on the main deck and in the captain's cabin.

"Here, you Maltese! up, there! and look well round if there is anything
in sight," said the captain, walking aft.

Before Hawkhurst had collected the men and ordered them on board of the
schooner, as usual in those latitudes, it had fallen a perfect calm.

Where was Francisco during this scene of blood?  He had remained in the
cabin of the schooner.  Cain had more than once gone down to him, to
persuade him to come on deck and assist at the boarding of the
Portuguese, but in vain--his sole reply to the threats and solicitations
of the pirate was--

"Do with me as you please--I have made up my mind--you know I do not
fear death--as long as I remain on board of this vessel, I will take no
part in your atrocities.  If you do respect my mother's memory, suffer
her son to seek an honest and honourable livelihood."

The words of Francisco were ringing in the ears of Cain as he walked up
and down on the quarter-deck of the Portuguese vessel, and, debased as
he was, he could not help thinking that the youth was his equal in
animal, and his superior in mental, courage--he was arguing in his own
mind upon the course he should pursue with respect to Francisco, when
Hawkhurst made his appearance on deck, followed by his men, who dragged
up six individuals who had escaped the massacre.  These were the bishop;
his niece, a Portuguese girl; her attendant; the supercargo of the
vessel; a sacristan; and a servant of the ecclesiastic; they were hauled
along the deck and placed in a row before the captain, who cast his eye
upon them in severe scrutiny.  The bishop and his niece looked round,
the one proudly meeting the eye of Cain, although he felt that his hour
was come; the other carefully avoiding his gaze, and glancing round to
ascertain whether there were any other prisoners, and if so, if her
betrothed was amongst them; but her eye discovered not what she sought--
it was met only by the bearded faces of the pirate-crew, and the blood
which bespattered the deck.

She covered her face with her hands.

"Bring that man forward," said Cain, pointing to the servant.  "Who are
you."

"A servant of my lord the bishop."

"And you?" continued the captain.

"A poor sacristan attending upon my lord the bishop."

"And you?" cried he to a third.

"The supercargo of this vessel."

"Put him aside, Hawkhurst!"

"Do you want the others?" inquired Hawkhurst significantly.

"No."

Hawkhurst gave a signal to some of the pirates, who led away the
sacristan and the servant.  A stifled shriek and a heavy plunge in the
water were heard a few seconds after.  During this time the pirate had
been questioning the supercargo as to the contents of the vessel, and
her stowage, when he was suddenly interrupted by one of the pirates, who
in a hurried voice, stated that the ship had received several shot
between wind and water, and was sinking fast.  Cain, who was standing on
the side of the carronade with his sword in his hand, raised his arm and
struck the pirate a blow on the head with the hilt, which, whether
intended or not, fractured his skull, and the man fell upon the deck.

"Take that, babbler! for your intelligence; if these men are obstinate,
we may have worked for nothing."

The crew, who felt the truth of their captain's remark, did not appear
to object to the punishment inflicted, and the body of the man was
dragged away.

"What mercy can we expect from those who show no mercy even to each
other?" observed the bishop, lifting his eyes to heaven.

"Silence!" cried Cain, who now interrogated the supercargo as to the
contents of the hold--the poor man answered as well as he could--"the
plate! the money for the troops--where are they?"

"The money for the troops is in the spirit-room, but of the plate I know
nothing; it is in some of the cases belonging to my lord the bishop."

"Hawkhurst! down at once into the spirit-room, and see to the money; in
the mean time I will ask a few questions of this reverend father."

"And the supercargo--do you want him any more?"

"No; he may go."

The poor man fell down on his knees in thankfulness at what he
considered his escape: he was dragged away by the pirates, and, it is
scarcely necessary to add that in a minute his body was torn to pieces
by the sharks, who, scenting their prey from a distance, were now
playing in shoals around the two vessels.

The party on the quarter-deck were now (unperceived by the captain)
joined by Francisco, who, hearing from the Krouman, Pompey, that there
were prisoners still on board, and amongst them two females, had come
over to plead the cause of mercy.

"Most reverend father," observed Cain, after a short pause, "you have
many articles of value in this vessel?"

"None," replied the bishop, "except this poor girl; she is, indeed,
beyond price, and will, I trust, soon be an angel in heaven."

"Yet is this world, if what you preach be true, a purgatory which must
be passed through previous to arriving there, and that girl may think
death a blessing compared to what she may expect if you refuse to tell
me what I would know.  You have good store of gold and silver ornaments
for your churches--where are they?"

"They are among the packages intrusted to my care."

"How many may you have in all?"

"A hundred, if not more."

"Will you deign to inform me where I may find what I require?"

"The gold and silver are not mine, but are the property of that God to
whom they have been dedicated," replied the bishop.

"Answer quickly; no more subterfuge, good sir.  Where is it to be
found?"

"I will not tell, thou blood-stained man; at least; in this instance,
there shall be disappointment, and the sea shall swallow up those
earthly treasures to obtain which thou hast so deeply imbrued thy hands.
Pirate!  I repeat it, I will not tell."

"Seize that girl, my lads!" cried Cain; "she is yours, do with her as
you please."

"Save me! oh, save me!" shrieked Teresa, clinging to the bishop's robe.

The pirates advanced and laid hold of Teresa.  Francisco bounded from
where he stood behind the captain, and dashed away the foremost.

"Are you men?" cried he, as the pirates retreated.  "Holy sir, I honour
you.  Alas!  I cannot save you," continued Francisco, mournfully.  "Yet
will I try.  On my knees--by the love you bore my mother--by the
affection you once bore me--do not commit this horrid deed.  My lads!"
continued Francisco, appealing to the pirates, "join with me and entreat
your captain; ye are too brave, too manly, to injure the helpless and
the innocent--above all, to shed the blood of a holy man, and of this
poor trembling maiden."

There was a pause--even the pirates appeared to side with Francisco,
though none of them dared to speak.  The muscles of the captain's face
quivered with emotion, but from what source could not be ascertained.

At this moment the interest of the scene was heightened.  The girl who
attended upon Teresa, crouched on her knees with terror, had been
casting her fearful eyes upon the men who composed the pirate-crew;
suddenly she uttered a scream of delight as she discovered among them
one that she well knew.  He was a young man, about twenty-five years of
age, with little or no beard.  He had been her lover in his more
innocent days; and she, for more than a year, had mourned him as dead,
for the vessel in which he sailed had never been heard of.  It had been
taken by the pirate, and, to save his life, he had joined the crew.

"Filippo!  Filippo!" screamed the girl, rushing into his arms.
"Mistress! it is Filippo; and we are safe."

Filippo instantly recognised her: the sight of her brought back to his
memory his days of happiness and of innocence; and the lovers were
clasped in each other's arms.

"Save them! spare them!--by the spirit of my mother!  I charge you,"
repeated Francisco, again appealing to the captain.

"May God bless thee, thou good young man!" said the bishop, advancing
and placing his hand upon Francisco's head.

Cain answered not; but his broad expanded chest heaved with emotion--
when Hawkhurst burst into the group.

"We are too late for the money, captain: the water is already six feet
above it.  We must now try for the treasure."

This intelligence appeared to check the current of the captain's
feelings.

"Now, in one word, sir," said he to the bishop, "where is the treasure?
Trifle not, or, by Heaven--!"

"Name not Heaven," replied the bishop; "you have had my answer."

The captain turned away, and gave some directions to Hawkhurst, who
hastened below.

"Remove that boy," said Cain to the pirates, pointing to Francisco,
"Separate those two fools," continued he, looking towards Filippo and
the girl, who were sobbing in each other's arms.

"Never!" cried Filippo.

"Throw the girl to the sharks!  Do you hear?  Am I to be obeyed?" cried
Cain, raising his cutlass.

Filippo started up, disengaged himself from the girl, and, drawing his
knife, rushed towards the captain to plunge it in his bosom.

With the quickness of lightning the captain caught his uplifted hand,
and, breaking his wrist, hurled him to the deck.

"Indeed!" cried he, with a sneer.

"You shall not separate us," said Filippo, attempting to rise.

"I do not intend it, my good lad," replied Cain.  "Lash them both
together and launch them overboard."

This order was obeyed: for the pirates not only quailed before the
captain's cool courage, but were indignant that his life had been
attempted.  There was little occasion to tie the unhappy pair together;
they were locked so fast in each other's arms that it would have been
impossible almost to separate them.  In this state they were carried to
the entering-port, and cast into the sea.

"Monster!" cried the bishop, as he heard the splash, "thou wilt have a
heavy reckoning for this."

"Now bring these forward," said Cain, with a savage voice.

The bishop and his niece were led to the gangway.

"What dost thou see, good bishop?" said Cain pointing to the discoloured
water, and the rapid motion of the fins of the sharks, eager in the
anticipation of a further supply.

"I see ravenous creatures after their kind," replied the bishop, "who
will, in all probability, soon tear asunder those poor limbs; but I see
no monster like thyself.  Teresa, dearest, fear not; there is a God, an
avenging God; as well as a rewarding one."

But Teresa's eyes were closed--she could not look upon the scene.

"You have your choice; first torture, and then your body to those sharks
for your own portion: and as for the girl, this moment I hand her over
to my crew."

"Never!" shrieked Teresa, springing from the deck and plunging into the
wave.

There was a splash of contention, the lashing of tails, until the water
was in a foam, and then the dark colour gradually cleared away, and
nought was to be seen, but the pure blue wave and the still unsatisfied
monsters of the deep.

"The screws--the screws! quick! we'll have the secret from him," cried
the pirate-captain, turning to his crew, who, villains as they were, had
been shocked at this last catastrophe.  "Seize him!"

"Touch him not!" cried Francisco, standing on the hammock-netting;
"touch him not! if you are men."

Boiling with rage, Cain let go the arm of the bishop, drew his pistol,
and levelled it at Francisco.  The bishop threw up the arm of Cain as he
fired; saw that he had missed his aim, and clasping his hands, raised
his eyes to heaven in thankfulness at Francisco's escape.  In this
position he was collared by Hawkhurst, whose anger overcame his
discretion, and who hurled him through the entering-port into the sea.

"Officious fool!" muttered Cain, when he perceived what the mate had
done.  Then, recollecting himself, he cried,--"Seize that boy and bring
him here."

One or two of the crew advanced to obey his orders; but Pompey and the
Kroumen, who had been attentive to what was going on, had collected
round Francisco, and a scuffle ensued.  The pirates, not being very
determined, nor very anxious to take Francisco, allowed him to be
hurried away in the centre of the Kroumen, who bore him safely to the
schooner.

In the meantime Hawkhurst, and the major part of the men on board of the
ship, had been tearing up the hold to obtain the valuables, but without
success.  The water had now reached above the orlop-deck, and all
further attempts were unavailing.  The ship was settling fast, and it
became necessary to quit her, and haul off the schooner; that she might
not be endangered by the vortex of the sinking vessel.  Cain and
Hawkhurst, with their disappointed crew, returned on board the schooner,
and before they had succeeded in detaching the two vessels a cable's
length the ship went down with all the treasure so coveted.  The
indignation and rage which were expressed by the captain as he rapidly
walked the deck in company with his first mate--his violent
gesticulation--proved to the crew that there was mischief brewing.
Francisco did not return to the cabin; he remained forward with the
Kroumen, who, although but a small portion of the ship's company, were
known to be resolute and not to be despised.  It was also observed that
all of them had supplied themselves with arms, and were collected
forward, huddled together, watching every motion and manoeuvre, and
talking rapidly in their own language.  The schooner was now steered to
the north-westward under all press of sail.  The sun again disappeared,
but Francisco returned not to the cabin--he went below, surrounded by
the Kroumen, who appeared to have devoted themselves to his protection.
Once during the night Hawkhurst summoned them on deck, but they obeyed
not the order; and to the expostulation of the boatswain's mate, who
came down, they made no reply.  But there were many of the pirates in
the schooner who appeared to coincide with the Kroumen in their regard
for Francisco.  There are shades of villainy in the most profligate of
societies; and among the pirate's crew some were not yet wholly debased.
The foul murder of a holy man--the cruel fate of the beautiful Teresa--
and the barbarous conduct of the captain towards Filippo and his
mistress, were deeds of an atrocity to which even the most hardened were
unaccustomed.  Francisco's pleadings in behalf of mercy were at least no
crime; and yet they considered that Francisco was doomed.  He was a
general favourite; the worst-disposed of the pirates, with the exception
of Hawkhurst, if they did not love him, could not forbear respecting
him; although at the same time they felt that if Francisco remained on
board the power even of Cain himself would soon be destroyed.  For many
months Hawkhurst, who detested the youth, had been most earnest that he
should be sent out of the schooner.  Now he pressed the captain for his
removal in any way, as necessary for their mutual safety, pointing out
to Cain the conduct of the Kroumen, and his fears that a large
proportion of the ship's company were equally disaffected.  Cain felt
the truth of Hawkhurst's representation, and he went down to his cabin
to consider upon what should be done.

It was past midnight, when Cain, worn out with the conflicting passions
of the day, fell into an uneasy slumber.  His dreams were of Francisco's
mother--she appeared to him pleading for her son, and Cain "babbled in
his sleep."  At this time Francisco, with Pompey, had softly crawled
aft, that they might obtain, if they found the captain asleep, the
pistols of Francisco, with some ammunition.  Pompey slipped in first,
and started back when he heard the captain's voice.  They remained at
the cabin-door listening.  "No, no," murmured Cain, "he must die--
useless--plead not, woman!--I know I murdered thee--plead not, he dies!"

In one of the sockets of the silver lamp there was a lighted wick, the
rays of which were sufficient to afford a dim view of the cabin.
Francisco, overhearing the words of Cain, stepped in, and walked up to
the side of the bed.  "Boy! plead not," continued Cain, lying on his
back and breathing heavily--"plead not--woman!--to-morrow he dies."  A
pause ensued, as if the sleeping man was listening to a reply.  "Yes, as
I murdered thee, so will I murder him."

"Wretch!" said Francisco, in a low, solemn voice, "didst thou kill my
mother?"

"I did--I did!" responded Cain, still sleeping.

"And why?" continued Francisco, who at this acknowledgment on the part
of the sleeping captain was careless of discovery.

"In my mood she vexed me," answered Cain.

"Fiend; thou hast then confessed it!" cried Francisco in a loud voice,
which awoke the captain, who started up; but before his senses were well
recovered, or his eyes open so as to distinguish their forms, Pompey
struck out the light, and all was darkness; he then put his hand to
Francisco's mouth, and led him out of the cabin.

"Who's there?--who's there?" cried Cain.

The officer in charge of the deck hastened down.  "Did you call, sir?"

"Call!" repeated the captain.  "I thought there was some one in the
cabin.  I want a light--that's all," continued he, recovering himself,
as he wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead.

In the meantime Francisco, with Pompey, had gained his former place of
refuge with the Kroumen.  The feelings of the young man changed from
agony to revenge; his object in returning to the cabin to recover his
weapons had been frustrated, but his determination now was to take the
life of the captain if he possibly could.  The following morning the
Kroumen again refused to work or go on deck; and the state of affairs
was reported by Hawkhurst to his chief.  The mate now assumed another
tone: for he had sounded not the majority but the most steady and
influential men on board, who, like himself, were veterans in crime.

"It must be, sir; or you will no longer command this vessel.  I am
desired to say so."

"Indeed!" replied Cain, with a sneer.  "Perhaps you have already chosen
my successor?"

Hawkhurst perceived that he had lost ground, and he changed his manner.
"I speak but for yourself: if you do not command this vessel I shall not
remain in her: if you quit her, I quit also; and we must find another."

Cain was pacified, and the subject was not renewed.

"Turn the hands up," at last said the captain.  The pirate-crew
assembled aft.

"My lads, I am sorry that our laws oblige me to make an example; but
mutiny and disaffection must be punished.  I am equally bound as
yourselves by the laws which we have laid down for our guidance while we
sail together; and you may believe that in doing my duty in this
instance I am guided by a sense of justice, and wish to prove to you
that I am worthy to command.  Francisco has been with me since he was a
child; he has lived with me, and it is painful to part with him: but I
am here to see that our laws are put in force.  He has been guilty of
repeated mutiny and contempt, and--he must die."

"Death! death!" cried several of the pirates in advance: "death and
justice!"

"No more murder!" said several voices from behind.

"Who's that that speaks?"

"Too much murder yesterday--no more murder!" shouted several voices at
once.

"Let the men come forward who speak," cried Cain with a withering look.
No one obeyed this order.  "Down, then, my men! and bring up Francisco."

The whole of the pirate-crew hastened below, but with different
intentions.  Some were determined to seize Francisco, and hand him over
to death--others to protect him.  A confused noise was heard--the shouts
of "_Down and seize him_!" opposed to those of "_No murder!  No
murder_!"

Both parties had snatched up their arms; those who sided with Francisco
joined the Kroumen, whilst the others also hastened below to bring him
on deck.  A slight scuffle ensued before they separated, and ascertained
by the separation the strength of the contending parties.  Francisco,
perceiving that he was joined by a large body, desired his men to follow
him, went up the fore-ladder, and took possession of the forecastle.
The pirates on his side supplied him with arms, and Francisco stood
forward in advance.  Hawkhurst, and those of the crew who sided with
him, had retreated to the quarter-deck, and rallied round the captain,
who leaned against the capstern.  They were then able to estimate their
comparative strength.  The number, on the whole, preponderated in favour
of Francisco; but on the captain's side were the older and more athletic
of the crew, and, we may add, the more determined.  Still, the captain
and Hawkhurst perceived the danger of their situation, and it was
thought advisable to parley for the present, and wreak their vengeance
hereafter.  For a few minutes there was a low consultation between both
parties; at last Cain advanced.

"My lads," said he, addressing those who had rallied round Francisco, "I
little thought that a fire-brand would have been cast in this vessel to
set us all at variance.  It was my duty, as your captain, to propose
that our laws should be enforced.  Tell me now what is it that you wish.
I am only here as your captain, and to take the sense of the whole
crew.  I have no animosity against that lad: I have loved him--I have
cherished him; but like a viper, he has stung me in return.  Instead of
being in arms against each other, ought we not to be united?  I have,
therefore, one proposal to make to you, which is this: let the sentence
go by vote, or ballot, if you please; and whatever the sentence may be,
I shall be guided by it.  Can I say more?"

"My lads," replied Francisco, when the captain had done speaking, "I
think it better that you should accept this proposal rather than that
blood should be shed.  My life is of little consequence; say, then, will
you agree to the vote, and submit to those laws, which, as the captain
says, have been laid down to regulate the discipline of the vessel?"

The pirates on Francisco's side looked round among their party, and,
perceiving that they were the most numerous, consented to the proposal;
but Hawkhurst stepped forward and observed: "Of course the Kroumen can
have no votes, as they do not belong to the vessel."

This objection was important, as they amounted to twenty-five, and,
after that number was deducted, in all probability, Francisco's
adherents would have been in the minority.  The pirates, with Francisco,
objected, and again assumed the attitude of defence.

"One moment," said Francisco, stepping in advance; "before this point is
settled, I wish to take the sense of all of you as to another of your
laws.  I ask you, Hawkhurst, and all who are now opposed to me, whether
you have not one law, which is _Blood for blood_?"

"Yes--yes," shouted all the pirates.

"Then let your captain stand forward, and answer to my charge, if he
dares."

Cain curled his lip in derision, and walked within two yards of
Francisco.

"Well, boy, I'm here; and what is your charge?"

"First--I ask you, Captain Cain, who are so anxious that the laws should
be enforced, whether you acknowledge that `Blood for blood' is a just
law?"

"Most just: and, when shed, the party who revenges is not amenable."

"'Tis well: then villain that thou art, answer--Didst thou not murder my
mother?"

Cain, at this accusation, started.

"Answer the truth, or lie like a recreant!" repeated Francisco.  "Did
you not murder my mother?"

The captain's lips and the muscles of his face quivered, but he did not
reply.

"_Blood for blood_!" cried Francisco, as he fired his pistol at Cain,
who staggered, and fell on the deck.

Hawkhurst and several of the pirates hastened to the captain, and raised
him.

"She must have told him last night," said Cain, speaking with
difficulty, as the blood flowed from the wound.

"He told me so himself," said Francisco, turning round to those who
stood by him.

Cain was taken down into the cabin.  On examination, his wound was not
mortal, although his loss of blood had been rapid and very great.  In a
few minutes Hawkhurst joined the party on the quarter deck.  He found
that the tide had turned more in Francisco's favour than he had
expected; the law of "Blood for blood" was held most sacred: indeed, it
was but the knowledge that it was solemnly recognised, and that, if one
pirate wounded another, the other was at liberty to take his life,
without punishment, which prevented constant affrays between parties,
whose knives would otherwise have been the answer to every affront.  It
was a more debased law of duelling, which kept such profligate
associates on good terms.  Finding, therefore, that this feeling
predominated, even among those who were opposed to Francisco on the
other question, Hawkhurst thought it advisable to parley.

"Hawkhurst," said Francisco, "I have but one request to make, which, if
complied with, will put an end to this contention; it is, that you will
put me on shore at the first land that we make.  If you and your party
engage to do this, I will desire those who support me to return to their
obedience."

"I grant it," replied Hawkhurst; "and so will the others.  Will you not,
my men?"

"Agreed--agreed upon all sides," cried the pirates, throwing away their
weapons, and mingling with each other, as if they had never been
opposed.

There is an old saying, that there is honour amongst thieves; and so it
often proves.  Every man in the vessel knew that this agreement would be
strictly adhered to; and Francisco now walked the deck with as much
composure as if nothing had occurred.

Hawkhurst, who was aware that he must fulfil his promise, carefully
examined the charts when he went down below, came up and altered the
course of the schooner two points more to the northward.  The next
morning he was up at the mast-head nearly half an hour, when he
descended, and again altered the course.  By nine o'clock a low sandy
island appeared on the lee bow; when within half a mile of it, he
ordered the schooner to be hove to, and lowered down the small boat from
the stern.  He then turned the hands up.  "My lads, we must keep our
promise, to put Francisco on shore at the first land which we made.
There it is!"  And a malicious smile played on the miscreant's features
as he pointed out to them the barren sand-bank, which promised nothing
but starvation and a lingering death.  Several of the crew murmured; but
Hawkhurst was supported by his own party, and had, moreover, taken the
precaution quietly to remove all the arms, with the exception of those
with which his adherents were provided.

"An agreement is an agreement; it is what he requested himself, and we
promised to perform.  Send for Francisco."

"I am here, Hawkhurst; and I tell you candidly, that, desolate as is
that barren spot, I prefer it to remaining in your company.  I will
bring my chest up immediately."

"No--no; that was not a part of the agreement," cried Hawkhurst.

"Every man here has a right to his own property: I appeal to the whole
of the crew."

"True--true," replied the pirates; and Hawkhurst found himself again in
the minority.

"Be it so."

The chest of Francisco was handed into the boat.

"Is that all?" cried Hawkhurst.

"My lads, am I to have no provisions or water?" inquired Francisco.

"No," replied Hawkhurst.

"Yes--yes," cried most of the pirates.

Hawkhurst did not dare put it to the vote; he turned sulkily away.  The
Kroumen brought up two breakers of water, and some pieces of pork.

"Here, massa," said Pompey, putting into Francisco's hand a fishing-line
with hooks.

"Thank you, Pompey; but I had forgot--that book in the cabin--you know
which I mean."

Pompey nodded his head, and went below; but it was some time before he
returned, during which Hawkhurst became impatient.  It was a very small
boat which had been lowered down; it had a lug-sail and two pair of
sculls in it, and was quite full when Francisco's chest and the other
articles had been put in.

"Come!  I have no time to wait," said Hawkhurst; "in the boat!"

Francisco shook hands with many of the crew, and wished all of them
farewell.  Indeed, now that they beheld the poor lad about to be cast on
the desolate island, even those most opposed to him felt some emotions
of pity.  Although they acknowledged that his absence was necessary, yet
they knew his determined courage; and with them that quality was always
a strong appeal.

"Who will row this lad ashore, and bring the boat off?"

"Not I," replied one; "it would haunt me ever afterwards."

So they all appeared to think, for no one volunteered.  Francisco jumped
into the boat.

"There is no room for any one but me; and I will row myself on shore,"
cried he.  "Farewell, my lads! farewell!"

"Stop? not so; he must not have the boat--he may escape from the
island," cried Hawkhurst.

"And why shouldn't he, poor fellow?" replied the men.  "Let him have the
boat."

"Yes--yes, let him have the boat;" and Hawkhurst was again overruled.

"Here, Massa Francisco--here de book."

"What's that, sir?" cried Hawkhurst, snatching the book out of Pompey's
hand.

"Him, massa, Bible."  Francisco waited for the book.

"Shove off!" cried Hawkhurst.

"Give me my book, Mr Hawkhurst!"

"No!" replied the malignant rascal, tossing the Bible over the taffrail;
"he shall not have that.  I've heard say that _there is consolation in
it for the afflicted_."

Francisco shoved off his boat, and seizing his sculls, pushed astern,
picked up the book, which still floated, and laid it to dry on the
after-thwart of the boat.  He then pulled in for the shore.  In the
meantime the schooner had let draw her fore-sheet, and had already left
him a quarter of a mile astern.  Before Francisco had gained the
sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward.



CHAPTER TEN.

THE SAND-BANK.

The first half hour that Francisco was on this desolate spot he watched
the receding schooner: his thoughts were unconnected and vague.
Wandering through the various scenes which had passed on the decks of
that vessel, and recalling to his memory the different characters of
those on board of her, much as he had longed to quit her--disgusted as
he had been with those with whom he had been forced to associate--still,
as her sails grew fainter and fainter to his view, as she increased her
distance, he more than once felt that even remaining on board of her
would have been preferable to his present deserted lot.  "No, no!"
exclaimed he, after a little further reflection, "I had rather perish
here, than continue to witness the scenes which I have been forced to
behold."

He once more fixed his eyes upon her white sails, and then sat down on
the loose sand, and remained in deep and melancholy reverie until the
scorching heat reminded him of his situation; he afterwards rose and
turned his thoughts upon his present situation, and to what would be the
measures most advisable to take.  He hauled his little boat still
farther on the beach, and attached the painter to one of the oars, which
he fixed deep in the sand; he then proceeded to survey the bank, and
found that but a small portion was uncovered at high water; for trifling
as was the rise of the tide, the bank was so low that the water flowed
almost over it.  The most elevated part was not more than fifteen feet
above high-water mark, and that was a small knoll of about fifty feet in
circumference.

To this part he resolved to remove his effects: he returned to the boat,
and having lifted out his chest, the water, the provisions, with the
other articles which he had obtained, he dragged them up, one by one,
until they were all collected at the spot he had chosen.  He then took
out of the boat the oars and little sail, which, fortunately, had
remained in her.  His last object, to haul the little boat up to the
same spot, was one which demanded all his exertion; but, after
considerable fatigue, he contrived, by first lifting round her bow, and
then her stern, to effect his object.

Tired and exhausted, he then repaired to one of the breakers of water
and refreshed himself.  The heat, as the day advanced, had become
intolerable; but it stimulated him to fresh exertion.  He turned over
the boat, and contrived that the bow and stern should rest upon two
little hillocks, so as to raise it above the level of the sand beneath
it two or three feet; he spread out the sail from the keel above, with
the thole-pins as pegs, so as to keep off the rays of the sun.  Dragging
the breakers of water and the provisions underneath the boat, he left
his chest outside; and having thus formed for himself a sort of covering
which would protect him from the heat of the day and the damp of the
night, he crept in, to shelter himself until the evening.

Although Francisco had not been on deck, he knew pretty well whereabouts
he then was.  Taking out a chart from his chest, he examined the coast
to ascertain the probable distance which he might be from any prospect
of succour.  He calculated that he was on one of a patch of sand-banks
off the coast of Loango, and about seven hundred miles from the Isle of
St. Thomas--the nearest place where he might expect to fall in with a
European face.  From the coast he felt certain that he could not be more
than forty or fifty miles at the most; but could he trust himself among
the savage natives who inhabited it?  He knew how ill they had been
treated by Europeans; for at that period, it was quite as common for the
slave-trader to land and take away the inhabitants as slaves by force,
as to purchase them in the more northern territories: still, he might be
fortunate enough to fall in with some trader on the coast, as there were
a few who still carried on a barter for gold-dust and ivory.

We do not know--we cannot conceive a situation much more deplorable than
the one we have just described to have been that of Francisco.  Alone--
without a chance of assistance--with only a sufficiency of food for a
few days, and cut off from the rest of his fellow-creatures, with only
so much _terra firma_ as would prevent his being swallowed up by the
vast, unfathomable ocean, into which the horizon fell on every side
around him!  And his chance of escape how small!  Hundreds of miles from
any from whom he might expect assistance, and the only means of reaching
them a small boat--a mere cockleshell, which the first rough gale would
inevitably destroy.

Such, indeed, were the first thoughts of Francisco; but he soon
recovered from his despondency.  He was young, courageous, and buoyant
with hope; and there is a feeling of pride--of trust in our own
resources and exertions, which increases and stimulates us in proportion
to our danger and difficulty; it is the daring of the soul, proving its
celestial origin and eternal duration.

So intense was the heat that Francisco almost panted for sufficient air
to support life, as he lay under the shade of the boat during the whole
of that day; not a breath of wind disturbed the glassy wave--all nature
appeared hushed into one horrible calm.  It was not until the shades of
night were covering the solitude that Francisco ventured forth from his
retreat; but he found little relief; there was an unnatural closeness in
the air--a suffocation unusual even in those climes.  Francisco cast his
eyes up to the vault of heaven, and was astonished to find that there
were no stars visible--a grey mist covered the whole firmament.  He
directed his view downwards to the horizon, and that, too, was not to be
defined; there was a dark bank all around it.  He walked to the edge of
the sand-bank; there was not even a ripple--the wide ocean appeared to
be in a trance, in a state of lethargy or stupor.

He parted the hair from his feverish brow, and once more surveying the
horrible, lifeless, stagnant waste, his soul sickened, and he cast
himself upon the sand.  There he lay for many hours in a state bordering
upon wild despair.  At last he recovered himself, and, rising to his
knees, he prayed for strength and submission to the will of Heaven.

When he was once more upon his feet, and had again scanned the ocean, he
perceived that there was a change rapidly approaching.  The dark bank on
the horizon had now risen higher up; the opaqueness was everywhere more
dense; and low murmurs were heard, as if there was wind stirring aloft,
although the sea was still glassy as a lake.  Signs of some movement
about to take place were evident, and the solitary youth watched and
watched.  And now the sounds increased, and here and there a wild thread
of air--whence coming, who could tell? and as rapidly disappearing--
would ruffle, for a second, a portion of the stagnant sea.  Then came
whizzing sounds and moans, and then the rumbling noise of distant
thunder--loud and louder yet--still louder--a broad black line is seen
sweeping along the expanse of water--fearful in its rapidity it comes!--
and the hurricane burst, at once and with all its force, and all its
terrific sounds, upon the isolated Francisco.

The first blast was so powerful and so unexpected that it threw him
down, and prudence dictated to him to remain in that position, for the
loose sand was swept off and whirled in such force as to blind and
prevent his seeing a foot from him; he would have crawled to the boat
for security, but he knew not in which direction to proceed.  But this
did not last; for now the water was borne up upon the strong wings of
the hurricane, and the sand was rendered firm by its saturation with the
element.

Francisco felt that he was drenched, and he raised his head.  All he
could discover was, that the firmament was mantled with darkness,
horrible from its intensity, and that the sea was in one extended foam--
boiling everywhere, and white as milk--but still smooth, as if the power
of the wind had compelled it to be so; but the water had encroached, and
one half the sand-bank was covered with it, while over the other the
foam whirled, each portion chasing the other with wild rapidity.

And now the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain, mingled with
the spray caught up by the hurricane, was dashed and hurled upon the
forlorn youth, who still lay where he had been first thrown down.  But
of a sudden, a wash of water told him that he could remain there no
longer: the sea was rising--rising fast; and before he could gain a few
paces on his hands and knees, another wave, as if it chased him in its
wrath, repeated the warning of his extreme danger, and he was obliged to
rise on his feet and hasten to the high part of the sand-bank, where he
had drawn up his boat and his provisions.

Blinded as he was by the rain and spray, he could distinguish nothing.
Of a sudden, he fell violently; he had stumbled over one of the breakers
of water, and his head struck against a sea-chest.  Where, then, was the
boat?  It was gone!--it must have been swept away by the fury of the
wind.  Alas, then, all chance was over! and, if not washed away by the
angry waters, he had but to prolong his existence but a few days, and
then to die.  The effect of the blow he had received on his forehead,
with the shock of mind occasioned by the disappearance of the boat,
overpowered him, and he remained for some time in a state of
insensibility.

When Francisco recovered, the scene was again changed: the wide expanse
was now in a state of wild and fearful commotion, and the water roared
as loud as did the hurricane.  The whole sand-bank, with the exception
of that part on which he stood, was now covered with tumultuous foam,
and his place of refuge was occasionally invaded, when some vast mass,
o'erlording the other waves, expended all its fury, even to his feet.
Francisco prepared to die!

But gradually the darkness of the heavens disappeared, and there was no
longer a bank upon the horizon, and Francisco hoped--alas! hoped what?--
that he might be saved from the present impending death to be reserved
for one still more horrible; to be saved from the fury of the waves,
which would swallow him up, and in a few seconds remove him from all
pain and suffering, to perish for want of sustenance under a burning
sun; to be withered--to be parched to death--calling in his agony for
water; and as Francisco thought of this he covered his face with his
hands, and prayed, "Oh, God, thy will be done! but in thy mercy, raise,
still higher raise the waters!"

But the waters did not rise higher.  The howling of the wind gradually
decreased, and the foaming seas had obeyed the Divine injunction--they
had gone so far, but no farther!  And the day dawned, and the sky
cleared: and the first red tints, announcing the return of light and
heat, had appeared on the broken horizon, when the eyes of the
despairing youth were directed to a black mass on the tumultuous waters.
It was a vessel, with but one mast standing, rolling heavily, and
running before the gale right on for the sand-bank where he stood; her
hull, one moment borne aloft and the next disappearing from his view in
the hollow of the agitated waters.  "She will be dashed to pieces!"
thought Francisco; "she will be lost!--they cannot see the bank!"  And
he would have made a signal to her, if he had been able, to warn her of
her danger, forgetting at the time his own desolate situation.

As Francisco watched, the sun rose, bright and joyous over this scene of
anxiety and pain.  On came the vessel, flying before the gale, while the
seas chased her as if they would fain overwhelm her.  It was fearful to
see her scud--agonising to know that she was rushing to destruction.

At last he could distinguish those on board.  He waved his hand, but
they perceived him not; he shouted, but his voice was borne away by the
gale.  On came the vessel, as if doomed.  She was within two cables'
length of the bank when those on board perceived their danger.  It was
too late!--they had rounded her to--another, and another wave hurled her
towards the sand.  She struck!--her only remaining mast fell over the
side, and the roaring waves hastened to complete their work of
destruction and of death!



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE ESCAPE.

Francisco's eyes were fixed upon the vessel, over which the sea now
broke with terrific violence.  There appeared to be about eight or nine
men on her deck, who sheltered themselves under the weather bulwarks.
Each wave, as it broke against her side and then dashed in foam over
her, threw her, with a convulsive jerk, still further on the sand-bank.
At last she was so high up that their fury was partly spent before they
dashed against her frame.  Had the vessel been strong and well built--
had she been a collier coasting the English shores--there was a fair
chance that she might have withstood the fury of the storm until it had
subsided, and that by remaining on board, the crew might have survived:
but she was of a very different mould, and, as Francisco justly
surmised, an American brig, built for swift sailing, very sharp, and,
moreover, very slightly put together.

Francisco's eyes, as may easily be supposed, were never removed from the
only object which could now interest him--the unexpected appearance and
imminent danger of his fellow-creatures at this desolate spot.  He
perceived that two of the men went to the hatches, and slid them over to
leeward: they then descended, and although the seas broke over the
vessel, and a large quantity of water must have poured into her, the
hatches were not put on again by those who remained on deck.  But in a
few minutes this mystery was solved; one after another, at first, and
then by dozens, poured forth, out of the hold, the kidnapped Africans
who composed her cargo.  In a short time the decks were covered with
them: the poor creatures had been released by the humanity of two
English sailors, that they might have the same chance with themselves of
saving their lives.  Still, no attempt was made to quit the vessel.
Huddled together, like a flock of sheep, with the wild waves breaking
over them, there they all remained, both European and African; and as
the heavy blows of the seas upon the sides of the vessel careened and
shook her, they were seen to cling, in every direction, with no
distinction between the captured and their oppressors.

But this scene was soon changed; the frame of the vessel could no longer
withstand the violence of the waves, and as Francisco watched, of a
sudden it was seen to divide a-midships, and each portion to turn over.
Then was the struggle for life; hundreds were floating on the raging
element, and wrestling for existence, and the white foam of the ocean
was dotted by the black heads of the negroes who attempted to gain the
bank.  It was an awful, terrible scene, to witness so many at one moment
tossed and dashed about by the waves--so many fellow-beings threatened
with eternity.  At one moment they were close to the beach, forced on to
it by some tremendous wave; at the next, the receding water and the
undertow swept them all back; and of the many who had been swimming one
half had disappeared to rise no more.  Francisco watched with agony as
he perceived that the number decreased, and that none had yet gained the
shore.  At last he snatched up the haulyards of his boat's sail which
were near him, and hastened down to the spot to afford such succour as
might be possible; nor were his efforts in vain.  As the seas washed the
apparently inanimate bodies on shore, and would then have again swept
them away to return them in mockery, he caught hold of them and dragged
them safe on the bank, and thus did he continue his exertions until
fifteen of the bodies of the negroes were spread upon the beach.
Although exhausted and senseless, they were not dead, and long before he
had dragged up the last of the number, many of those previously saved
had, without any other assistance than the heat of the sun, recovered
from their insensibility.

Francisco would have continued his task of humanity, but the parted
vessel had now been riven into fragments by the force of the waves, and
the whole beach was strewed with her timbers and her stores, which were
dashed on shore by the waters, and then swept back again by the return.
In a short time the severe blows he received from these fragments
disabled him from further exertion, and he sank exhausted on the sand;
indeed, all further attempts were useless.  All on board the vessel had
been launched into the sea at the same moment, and those who were not
now on shore were past all succour.  Francisco walked up to those who
had been saved: he found twelve of them were recovered and sitting on
their hams; the rest were still in a state of insensibility.  He then
went up to the knoll, where his chest and provisions had been placed,
and, throwing himself down by them, surveyed the scene.

The wind had lulled, the sun shone brightly, and the sea was much less
violent.  The waves had subsided, and, no longer hurried on by the force
of the hurricane, broke majestically, and solemnly, but not with the
wildness and force which, but a few hours before, they had displayed.
The whole of the beach was strewed with the fragments of the vessel,
with spars and water-casks; and at every moment was to be observed the
corpse of a negro turning round and round in the froth of the wave, and
then disappearing.

For an hour did he watch and reflect and then he walked again to where
the men who had been rescued were sitting, not more than thirty yards
from him; they were sickly, emaciated forms, but belonging to a tribe
who inhabited the coast, and who having been accustomed from their
infancy to be all the day in the water, had supported themselves better
than the other slaves, who had been procured from the interior, or the
European crew of the vessel, all of whom had perished.

The Africans appeared to recover fast by the heat of the sun, so
oppressive to Francisco, and were now exchanging a few words with each
other.  The whole of them had revived, but those who were most in need
of aid were neglected by the others.  Francisco made signs to them, but
they understood him not.  He returned to the knoll, and pouring out
water into a tin pan from the breaker, brought it down to them.  He
offered it to one, who seized it eagerly; water was a luxury seldom
obtained in the hold of a slave-vessel.  The man drank deeply, and would
have drained the cup, but Francisco prevented him, and held it to the
lips of another.  He was obliged to refill it three times before they
had all been supplied: he then brought them a handful of biscuit, and
left them, for he reflected that, without some precautions, the whole
sustenance would be seized by them and devoured.  He buried half a foot
deep, and covered over with sand, the breakers of water and the
provisions, and by the time he had finished this task, unperceived by
the negroes, who still squatted together, the sun had sunk below the
horizon.  Francisco had already matured his plans, which were, to form a
raft out of the fragments of the vessel, and, with the assistance of the
negroes, attempt to gain the mainland.  He lay down, for the second
night, on this eventful spot of desolation, and commending himself to
the Almighty protection, was soon in a deep slumber.

It was not until the powerful rays of the sun blazed on the eyes of the
youth that he awoke, so tired had he been with the anxiety and fatigue
of the preceding day, and the sleepless harrowing night which had
introduced it.  He rose and seated himself upon his sea-chest: how
different was the scene from that of yesterday!  Again the ocean slept,
the sky was serene, and not a cloud to be distinguished throughout the
whole firmament; the horizontal line was clear, even, and well defined:
a soft breeze just rippled over the dark blue sea, which now had retired
to its former boundary, and left the sand-bank as extended as when first
Francisco had been put on shore.  But here the beauty of the landscape
terminated: the foreground was horrible to look upon; the whole of the
beach was covered with the timbers of the wreck, with water-casks, and
other articles, in some parts heaped and thrown up one upon another; and
among them lay, jammed and mangled, the bodies of the many who had
perished.  In other parts there were corpses thrown up high and dry, or
still rolling and turning to the rippling wave: it was a scene of
desolation and of death.

The negroes who had been saved were all huddled up together, apparently
in deep sleep, and Francisco quitted his elevated position and walked
down to the low beach, to survey the means which the disaster of others
afforded him for his own escape.  To his great joy he found not only
plenty of casks, but many of them full of fresh water, provisions also
in sufficiency, and, indeed, everything that could be required to form a
raft, as well as the means of support for a considerable time for
himself and the negroes who had survived.  He then walked up to them and
called to them, but they answered not, nor even moved.  He pushed them,
but in vain; and his heart beat quick, for he was fearful that they were
dead from previous exhaustion.  He applied his foot to one of them, and
it was not until he had used force, which in any other case he would
have dispensed with, that the negro awoke from his state of lethargy and
looked vacantly about him.  Francisco had some little knowledge of the
language of the Kroumen, and he addressed the negro in that tongue.  To
his great joy, he was answered in a language which, if not the same, had
so great an affinity to it that communication became easy.  With the
assistance of the negro, who used still less ceremony with his comrades,
the remainder of them were awakened, and a palaver ensued.

Francisco soon made them understand that they were to make a raft and go
back to their own country; explaining to them that if they remained
there, the water and provisions would soon be exhausted, and they would
all perish.  The poor creatures hardly knew whether to consider him a
supernatural being or not; they talked among themselves; they remarked
at his having brought them fresh water the day before; they knew that he
did not belong to the vessel in which they had been wrecked, and they
were puzzled.

Whatever might be their speculations, they had one good effect, which
was, that they looked upon the youth as a superior and a friend, and
most willingly obeyed him.  He led them up to the knoll, and, desiring
them to scrape away the sand, supplied them again with fresh water and
biscuit.  Perhaps the very supply, and the way in which it was given to
them, excited their astonishment as much as anything.  Francisco ate
with them, and, selecting from his sea-chest the few tools in his
possession, desired them to follow him.  The casks were collected and
rolled up; the empty ones arranged for the raft: the spars were hauled
up and cleared of the rigging, which was carefully separated for
lashings; the one or two sails which had been found rolled up on the
spars were spread out to dry; and the provisions and articles of
clothing, which might be useful, laid together on one side.  The negroes
worked willingly, and showed much intelligence: before the evening
closed, everything which might be available was secured, and the waves
now only tossed about lifeless forms, and the small fragments of timber
which could not be serviceable.

It would occupy too much time were we to detail all the proceedings of
Francisco and the negroes for the space of four days, during which they
laboured hard.  Necessity is truly the mother of invention, and many
were the ingenious resources of the party before they could succeed in
forming a raft large enough to carry them and their provisions, with a
mast and sail well secured.  At length it was accomplished; and on the
fifth day, Francisco and his men embarked; and, having pushed clear of
the bank with poles, they were at last able to hoist their sail to a
fine breeze, and steer for the coast before the wind at the rate of
about three miles an hour.  But it was not until they had gained half a
mile from the bank that they were no longer annoyed by the dreadful
smell arising from the putrefaction of so many bodies, for to bury them
all would have been a work of too great time.  The last two days of
their remaining on the island, the effluvia had become so powerful as to
be a source of the greatest horror and disgust even to the negroes.

But before night when the raft was about eight leagues from the
sand-bank, it fell calm, and continued so for the next day, when a
breeze sprang up from the south-east, to which they trimmed their sail
with their head to the northward.

This wind, and the course steered, sent them off from the land, but
there was no help for it; and Francisco felt grateful that they had such
an ample supply of provisions and water as to enable them to yield to a
few days' contrary wind without danger of want.  But the breeze
continued steady and fresh, and they were now crossing the Bight of
Benin; the weather was fine and the sea smooth; the flying-fish rose in
shoals, and dropped down into the raft, which still forced its way
through the water to the northward.

Thus did Francisco and his negro crew remain for a fortnight floating on
the wide ocean, without any object meeting their view.  Day after day it
was the same dreary "sky and water," and by the reckoning of Francisco
they could not be far from the land, when, on the fifteenth day, they
perceived two sails to the northward.

Francisco's heart bounded with joy and gratitude to Heaven; he had no
telescope to examine them, but he steered directly for them, and, about
dark, he made them out to be a ship and a schooner, hove to.

As Francisco scanned them, surmising what they might be, the sun set
behind the two vessels, and after it had sunk below the horizon their
forms were, for a few minutes, delineated with remarkable precision and
clearness.  There could be no mistake.  Francisco felt convinced that
the schooner was the _Avenger_; and his first impulse was to run to the
sweep with which they were steered, and put the head of the raft again
to the northward.  A moment's reflection determined him to act
otherwise; he lowered down his sail that he might escape observation,
and watched the motions of the vessels during the few minutes of light
which remained.  That the ship had been captured, and that her capture
had been attended with the usual scene of outrage and violence, he had
no doubt.  He was now about four miles from them, and just as they were
vanishing from his straining eyes he perceived that the schooner had
made all sail to the westward.  Francisco, feeling that he was then
secure from being picked up by her, again hoisted his sail with the hope
of reaching the ship, which, if not scuttled, he intended to remove on
board of, and then make sail for the first port on the coast.  But
hardly had the raft regained her way when the horizon was lighted up,
and he perceived that the pirates had set fire to the vessel.  Then it
was useless to proceed towards her; and Francisco again thought of
putting the head of the raft to the northward, when the idea struck him,
knowing the character and cruelty of the pirates, that there might be
some unfortunate people left on board to perish in the flames.  He
therefore continued his course, watching the burning vessel; the flames
increased in violence, mounting up to the masts and catching the sails
one after another.  The wind blew fresh, and the vessel was kept before
the wind--a circumstance that assured Francisco that there were people
on board.  At first she appeared to leave the raft, but as her sails,
one after another, were consumed by the element, so did she decrease her
speed, and Francisco, in about an hour, was close to her and under her
counter.

The ship was now one mass of fire from her bows to her mainmast; a
volume of flame poured from her main hold, rising higher than her lower
masts, and ending in a huge mass of smoke carried by the wind ahead of
her; the quarter-deck was still free from fire, but the heat on it was
so intense that those on board were all collected at the taffrail; and
there they remained, some violent, others in mute despair; for the
_Avenger's_ people, in their barbarity, had cut away and destroyed all
the boats, to prevent their escape.  From the light thrown round the
vessel, those on board had perceived the approach of Francisco to their
rescue, and immediately that it was under the counter, and the sail
lowered, almost all of them had descended by ropes, or the stern ladder,
and gained a place in her.  In a few minutes, without scarcely an
exchange of a word, they were all out of the brig, and Francisco pushed
off just as the flames burst from the cabin-windows, darting out in a
horizontal line like the tongues of fiery serpents.  The raft, now
encumbered with twelve more persons, was then steered to the northward;
and as soon as those who had been saved had been supplied with some
water, which they so much needed, Francisco obtained the intelligence
which he desired.  The ship was from Carthagena, South America; had
sailed from thence to Lisbon with a Don Cumanos, who had large property
up the Magdalen river.  He had wished to visit a part of his family at
Lisbon, and from thence had sailed to the Canary Isles, where he also
had property.  In their way from Lisbon to South America they had been
beaten by stress of weather to the southward, and afterwards had been
chased by the _Avenger_; being a very fast sailer she had run down
several degrees before she had been captured.  When the pirate took
possession, and found that she had little or no cargo of value to them,
for her hold was chiefly filled with furniture and other articles for
the use of Don Cumanos, angry at their disappointment, they had first
destroyed all their boats and then set fire to the vessel, taking care
not to leave her until all chance of the fire being put out was
hopeless.  And thus had these miscreants left innocent and unfortunate
people to perish.

Francisco heard the narrative of Don Cumanos, and then informed him in
what manner he had left the schooner, and his subsequent adventures.
Francisco was now very anxious to make the land, or obtain succour from
some vessel.  The many who were now on board, and the time that he had
already been at sea, obliged him to reduce the allowance of water.
Fortune favoured him after all his trials; on the third day a vessel
hove in sight, and they were seen by her.  She made sail for them, and
took them all on board.  It was a schooner trafficking on the coast for
gold-dust and ivory; but the magnificent offers of Don Cumanos induced
them to give up their voyage and run across the Atlantic to Carthagena.
To Francisco it was of little moment where he went, and in Don Cumanos
he had found a sincere friend.

"You have been my preserver," said the Spaniard, "allow me to return the
obligation--come and live with me."

As Francisco was equally pleased with Don Cumanos, he accepted the
offer; they all arrived safely at Carthagena, and from thence proceeded
to his estate on the Magdalen river.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE LIEUTENANT.

When we last mentioned Edward Templemore, we stated that he was a
lieutenant of the admiral's ship on the West India station, commanding
the tender.  Now the name of the tender was the _Enterprise_: and it was
singular that she was one of two schooners built at Baltimore,
remarkable for their beauty and good qualities; yet how different were
their employments!  Both had originally been built for the slave-trade;
now one hoisted the English pennant, and cruised as the _Enterprise_;
the other threw out the black flag, and scoured the seas as the
_Avenger_.

The _Enterprise_ was fitted much in the same way as we have already
described her sister vessel--that is, with one long brass gun amidships,
and smaller ones for her broadside.  But in the numbers of their crew
there was a great disparity; the _Enterprise_ not being manned with more
than sixty-five English sailors, belonging to the admiral's ship.  She
was employed, as most admirals' tenders usually _were_, sometimes
carrying a tender made for a supply of provisions, or a tender of
services, if required, from the admiral; or, if not particularly wanted,
with the important charge of a tender _billet-doux_ to some fair friend.
But this is a tender subject to touch upon.  In the meantime it must be
understood that she had the same commission to sink, burn, and destroy,
as all other of his Majesty's vessels, if anything came in her way; but
as she usually carried despatches, the real importance of which were, of
course, unknown, she was not to go out of her way upon such service.

Edward Templemore did, however, occasionally go a little out of his way,
and had lately captured a very fine privateer after a smart action, for
which he anticipated his promotion; but the admiral thought him too
young, and therefore gave the next vacancy to his own nephew, who, the
admiral quite forgot, was much younger.

Edward laughed when he heard of it, upon his arrival at Port Royal; and
the admiral, who expected that he would make his appearance pouting with
disappointment, when he came up to the Penn to report himself, was so
pleased with his good humour that he made a vow that Templemore should
have the next vacancy; but this he also quite forgot, because Edward
happened to be, at the time it occurred, on a long cruise,--and "out of
sight out of mind" is a proverb so well established, that it may be
urged as an excuse for a person who had so many other things to think of
as the admiral entrusted with the command of the West India station.

Lieutenant Templemore had, in consequence, commanded the _Enterprise_
for nearly two years, and without grumbling; for he was of a happy
disposition, and passed a very happy sort of life.  Mr Witherington was
very indulgent to him, and allowed him to draw liberally; he had plenty
of money for himself or for a friend who required it, and he had plenty
of amusement.  Amongst other diversions, he had fallen most desperately
in love; for, in one of his trips to the Leeward Isles (so called from
their being to windward) he had succoured a Spanish vessel, which had on
board the new Governor of Porto Rico, with his family, and had taken
upon himself to land them on that island in safety; for which service
the English admiral received a handsome letter, concluding with the
moderate wish that his Excellency might live a thousand years, and
Edward Templemore an invitation to go and see them whenever he might
pass that way; which, like most general invitations, was as much a
compliment as the wish which wound up the letter to the admiral.  It
did, however, so happen that the Spanish governor had a very beautiful
and only daughter, carefully guarded by a duenna, and a monk who was the
depository of all the sins of the governor's establishment; and it was
with this daughter that Edward Templemore fell into the heresy of love.

She was, indeed, very beautiful; and, like all her countrywomen, was
ardent in her affection.  The few days that she was on board the
schooner with her father, during the time that the _Enterprise_ convoyed
the Spanish vessel into port, were quite sufficient to ignite two such
inflammable beings as Clara d'Alfarez and Edward Templemore.  The monk
had been left on board of the leaky vessel; there was no accommodation
in the schooner for him or the duenna, and Don Felix de Maxos de Cobas
de Manilla d'Alfarez was too busy with his cigar to pay attention to his
daughter.

When they were landed, Edward Templemore was asked to their residence,
which was not in the town, but at a lovely bay on the south side of the
island.  The town mansion was appropriated to business and the ceremony
of the court: it was too hot for a permanent abode, and the governor
only went there for a few hours each day.

Edward Templemore remained a short time at the island, and at his
departure received the afore-mentioned letter from the father to the
English admiral, and an assurance of unalterable fidelity from the
daughter to the English lieutenant.  On his return he presented the
letter, and the admiral was satisfied with his conduct.

When ordered out to cruise, which he always was when there was nothing
else to do, he submitted to the admiral whether, if he should happen to
be near Porto Rico, he could not leave an answer to the Spanish
governor's letter; and the admiral, who knew the value of keeping up a
good understanding with foreign relations, took the hint, and gave him
one to deliver, if _convenient_.  The second meeting was, as may be
supposed, more cordial than the first on the part of the young lady; not
so, however, on the part of the duenna and holy friar, who soon found
out that their charge was in danger from heretical opinions.

Caution became necessary; and as secrecy adds a charm to an amour, Clara
received a long letter and a telescope from Edward.  The letter informed
her that, whenever he could, he would make his appearance in his
schooner off the south of the island, and await a signal made by her at
a certain window, acknowledging her recognition of his vessel.  On the
night of that signal he would land in his boat and meet her at an
appointed spot.  This was all very delightful; and it so happened that
Edward had four or five times contrived, during the last year, to meet
Clara without discovery, and again and again to exchange his vows.  It
was agreed between them that when he quitted the station, she would quit
her father and her home, and trust her future happiness to an Englishman
and a heretic.

It may be a matter of surprise to some of our readers that the admiral
should not have discovered the frequent visits of the _Enterprise_ to
Porto Rico, as Edward was obliged to bring his log for examination every
time that he returned; but the admiral was satisfied with Edward's
conduct, and his anxiety to cruise when there was nothing else for him
to do.  His logs were brought on shore to the admiral's secretary,
carefully rolled and sealed up.  The admiral's secretary threw the
packages on one side, and thought no more of the matter, and Edward had
always a ready story to tell when he took his seat at the admiral's
dinner-table; besides, he is a very unfit person to command a vessel who
does not know how to write a log that will bear an investigation.  A
certain latitude is always allowed in every degree of latitude as well
as longitude.

The Enterprise had been despatched to Antigua, and Edward thought this
an excellent opportunity to pay a visit to Clara d'Alfarez: he
therefore, upon his return, hove to off the usual headland, and soon
perceived the white curtain thrown out of the window.

"There it is, sir," said one of the midshipmen who was near him--for he
had been there so often that the whole crew of the Enterprise were aware
of his attachment--"She has shown her flag of truce."

"A truce to your nonsense, Mr Warren," replied Edward, laughing; "how
came you to know anything about it?"

"I only judge by cause and effect, sir; and I know that I shall have to
go on shore and wait for you tonight."

"That's not unlikely; but let draw the foresheet; we must now get behind
the headland."

The youngster was right: that evening, a little before dark, he attended
his commander on shore, the _Enterprise_ lying to with a lantern at her
peak.

"Once more, dearest Clara!" said Edward, as he threw off her long veil
and pressed her in his arms.

"Yes, Edward, once more--but I am afraid only once more; for my maid,
Inez, has been dangerously ill, and has confessed to Friar Ricardo.  I
fear much that, in her fright (for she thought that she was dying), she
has told all.  She is better now."

"Why should you imagine so, Clara?"

"Oh, you know not what a frightened fool that Inez is when she is ill!
Our religion is not like yours."

"No, dear, it is not; but I will teach you a better."

"Hush, Edward, you must not say that.  Holy Virgin! if Friar Ricardo
should hear you!  I think that Inez must have told him, for he fixes his
dark eyes upon me so earnestly.  Yesterday he observed to me that I had
not confessed."

"Tell him to mind his own business."

"That is his business, and I was obliged to confess to him last night.
I told him a great many things, and then he asked if that was all.  His
eyes went through me.  I trembled as I uttered an untruth, for I said it
was."

"I confess my sins but to my Maker, Clara! and I confess my love but to
you.  Follow my plan, dearest!"

"I will half obey you, Edward.  I will not tell my love."

"And sins you have none, Clara; so you will obey me in all."

"Hush, Edward, you must not say that.  We all have sins; and, oh! what a
grievous sin they say it is to love you, who are a heretic!  Holy
Virgin, pardon me! but I could not help it."

"If that is your only sin, dearest, I can safely give you absolution."

"Nay, Edward, don't joke, but hear me.  If Inez has confessed, they will
look for me here, and we must not meet again--at least not in this
place.  You know the little bay behind the rock, it is not much farther
off, and there is a cave where I can wait: another time it must be
there."

"It shall be there, dearest; but is it not too near the beach? will you
not be afraid of the men in the boat, who must see you?"

"But we can leave the beach.  It is Ricardo alone that I am in dread of,
and the Donna Maria.  Merciful Heaven! should my father know all, we
should be lost--be separated for ever!" and Clara laid her forehead on
Edward's shoulder, as her tears fell fast.

"There is nought to fear, Clara.  Hush!  I heard a rustling in those
orange-trees.  Listen!"

"Yes! yes!" whispered Clara, hastily; "there is some one.  Away! dear
Edward, away!"

Clara sprang from his side, and hastened up the grove.  Edward made his
retreat, and flying down the rocky and narrow path through the
underwood, was soon on the beach and into his boat.  The _Enterprise_
arrived at head quarters, and Edward reported himself to the admiral.

"I have work for you, Mr Templemore," said the admiral; "you must be
ready to proceed on service immediately.  We've found your match."

"I hope I may find her, sir," replied the lieutenant.

"I hope so, too; for, if you give a good account of her, it will put
another swab on your shoulder.  The pirate schooner, which has so long
infested the Atlantic, has been seen and chased off Barbadoes by the
_Amelia_: but it appears that there is not a vessel in the squadron
which can come near her unless it be the _Enterprise_.  She has since
captured two West Indiamen, and was seen steering with them towards the
coast of Guiana.  Now, I am going to give you thirty additional hands,
and send you after her."

"Thank you, sir," replied Edward, his countenance beaming with delight.

"How soon will you be ready?" inquired the admiral.

"To-morrow morning, sir."

"Very good.  Tell Mr Hadley to bring me the order for the men and your
sailing orders, and I will sign them; but recollect, Mr Templemore, you
will have an awkward customer.  Be prudent--brave I know you to be."

Edward Templemore promised everything, as most people do in such cases;
and before the next evening the _Enterprise_ was well in the offing,
under a heavy press of sail.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE LANDING.

The property of Don Cumanos, to which he had retired with his family,
accompanied by Francisco, extended from the mouth of, to many miles up,
the Magdalen river.  It was a fine alluvial soil, forming one vast strip
of rich meadow, covered with numerous herds of cattle.  The house was
not a hundreds yards from the bank of the magnificent stream, and a
small but deep creek ran up to the adjacent buildings; for Don Cumanos
had property even more valuable, being proprietor of a gold mine near
the town of Jambrano, about eight miles farther up, and which mine had
latterly become exceedingly productive.  The ore was brought down the
river in boats, and smelted in the outhouses near the creek to which we
have just referred.

It will be necessary to observe that the establishment of the noble
Spaniard was numerous, consisting of nearly one hundred persons,
employed in the smelting-house or attached to the household.

For some time Francisco remained here happy and contented; he had become
the confidential supervisor of Don Cumanos' household, proved himself
worthy of a trust so important, and was considered as one of the family.

One morning, as Francisco was proceeding down to the smelting-house to
open the hatches of the small deck boats which had arrived from Jambrano
with ore, and which were invariably secured with a padlock by the
superintendent above, to which Don Cumanos had a corresponding key, one
of the chief men informed him that a vessel had anchored off the mouth
of the river the day before, and weighed again early that morning, and
that she was now standing off and on.

"From Carthagena, probably, beating up," replied Francisco.

"Valga me Dios, if I know that, sir," said Diego, "I should have thought
nothing about it; but Giacomo and Pedro, who went out to fish last
night, as usual, instead of coming back before midnight, have not been
heard of since."

"Indeed! that is strange.  Did they ever stay so long before?"

"Never, sir; and they have fished together now for seven years."

Francisco gave the key to the man, who opened the locks of the hatches,
and returned it.

"There she is!" cried the man; the head-sails making their appearance as
the vessel opened to their view from the projecting point distant about
four miles.  Francisco directed his eye towards her, and, without
further remark, hastened to the house.

"Well, Francisco," said Don Cumanos, who was stirring a small cup of
chocolate, "what's the news this morning?"

"The _Nostra Senora del Carmen_ and the _Aguilla_ have arrived, and I
have just unlocked the hatches.  There is a vessel off the point which
requires examination, and I have come for the telescope."

"Requires examination!  Why, Francisco?"

"Because Giacomo and Pedro, who went fishing last night, have not
returned, and there are no tidings of them."

"That is strange!  But how is this connected with the vessel?"

"That I will explain as soon as I have had an examination of her,"
replied Francisco, who had taken up the telescope, and was drawing out
the tube.  Francisco fixed the glass against the sill of the window, and
examined the vessel some time in silence.

"Yes! by the living God, it is the _Avenger_, and no other," exclaimed
he, as he removed the telescope from his eye.

"Eh?" cried Don Cumanos.

"It is the pirate vessel--the _Avenger_--I'll forfeit my life upon it!
Don Cumanos, you must be prepared.  I know that they have long talked of
a visit to this quarter, and anticipate great booty, and they have those
on board who know the coast well.  The disappearance of your two men
convinces me that they sent up their boats last night to reconnoitre,
and have captured them.  Torture will extract the information which the
pirates require, and I have little doubt but that the attack will be
made, when they learn how much bullion there is at present on your
premises."

"You may be right," replied Don Cumanos, thoughtfully; "that is,
provided you are sure that it is the pirate vessel."

"Sure, Don Cumanos!  I know every timber and plank in her; there is not
a rope nor a block but I can recognise.  At the distance of four miles,
with such a glass as this, I can discover every little variety in her
rigging from other craft, I will swear to her," repeated Francisco, once
more looking through the telescope.

"And if they attack, Francisco?"

"We must defend ourselves, and, I trust, beat them off.  They will come
in their boats, and at night.  If they were to run in the schooner by
daylight and anchor abreast of us, we should have but a poor chance.
But they little think that I am here, and that they are recognised.
They will attack this night, I rather think."

"And what do you then propose, Francisco?"

"That we should send all the females away to Don Teodoro's--it is but
five miles--and call the men together as soon as possible.  We are
strong enough to beat them off if we barricade the house.  They cannot
land more than from ninety to one hundred men, as some must remain in
charge of the schooner; and we can muster quite as many.  It may be as
well to promise our men a reward if they do their duty."

"That is all right enough; and the bullion we have here."

"Here we had better let it remain; it will take too much time to remove
it, and, besides, will weaken our force by the men who must be in charge
of it.  The out-houses must be abandoned, and everything which is of
consequence taken from them.  Fire them they will, in all probability.
At all events we have plenty of time before us, if we begin at once."

"Well, Francisco, I shall make you commandant, and leave the
arrangements to you, while I go and speak to Donna Isidora.  Send for
the men and speak to them; promise them rewards, and act as if you were
ordering upon your own responsibility."

"I trust I shall prove myself worthy of your confidence, sir," replied
Francisco.

"Carambo!" exclaimed the old don, as he left the room; "but it is
fortunate you are here.  We might all have been murdered in our beds."

Francisco sent for the head men of the establishment, and told them what
he was convinced they would have to expect; and he then explained to
them his views.  The rest were all summoned; and Francisco pointed out
to them the little mercy they would receive if the pirates were not
repulsed, and the rewards which were promised by Don Cumanos if they did
their duty.

Spaniards are individually brave; and, encouraged by Francisco, they
agreed that they would defend the property to the last.

The house of Don Cumanos was well suited to resist an attack of this
description, in which musketry only was expected to be employed.  It was
a long parallelogram of stone walls, with a wooden veranda on the first
floor,--for it was only one story high.  The windows on the first story
were more numerous, but at the basement there were but two, and no other
opening but the door in the whole line of building.  It was of a
composite architecture, between the Morisco and the Spanish.  If the
lower part of the house, which was of stone, could be secured from
entrance, the assailants would, of course, fight under a great
disadvantage.  The windows below were the first secured by piling a
heavy mass of stones in the interior of the rooms against them, rising
to the ceiling from a base like the segment of a pyramid, extending to
the opposite side of the chamber; and every preparation was made for
effectually barricading the door before night.  Ladders were then fixed
to ascend to the veranda, which was rendered musket-proof nearly as high
as its railings, to protect the men.  The Donna Isidora, and the women
of the establishment, were, in the afternoon, despatched to Don
Teodoro's; and, at the request of Francisco, joined to the entreaties of
Donna Isidora, Don Cumanos was persuaded to accompany them.  The don
called his men, and telling them that he left Francisco in command,
expected them to do their duty; and then shaking hands with him, the
cavalcade was soon lost in the woods behind the narrow meadows which
skirted the river.

There was no want of muskets and ammunition.  Some were employed casting
bullets, and others in examining the arms which had long been laid by.
Before evening all was ready; every man had received his arms and
ammunition; the flints had been inspected; and Francisco had time to pay
more attention to the schooner, which had, during the day, increased her
distance from the land, but was now again standing in for the shore.
Half-an-hour before dusk, when within three miles, she wore round and
put her head to the offing.

"They'll attack this night," said Francisco, "I feel almost positive:
their yards and stay-tackles are up, all ready for hoisting out the
long-boat."

"Let them come, senor; we will give them a warm reception," replied
Diego, the second in authority.

It was soon too dark to perceive the vessel.  Francisco and Diego
ordered every man, but five, into the house; the door was firmly
barricaded, and some large pieces of rock, which had been rolled into
the passage, piled against it.  Francisco then posted the five men down
the banks of the river, at a hundred yards' distance from each other, to
give notice of the approach of the boats.  It was about ten o'clock at
night, when Francisco and Diego descended the ladder and went to examine
their outposts.

"Senor," said Diego, as he and Francisco stood on the bank of the river,
"at what hour is it your idea that these villains will make their
attempt?"

"That is difficult to say.  If the same captain commands them who did
when I was on board of her, it will not be until after the moon is down,
which will not be till midnight; but should it be any other who is in
authority, they may not be so prudent."

"Holy Virgin! senor, were you ever on board of that vessel?"

"Yes, Diego, I was, and for a long while, too; but not with my own good
will.  Had I not been on board I never should have recognised her."

"Very true, senor; then we may thank the saints that you have once been
a pirate."

"I hope that I never was that, Diego," replied Francisco, smiling; "but
I have been a witness to dreadful proceedings on board of that vessel,
at the remembrance of which, even now, my blood curdles."

To pass away the time, Francisco then detailed many scenes of horror to
Diego which he had witnessed when on board of the _Avenger_; and he was
still in the middle of a narrative when a musket was discharged by the
farthermost sentinel.

"Hark, Diego!"

Another, and another, nearer and nearer to them, gave the signal that
the boats were close at hand.  In a few minutes the men all came in,
announcing that the pirates were pulling up the stream in three boats,
and were less than a quarter of a mile from the landing-place.

"Diego, go to the house with these men, and see that all is ready," said
Francisco.  "I will wait here a little longer; but do not fire till I
come to you."

Diego and the men departed, and Francisco was left on the beach alone.

In another minute, the sound of the oars was plainly distinguishable,
and Francisco's ears were directed to catch, if possible, the voices.
"Yes," thought he, "you come with the intentions of murder and robbery;
but you will, through me, be disappointed."  As the boats approached, he
heard the voice of Hawkhurst.  The signal muskets fired had told the
pirates that they were discovered, and that, in all probability, they
would meet with resistance; silence was, therefore, no longer of any
advantage.

"Oars, my lads!--oars!" cried Hawkhurst.

One boat ceased rowing, and soon afterwards the two others.  The whole
of them were now plainly seen by Francisco, at the distance of about one
cable's length from where he stood; and the clear still night carried
the sound of their voices along the water.

"Here is a creek, sir," said Hawkhurst, "leading up to those buildings.
Would it not be better to land there, as, if they are not occupied, they
will prove a protection to us if we have a hard fight for it?"

"Very true, Hawkhurst," replied a voice, which Francisco immediately
recognised to be that of Cain.

"He is alive, then," thought Francisco, "and his blood is not yet upon
my hands."

"Give way, my lads!" cried Hawkhurst.

The boats dashed up the creek, and Francisco hastened back to the house.

"Now, my lads," said he, as he sprang up the ladder, "you must be
resolute; we have to deal with desperate men.  I have heard the voices
of the captain and the chief mate; so there is no doubt as to its being
the pirate.  The boats are up the creek and will land behind the
out-buildings.  Haul up these ladders, and lay them fore and aft on the
veranda; and do not fire without taking a good aim.  Silence! my men--
silence!  Here they come."

The pirates were now seen advancing from the out-buildings in strong
force.  In the direction in which they came, it was only from the side
of the veranda, at which not more than eight or ten men could be placed,
that the enemy could be repulsed.  Francisco therefore gave orders that
as soon as some of the men had fired they should retreat and load their
muskets, to make room for others.

When the pirates had advanced halfway to the house, on the clear space
between it and the outbuildings, Francisco gave the word to fire.  The
volley was answered by another, and a shout from the pirates, who, with
Hawkhurst and Cain at their head, now pressed on, but not until they had
received a second discharge from the Spaniards, and the pirates had
fired in return.  As the Spaniards could not at first fire a volley of
more than a dozen muskets at a time, their opponents imagined their
force to be much less than it really was.  They now made other
arrangements.  They spread themselves in a semicircle in front of the
veranda, and kept up a continued galling fire.  This was returned by the
party under Francisco for nearly a quarter of an hour; and as all the
muskets were now called into action, the pirates found out that they had
a more formidable enemy to cope with than they had anticipated.

It was now quite dark, and not a figure was to be distinguished, except
by the momentary flashing of the fire-arms.  Cain and Hawkhurst, leaving
their men to continue the attack, had gained the house, and a position
under the veranda.  Examining the windows and door, there appeared but
little chance of forcing an entrance; but it immediately occurred to
them that under the veranda their men would not be exposed, and that
they might fire through the wooden floor of it upon those above.
Hawkhurst hastened away, and returned with about half the men, leaving
the others to continue their attack as before.  The advantage of this
manoeuvre was soon evident.  The musket-balls of the pirates pierced the
planks, and wounded many of the Spaniards severely; and Francisco was at
last obliged to order his men to retreat into the house, and fire out of
the windows.

But even this warfare did not continue; for the supporting-pillars of
the veranda being of wood, and very dry, they were set fire to by the
pirates.  Gradually the flames wound round them, and their forked
tongues licked the balustrade.  At last, the whole of the veranda was in
flames.  This was a great advantage to the attacking party, who could
now distinguish the Spaniards without their being so clearly seen
themselves.  Many were killed and wounded.  The smoke and heat became so
intense in the upper story that the men could no longer remain there;
and, by the advice of Francisco, they retreated to the basement of the
house.

"What shall we do now, senor?" said Diego, with a grave face.

"Do?" replied Francisco; "they have burnt the veranda, that is all.  The
house will not take fire; it is of solid stone: the roof indeed may; but
still here we are.  I do not see that they are more advanced than they
were before.  As soon as the veranda has burnt down, we must return
above, and commence firing again from the windows."

"Hark, sir! they are trying the door."

"They may try a long while; they should have tried the door while the
veranda protected them from our sight.  As soon as it is burnt, we shall
be able to drive them away from it.  I will go up again and see how
things are."

"No, senor; it is of no use.  Why expose yourself now that the flames
are so bright?"

"I must go and see if that is the case, Diego.  Put all the wounded men
in the north chamber, it will be the safest, and more out of the way."

Francisco ascended the stone staircase, and gained the upper story.  The
rooms were filled with smoke, and he could distinguish nothing.  An
occasional bullet whistled past him.  He walked towards the windows, and
sheltered himself behind the wall between them.

The flames were not so violent, and the heat more bearable.  In a short
time, a crash, and then another told him that the veranda had fallen in.
He looked through the window.  The mass of lighted embers had fallen
down in front of the house, and had, for a time, driven away the
assailants.  Nothing was left of the veranda but the burning ends of the
joists fixed in the wall above the windows, and the still glowing
remains of the posts which once supported it.

But the smoke from below now cleared away, and the discharge of one or
two muskets told Francisco that he was perceived by the enemy.

"The roof is safe," thought he, as he withdrew from the window; "and now
I do not know whether the loss of the veranda may not prove a gain to
us."

What were the intentions of the pirates it was difficult to ascertain.
For a time they had left off firing, and Francisco returned to his
comrades.  The smoke had gradually cleared away, and they were able to
resume their position above; but as the pirates did not fire, they, of
course, could do nothing, as it was only by the flashing of the muskets
that the enemy was to be distinguished.  No further attempts were made
at the door or windows below; and Francisco in vain puzzled himself as
to the intended plans of the assailants.

Nearly half an hour of suspense passed away.  Some of the Spaniards were
of opinion that they had retreated to their boats and gone away, but
Francisco knew them better.  All he could do was to remain above, and
occasionally look out to discover their motions.  Diego, and one or two
more, remained with him; the other men were kept below, that they might
be out of danger.

"Holy Francis! but this has been a dreadful night, senor!  How many
hours until daylight?" said Diego.

"Two hours at least, I should think," replied Francisco; "but the affair
will be decided before that."

"The saints protect us!  See, senor, are they not coming?"

Francisco looked through the gloom, in the direction of the
outbuildings, and perceived a group of men advancing.  A few moments and
he could clearly make them out.

"Yes, truly, Diego; and they have made ladders, which they are carrying.
They intend to storm the windows.  Call them up; and now we must fight
hard indeed."

The Spaniards hastened up and filled the room above, which had three
windows in the front, looking towards the river, and which had been
sheltered by the veranda.

"Shall we fire now, senor?"

"No--no: do not fire till your muzzles are at their hearts.  They cannot
mount more than two at a time at each window.  Recollect, my lads, that
you must now fight hard, for your lives will not be spared; they will
show no quarter and no mercy."

The ends of the rude ladders now made their appearance above the sill of
each window.  They had been hastily, yet firmly, constructed; and were
nearly as wide as the windows.  A loud cheer was followed by a
simultaneous mounting of the ladders.

Francisco was at the centre window, when Hawkhurst made his appearance,
sabre in hand.  He struck aside the musket aimed at him, and the ball
whizzed harmless over the broad water of the river.  Another step, and
he would have been in, when Francisco fired his pistol; the ball entered
the left shoulder of Hawkhurst, and he dropped his hold.  Before he
could regain it, a Spaniard charged at him with a musket, and threw him
back.  He fell, bearing down with him one or two of his comrades, who
had been following him up the ladder.

Francisco felt as if the attack at that window was of little consequence
after the fall of Hawkhurst, whose voice he had recognised; and he
hastened to the one on the left, as he had heard Cain encouraging his
men in that direction.  He was not wrong in his conjecture; Cain was at
the window, attempting to force an entrance, but was opposed by Diego
and other resolute men.  But the belt of the pirate-captain was full of
pistols, and he had already fired three with effect.  Diego and the two
best men were wounded, and the others who opposed him were alarmed at
his giant proportions.  Francisco rushed to attack him; but what was the
force of so young a man against the Herculean power of Cain!  Still
Francisco's left hand was at the throat of the pirate, and the pistol
was pointed in his right, when a flash of another pistol, fired by one
who followed Cain, threw its momentary vivid light upon the features of
Francisco, as he cried out, "Blood for blood!"  It was enough; the
pirate captain uttered a yell of terror at the supposed supernatural
appearance; and he fell from the ladder in a fit among the still burning
embers of the veranda.

The fall of their two chiefs, and the determined resistance of the
Spaniards, checked the impetuosity of the assailants.  They hesitated;
and they at last retreated, bearing away with them their wounded.  The
Spaniards cheered, and, led by Francisco, followed them down the
ladders, and, in their turn, became the assailants.  Still the pirates'
retreat was orderly: they fired, and retired rank behind rank
successively.  They kept the Spaniards at bay, until they had arrived at
the boats; when a charge was made, and a severe conflict ensued.  But
the pirates had lost too many men, and, without their commander, felt
dispirited.  Hawkhurst was still on his legs and giving his orders as
coolly as ever.  He espied Francisco, and rushing at him, while the two
parties were opposed muzzle to muzzle, seized him by his collar and
dragged him in amongst the pirates.  "Secure him at all events!" cried
Hawkhurst, as they slowly retreated and gained the out-houses.
Francisco was overpowered and hauled into one of the boats, all of which
in a few minutes afterwards were pulling with all their might to escape
from the muskets of the Spaniards, who followed the pirates by the banks
of the river, annoying them in their retreat.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE MEETING.

The pirates returned to their vessel discomfited.  Those on board, who
were prepared to hoist in ingots of precious metal, had to receive
nought but wounded men, and many of their comrades had remained dead on
the shore.  Their captain was melancholy and downcast.  Hawkhurst was
badly wounded, and obliged to be carried below as soon as he came on
board.  The only capture which they had made was their former associate
Francisco, who, by the last words spoken by Hawkhurst as he was
supported to his cabin was ordered to be put in irons.  The boats were
hoisted in without noise, and a general gloom prevailed.  All sail was
then made upon the schooner, and when day dawned she was seen by the
Spaniards far away to the northward.

The report was soon spread through the schooner that Francisco had been
the cause of their defeat; and this was only a surmise, still, as they
considered that had he not recognised the vessel the Spaniards would not
have been prepared, they had good grounds for what had swelled into an
assertion.  He became, therefore, to many of them, an object of bitter
enmity, and they looked forward with pleasure to his destruction, which
his present confinement they considered but the precursor of.

"Hist!  Massa Francisco!" said a low voice near to where Francisco sat
on the chest.  Francisco turned round and beheld the Krouman, his old
friend.

"Ah!  Pompey, are you all still on board?" said Francisco.

"All! no," replied the man, shaking his head; "some die--some get away--
only four Kroumen left.  Massa Francisco, how you come back again?
Everybody tink you dead.  I say no, not dead--ab charm with him--ab
book."

"If that was my charm, I have it still," replied Francisco, taking the
Bible out of his vest; for, strange to say, Francisco himself had a kind
of superstition relative to that Bible, and had put it into his bosom
previous to the attack made by the pirates.

"Dat very good, Massa Francisco; den you quite safe.  Here come
Johnson--he very bad man.  I go away."

In the meantime Cain had retired to his cabin with feelings scarcely to
be analysed.  He was in a bewilderment.  Notwithstanding the wound he
had received by the hand of Francisco, he would never have sanctioned
Hawkhurst putting him on shore on a spot which promised nothing but a
lingering and miserable death.  Irritated as he had been by the young
man's open defiance, he loved him--loved him much more than he was aware
of himself; and when he had recovered sufficiently from his wound, and
had been informed where Francisco had been sent on shore, he quarrelled
with Hawkhurst, and reproached him bitterly and sternly, in language
which Hawkhurst never forgot or forgave.  The vision of the starving lad
haunted Cain, and rendered him miserable.  His affection for him, now
that he was, as he supposed, lost for ever, increased with tenfold
force; and since that period Cain had never been seen to smile.  He
became more gloomy, more ferocious than ever, and the men trembled when
he appeared on deck.

The apparition of Francisco after so long an interval, and in such an
unexpected quarter of the globe, acted, as we have before described,
upon Cain.  When he was taken to the boat he was still confused in his
ideas, and it was not until they were nearly on board that he perceived
that this young man was indeed at his side.  He could have fallen on his
neck and kissed him: for Francisco had become to him a capture more
prized than all the wealth of the Indies.  But one pure, good feeling
was unextinguished in the bosom of Cain; stained with every crime--with
his hands so deeply imbrued in blood--at enmity with all the rest of the
world, that one feeling burnt bright and clear, and was not to be
quenched.  It might have proved a beacon-light to steer him back to
repentance and to good works.

But there were other feelings which also crowded upon the mind of the
pirate-captain.  He knew Francisco's firmness and decision.  By some
inscrutable means, which Cain considered as supernatural, Francisco had
obtained the knowledge, and had accused him, of his mother's death.
Would not the affection which he felt for the young man be met with
hatred and defiance?  He was but too sure that it would.  And then his
gloomy, cruel disposition would reassume its influence, and he thought
of revenging the attack upon his life.  His astonishment at the
reappearance of Francisco was equally great, and he trembled at the
sight of him, as if he were his accusing and condemning spirit.  Thus
did he wander from one fearful fancy to another, until he at last
summoned up resolution to send for him.

A morose, dark man, whom Francisco had not seen when he was before in
the schooner, obeyed the commands of the captain.  The irons were
unlocked, and Francisco was brought down into the cabin.  The captain
rose and shut the door.

"I little thought to see you here, Francisco," said Cain.

"Probably not," replied Francisco, boldly, "but you have me again, in
your power, and may now wreak your vengeance."

"I feel none, Francisco; nor would I have suffered you to have been put
on shore as you were, had I known of it.  Even now that our expedition
has failed through your means, I feel no anger towards you, although I
shall have some difficulty in preserving you from the enmity of others.
Indeed, Francisco, I am glad to find that you are alive, and I have
bitterly mourned your loss:" and Cain extended his hand.

But Francisco folded his arms, and was silent.

"Are you then so unforgiving?" said the captain.  "You know that I tell
the truth."

"I believe that you state the truth, Captain Cain, for you are too bold
to lie; and, as far as I am concerned, you have all the forgiveness you
may wish; but I cannot take that hand; nor are our accounts yet
settled."

"What would you more?  Cannot we be friends again?  I do not ask you to
remain on board.  You are free to go where you please.  Come, Francisco,
take my hand, and let us forget what is past."

"The hand that is imbrued with my mother's blood, perhaps!" exclaimed
Francisco.  "Never!"

"Not so, by God!" exclaimed Cain.  "No, no; not quite so bad as that.
In my mood I struck your mother; I grant it.  I did not intend to injure
her, but I did, and she died.  I will not lie--that is the fact.  And it
is also the fact that I wept over her, Francisco; for I loved her as I
do you.

"It was a hasty, bitter blow, that," continued Cain, soliloquising, with
his hand to his forehead, and unconscious of Francisco's presence at the
moment.  "It made me what I am, for it made me reckless."

"Francisco," said Cain, raising his head, "I was bad, but I was no
pirate when your mother lived.  There is a curse upon me: that which I
love most I treat the worst.  Of all the world, I loved your mother
most: yet did she from me receive much injury, and at last I caused her
death.  Next to your mother, whose memory I at once revere and love, and
tremble when I think of (and each night does she appear to me), I have
loved you, Francisco; for you, like her, have an angel's feelings: yet
have I treated you as ill.  You thwarted me, and you were right.  Had
you been wrong, I had not cared; but you were right, and it maddened me.
Your appeals by day--your mother's in my dreams--"

Francisco's heart was softened; if not repentance, there was at least
contrition.  "Indeed I pity you," replied Francisco.

"You must do more, Francisco; you must be friends with me," said Cain,
again extending his hand.

"I cannot take that hand, it is too deeply dyed in blood," replied
Francisco.

"Well, well, so would have said your mother.  But hear me, Francisco,"
said Cain, lowering his voice to a whisper, lest he should be overheard;
"I am tired of this life--perhaps sorry for what I have done--I wish to
leave it--have wealth in plenty concealed where others know not.  Tell
me, Francisco, shall we both quit this vessel, and live together happily
and without doing wrong?  You shall share all, Francisco.  Say, now,
does that please you?"

"Yes; it pleases me to hear that you will abandon your lawless life,
Captain Cain; but share your wealth I cannot, for how has it been
gained?"

"It cannot be returned, Francisco; I will do good with it.  I will
indeed, Francisco.  I--will--repent;" and again the hand was extended.

Francisco hesitated.

"I do, so help me God!  I _do_ repent, Francisco!" exclaimed the
pirate-captain.

"And I, as a Christian, do forgive you all," replied Francisco, taking
the still extended hand.  "May God forgive you, too!"

"Amen!" replied the pirate, solemnly, covering his face up in his hands.

In this position he remained some minutes, Francisco watching him in
silence.  At last the face was uncovered, and, to the surprise of
Francisco, a tear was on the cheek of Cain and his eyes suffused with
moisture.  Francisco no longer waited for the hand to be extended; he
walked up to the captain, and taking him by the hand, pressed it warmly.

"God bless you, boy!  God bless you!" said Cain; "but leave me now."

Francisco returned on deck with a light and grateful heart.  His
countenance at once told those who were near him that he was not
condemned, and many who dared not before take notice of him, now saluted
him.  The man who had taken him out of irons looked round; he was a
creature of Hawkhurst, and he knew not how to act.  Francisco observed
him, and, with a wave of the hand, ordered him below.  That Francisco
was again in authority was instantly perceived, and the first proof of
it was, that the new second mate reported to him that there was a sail
on the weather bow.

Francisco took the glass to examine her.  It was a large schooner under
all sail.  Not wishing that any one should enter the cabin but himself,
he went down to the cabin-door, and knocked before he entered, and
reported the vessel.

"Thank you, Francisco; you must take Hawkhurst's duty for the present--
it shall not be for long; and fear not that I shall make another
capture.  I swear to you I will not, Francisco.  But this schooner--I
know very well what she is: she has been looking after us some time: and
a week ago, Francisco, I was anxious to meet her, that I might shed more
blood.  Now I will do all I can to avoid her, and escape.  I can do no
more, Francisco.  I must not be taken."

"There I cannot blame you.  To avoid her will be easy, I should think;
the _Avenger_ outsails everything."

"Except, I believe, the _Enterprise_, which is a sister-vessel.  By
heaven! it's a fair match," continued Cain, his feelings of
combativeness returning for a moment; "and it will look like a craven to
refuse the fight: but fear not, Francisco--I have promised you, and I
shall keep my word."

Cain went on deck, and surveyed the vessel through the glass.

"Yes, it must be her," said he aloud, so as to be heard by the pirates;
"she has been sent out by the admiral on purpose, full of his best men.
What a pity we are short-handed!"

"There's enough of us, sir," observed the boatswain.

"Yes," replied Cain, "if there was anything but hard blows to be got;
but that is all, and I cannot spare more men.  Ready about!" continued
he, walking aft.

The _Enterprise_, for she was the vessel in pursuit, was then about five
miles distant, steering for the _Avenger_, who was on a wind.  As soon
as the _Avenger_ tacked, the _Enterprise_ took in her topmast
studding-sail, and hauled her wind.  This brought the _Enterprise_ well
on the weather-quarter of the _Avenger_, who now made all sail.  The
pirates, who had had quite enough of fighting, and were not stimulated
by the presence of Hawkhurst, or the wishes of their captain, now showed
as much anxiety to avoid, as they usually did to seek, a combat.

At the first trial of sailing between the two schooners there was no
perceptible difference; for half an hour they both continued on a wind,
and when Edward Templemore examined his sextant a second time, he could
not perceive that he had gained upon the _Avenger_ one cable's length.

"We will keep away half a point," said Edward to his second in command.
"We can afford that, and still hold the weather-gage."

The _Enterprise_ was kept away, and increased her speed: they neared the
_Avenger_ more than a quarter of a mile.

"They are nearing us," observed Francisco; "we must keep away a point."

Away went the _Avenger_, and would have recovered her distance, but the
_Enterprise_ was again steered more off the wind.

Thus did they continue altering their course until the studding-sails
below and aloft were set by both, and the position of the schooners was
changed; the _Enterprise_ now being on the starboard instead of the
larboard quarter of the _Avenger_.  The relative distance between the
two schooners was, however, nearly the same, that is, about three miles
and a half from each other; and there was every prospect of a long and
weary chase on the part of the _Enterprise_, who again kept away a point
to near the _Avenger_.

Both vessels were now running to the eastward.

It was about an hour before dark that another sail hove in sight right
a-head of the _Avenger_, and was clearly made out to be a frigate.  The
pirates were alarmed at this unfortunate circumstance, as there was
little doubt but that she would prove a British cruiser; and, if not,
they had equally reason to expect that she would assist in their
capture.  She had evidently perceived the two schooners, and had made
all sail, tacking every quarter of an hour so as to keep her relative
position.  The _Enterprise_, who had also made out the frigate, to
attract her attention, although not within range of the _Avenger_,
commenced firing with her long-gun.

"This is rather awkward," observed Cain.

"It will be dark in less than an hour," observed Francisco; "and that is
our only chance."

Cain reflected a minute.

"Get the long-gun ready, my lads!  We will return her fire, Francisco,
and hoist American colours; that will puzzle the frigate at all events,
and the night may do the rest."

The long-gun of the _Avenger_ was ready.

"I would not fire the long-gun," observed Francisco, "it will show our
force, and will give no reason for our attempt to escape.  Now, if we
were to fire our broadside-guns, the difference of report between them
and the one of large calibre fired by the other schooner would induce
them to think that we are an American vessel."

"Very true," replied Cain, "and, as America is at peace with all the
world, that our antagonist is a pirate.  Hold fast the long-gun, there;
and unship the starboard ports.  See that the ensign blows out clear."

The _Avenger_ commenced firing an occasional gun from her broadside, the
reports of which were hardly to be heard by those on board of the
frigate; while the long-gun of the _Enterprise_ reverberated along the
water, and its loud resonance was swept by the wind to the frigate to
leeward.

Such was the state of affairs when the sun sank down in the wave, and
darkness obscured the vessels from each other's sight, except with the
assistance of the night telescopes.

"What do you propose to do, Captain Cain?" said Francisco.

"I have made up my mind to do a bold thing.  I will run down to the
frigate, as if for shelter; tell him that the other vessel is a pirate,
and claim his protection.  Leave me to escape afterwards; the moon will
not rise till nearly one o'clock."

"That will be a bold _ruse_, indeed; but suppose you are once under her
broadside, and she suspects you?"

"Then I will show her my heels.  I should care nothing for her and her
broadside if the schooner was not here."

In an hour after dark the _Avenger_ was close to the frigate, having
steered directly for her.  She shortened sail gradually, as if she had
few hands on board; and, keeping his men out of sight, Cain ran under
the stern of the frigate.

"Schooner ahoy!  What schooner is that?"

"_Eliza of Baltimore_, from Carthagena," replied Cain, rounding to under
the lee of the man-of-war, and then continuing: "That vessel in chase is
a pirate.  Shall I send a boat on board?"

"No; keep company with us."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Cain.

"Hands about ship!" now resounded with the boatswain's whistle on board
of the frigate, and in a minute they were on the other tack.  The
_Avenger_ also tacked and kept close under the frigate's counter.

In the meantime, Edward Templemore and those on board of the
_Enterprise_ who, by the course steered, had gradually neared them,
perceiving the motions of the two other vessels, were quite puzzled.  At
one time they thought they had made a mistake, and that it was not the
pirate vessel; at another they surmised that the crew had mutinied and
surrendered to the frigate.  Edward hauled his wind, and steered
directly for them, to ascertain what the real facts were.  The captain
of the frigate, who had never lost sight of either vessel, was equally
astonished at the boldness of the supposed pirate.

"Surely the rascal does not intend to board us?" said he to the
first-lieutenant.

"There is no saying, sir; you know what a character he has: and some say
there are three hundred men on board, which is equal to our ship's
company.  Or perhaps, sir, he will pass to windward of us, and give us a
broadside, and be off in the wind's eye again."

"At all events we will have a broadside ready for him," replied the
captain.  "Clear away the starboard guns, and take out the tompions.
Pipe starboard watch to quarters."

The _Enterprise_ closed with the frigate to windward, intending to run
round her stern and bring to on the same tack.

"He does not shorten sail yet, sir," said the first-lieutenant, as the
schooner appeared skimming along about a cable's length on their weather
bow.

"And she is full of men, sir," said the master, looking at her through
the night-glass.

"Fire a gun at her!" said the captain.

Bang!  The smoke cleared away, and the schooner's foretopsail, which she
was in the act of clewing up, lay over side.  The shot had struck the
foremast of the _Enterprise_, and cut it in two below the catharpings.
The _Enterprise_ was, for the time, completely disabled.

"Schooner ahoy!  What schooner is that?"

"His Majesty's schooner _Enterprise_."

"Send a boat on board immediately."

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Turn the hands up?  Shorten sail!"

The top-gallant and courses of the frigate were taken in, and the
mainsail hove to the mast.

"Signalman, whereabouts is that other schooner now?"

"The schooner, sir?  On the quarter," replied the signalman, who with
everybody else on board, was so anxious about the _Enterprise_, that
they had neglected to watch the motions of the supposed American.  The
man had replied at random, and he now jumped upon the signal-chests
abaft to look for her.  But she was not to be seen.  Cain, who had
watched all that passed between the other two vessels, and had been
prepared to slip off at a moment's warning, as soon as the gun was fired
at the other schooner, had wore round and made all sail on a wind.  The
night-glass discovered her half a mile astern; and the _ruse_ was
immediately perceived.  The frigate filled and made sail, leaving Edward
to return on board--for there was no time to stop for the boat--tacked,
and gave chase.  But the _Avenger_ was soon in the wind's-eye of her;
and at daylight was no longer to be seen.

In the meantime, Edward Templemore had followed the frigate as soon as
he could set sail on his vessel, indignant at his treatment, and vowing
that he would demand a court-martial.  About noon the frigate rejoined
him, when matters were fully explained.  Annoyed as they all felt at not
having captured the pirate, it was unanimously agreed, that by his
audacity and coolness he deserved to escape.  It was found that the mast
of the _Enterprise_ could be fished and scarfed, so as to enable her to
continue her cruise.  The carpenters of the frigate were sent on board;
and in two days the injury was repaired, and Edward Templemore once more
went in pursuit of the _Avenger_.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE MISTAKE.

The _Avenger_ stood under a press of sail to the northward.  She had
left her pursuers far behind; and there was not a speck on the horizon,
when, on the second morning, Francisco, who had resumed his berth in the
captain's cabin, went up on deck.  Notwithstanding the request of Cain,
Francisco refused to take any part in the command of the schooner,
considering himself as a passenger, or prisoner on parole.

He had not been on deck but a few minutes, when he observed the two
Spanish fishermen belonging to the establishment of Don Cumanos
conversing together forward.  Their capture had quite escaped his
memory, and he went forward to speak to them.  Their surprise at seeing
him was great, until Francisco informed them of what had passed.  They
then recounted what had occurred to them, and showed their thumbs, which
had been put into screws to torture from them the truth.  Francisco
shuddered, but consoled them by promising that they should soon be at
liberty, and return to their former master.

As Francisco returned from forward, he found Hawkhurst on the deck.
Their eyes met and flashed in enmity.  Hawkhurst was pale from loss of
blood, and evidently suffering; but he had been informed of the apparent
reconciliation between Francisco and the captain, and he could no longer
remain in his bed.  He knew, also, how the captain had avoided the
combat with the _Enterprise_; and something told him that there was a
revolution of feeling in more than one point.  Suffering as he was, he
resolved to be a spectator of what passed, and to watch narrowly.  For
both Francisco and Cain he had imbibed a deadly hatred, and was watching
for an opportunity to wreak his revenge.  At present they were too
powerful; but he felt that the time was coming when he might be
triumphant.

Francisco passed Hawkhurst without speaking.

"You are at liberty again, I see," observed Hawkhurst with a sneer.

"I am not, at all events, indebted to you for it," replied Francisco,
haughtily; "nor for my life either."

"No, indeed; but I believe that I am indebted to you for this bullet in
my shoulder," replied the mate.

"You are," replied Francisco, coolly.

"And depend upon it the debt shall be repaid with usury."

"I have no doubt of it, if ever it is in your power; but I fear you
not."

As Francisco made this reply, the captain came up the ladder.  Hawkhurst
turned away and walked forward.

"There is mischief in that man, Francisco," said the captain in an
under-tone; "I hardly know whom to trust; but he must be watched.  He is
tampering with the men, and has been for some time; not that it is of
much consequence, if he does but remain quiet for a little while.  The
command of this vessel he is welcome to very soon; but if he attempts
too early--"

"I have those I can trust to," replied Francisco.  "Let us go below."

Francisco sent for Pompey the Krouman, and gave him his directions in
the presence of the captain.  That night, to the surprise of all,
Hawkhurst kept his watch; and notwithstanding the fatigue, appeared
every day to be rapidly recovering from his wound.

Nothing occurred for several days, during which the _Avenger_ still
continued her course.  What the captain's intentions were did not
transpire; they were known only to Francisco.

"We are very short of water, sir," reported Hawkhurst one morning:
"shall we have enough to last us to where we are going?"

"How many days of full allowance have we on board?"

"Not above twelve at the most."

"Then we must go on half allowance," replied Cain.

"The ship's company wish to know where we are going, sir."

"Have they deputed you to ask the question?"

"Not exactly, sir; but I wish to know myself," replied Hawkhurst, with
an insolent air.

"Turn the hands up," replied Cain: "as one of the ship's company under
my orders, you will, with the others, receive the information you
require."

The crew of the pirate collected aft.

"My lads," said Cain, "I understand, from the first mate, that you are
anxious to know where you are going?  In reply, I acquaint you, that
having so many wounded men on board, and so much plunder in the hold, I
intend to repair to our rendezvous when we were formerly in this part of
the world--the _Caicos_.  Is there any other question you may wish to
ask of me?"

"Yes," replied Hawkhurst; "we wish to know what your intentions are
relative to that young man Francisco.  We have lost immense wealth; we
have now thirty men wounded in the hammocks, and nine we left dead on
the shore; and I have a bullet through my body, all of which has been
occasioned by him.  We demand justice!"

Here Hawkhurst was supported by several of the pirates; and there were
many voices which repeated the cry of "Justice!"

"My men! you demand justice, and you shall have it," replied Cain.
"This lad you all know well; I have brought him up from a child.  He has
always disliked our mode of life, and has often requested to leave it,
but has been refused.  He challenged me by our own laws, `Blood for
blood!'  He wounded me; but he was right in his challenge, and,
therefore, I bear no malice.  Had I been aware that he was to have been
sent on shore to die with hunger, I would not have permitted it.  What
crime had he committed?  None; or, if any, it was against me.  He was
then sentenced to death for no crime, and you yourselves exclaimed
against it.  Is it not true?"

"Yes--yes," replied the majority of the pirates.

"By a miracle he escapes, and is put in charge of another man's
property.  He is made a prisoner, and now you demand justice.  You shall
have it.  Allowing that his life is forfeit for this offence,--you have
already sentenced him, and left him to death unjustly, and therefore are
bound in justice to give his life in this instance.  I ask it, my men,
not only as his right, but as a favour to your captain."

"Agreed; it's all fair!" exclaimed the majority of the pirate's crew.

"My men, I thank you," replied Cain; "and in return, as soon as we
arrive at the Caicos, my share of the plunder on board shall be divided
among you."

This last observation completely turned the tables in favour of the
captain; and those who had joined Hawkhurst now sided with the captain.
Hawkhurst looked like a demon.

"Let those who choose to be bought off, take your money," replied he;
"but _I will not_.  Blood for blood I will have; and so I give you
warning.  That lad's life is mine, and have it I will!  Prevent me, if
you can!" continued the mate, holding up his clenched hand, and shaking
it almost in the pirate-captain's face.

The blood mantled even to the forehead of Cain.  One moment he raised
himself to his utmost height, then seizing a hand spike, which lay near,
he felled Hawkhurst to the deck.

"Take that for your mutiny!" exclaimed Cain, putting his foot on
Hawkhurst's neck.  "My lads, I appeal to you.  Is this man worthy to be
in command as mate?  Is he to live?"

"No! no!" cried the pirates.  "Death!"

Francisco stepped forward.  "My men, you have granted your captain one
favour; grant me another, which is the life of this man.  Recollect how
often he has led you to conquest, and how brave and faithful he has been
until now!  Recollect that he is suffering under his wound, which has
made him irritable.  Command you he cannot any longer, as he will never
have the confidence of your captain; but let him live, and quit the
vessel."

"Be it so, if you agree," replied Cain, looking at the men; "I do not
seek his life."

The pirates consented.  Hawkhurst rose slowly from the deck, and was
assisted below to his cabin.  The second mate was then appointed as the
first, and the choice of the man to fill up the vacancy was left to the
pirate-crew.

For three days after this scene all was quiet and orderly on board of
the pirate.  Cain, now that he had more fully made up his mind how to
act, imparted to Francisco his plans; and his giving up to the men his
share of the booty still on board was, to Francisco, an earnest of his
good intentions.  A cordiality, even a kind of feeling which never
existed before, was created between them; but of Francisco's mother, and
the former events of his own life, the pirate never spoke.  Francisco
more than once put questions on the subject; the answer was,--"You shall
know some of these days, Francisco, but not yet; you would hate me too
much!"

The _Avenger_ was now clear of the English isles, and with light winds
running down the shores of Porto Rico.  In the evening of the day on
which they had made the land, the schooner was becalmed about three
miles from the shore, and the new first mate proposed that he should
land in the boat and obtain a further supply of water from a fall which
they had discovered with the glasses.  As this was necessary, Cain gave
his consent, and the boat quitted the vessel full of breakers.

Now it happened that the _Avenger_ lay becalmed abreast of the
country-seat of Don d'Alfarez, the governor of the island.  Clara had
seen the schooner; and, as usual, had thrown out the white curtain as a
signal of recognition; for there was no perceptible difference, even to
a sailor, at that distance, between the _Avenger_ and the _Enterprise_.
She had hastened down to the beach, and hurried into the cave, awaiting
the arrival of Edward Templemore.  The pirate-boat landed at the very
spot of rendezvous, and the mate leaped out of the boat.  Clara flew to
receive her Edward, and was instantly seized by the mate, before she
discovered her mistake.

"Holy Virgin! who and what are you?" cried she, struggling to disengage
herself.

"One who is very fond of a pretty girl!" replied the pirate, still
detaining her.

"Unhand me, wretch!" cried Clara.  "Are you aware whom you are
addressing?"

"Not I! nor do I care," replied the pirate.

"You will perhaps, sir, when you learn that I am the daughter of the
governor!" exclaimed Clara, pushing him away.

"Yes! by heavens! you are right, pretty lady, I do care; for a
governor's daughter will fetch a good ransom at all events.  So come, my
lads, a little help here; for she is as strong as a young mule.  Never
mind the water, throw the beakers into the boat again: we have a prize
worth taking!"

Clara screamed; but she was gagged with a handkerchief and lifted into
the boat, which immediately rowed back to the schooner.

When the mate came on board and reported his capture the pirates were
delighted at the prospect of addition to their prize-money.  Cain could
not, of course, raise any objections; it would have been so different
from his general practice, that it would have strengthened suspicions
already set afloat by Hawkhurst, which Cain was most anxious just then
to remove.  He ordered the girl to be taken down into the cabin, hoisted
in the boat, and the breeze springing up again, made sail.

In the mean time Francisco was consoling the unfortunate Clara, and
assuring her that she need be under no alarm, promising her the
protection of himself and the captain.

The poor girl wept bitterly, and it was not until Cain came down into
the cabin and corroborated the assurances of Francisco that she could
assume any degree of composure; but to find friends when she had
expected every insult and degradation--for Francisco had acknowledged
that the vessel was a pirate--was some consolation.  The kindness and
attention of Francisco restored her to comparative tranquillity.

The next day she confided to him the reason of her coming to the beach,
and her mistake with regard to the two vessels, and Francisco and Cain
promised her that they would themselves pay her ransom, and not wait
until she heard from her father.  To divert her thoughts Francisco
talked much about Edward Templemore, and on that subject Clara could
always talk.  Every circumstance attending the amour was soon known to
Francisco.

But the _Avenger_ did not gain her rendezvous as soon as she expected.
When to the northward of Porto Rico an English frigate bore down upon
her, and the _Avenger_ was obliged to run for it.  Before the wind is
always a schooner's worst point of sailing, and the chase was continued
for three days before a fresh wind from the southward, until they had
passed the Bahama Isles.

The pirates suffered much from want of water, as it was necessary still
further to reduce their allowance.  The frigate was still in sight,
although the _Avenger_ had dropped her astern when the wind became
light, and at last it subsided into a calm, which lasted two days more.
The boats of the frigate were hoisted out on the eve of the second day
to attack the schooner, then distant five miles, when a breeze sprang up
from the northward, and the schooner being then to windward, left the
enemy hull down.

It was not until the next day that Cain ventured to run again to the
southward to procure at one of the keys the water so much required.  At
last it was obtained, but with difficulty and much loss of time, from
the scantiness of the supply, and they again made sail for the Caicos.
But they were so much impeded by contrary winds and contrary currents
that it was not until three weeks after they had been chased from Porto
Rico that they made out the low land of their former rendezvous.

We must now return to Edward Templemore in the _Enterprise_, whom we
left off the coast of South America in search of the _Avenger_, which
had so strangely slipped through their fingers.  Edward had examined the
whole coast, ran through the passage and round Trinidad, and then
started off to the Leeward Isles in his pursuit.  He had spoken every
vessel he met with without gaining any information, and had at last
arrived off Porto Rico.

This was no time to think of Clara; but, as it was not out of his way,
he had run down the island, and as it was just before dark when he
arrived off that part of the coast where the governor resided, he had
hove to for a little while, and had examined the windows: but the signal
of recognition was not made, and after waiting till dark he again made
sail, mad with disappointment, and fearing that all had been discovered
by the governor; whereas the fact was, that he had only arrived two days
after the forcible abduction of Clara.  Once more he directed his
attention to the discovery of the pirate, and after a fortnight's
examination of the inlets and bays of the Island of St. Domingo without
success, his provisions and water being nearly expended, he returned, in
no very happy mood, to Port Royal.

In the mean time the disappearance of Clara had created the greatest
confusion in Porto Rico, and upon the examination of her attendant, who
was confronted by the friar and the duenna, the amour of her mistress
was confessed.  The appearance of the _Avenger_ off the coast on that
evening confirmed their ideas that the Donna Clara had been carried off
by the English lieutenant, and Don Alfarez immediately despatched a
vessel to Jamaica, complaining of the outrage, and demanding the
restoration of his daughter.

This vessel arrived at Port Royal a few days before the _Enterprise_,
and the admiral was very much astonished.  He returned a very polite
answer to Don Alfarez, promising an investigation immediately upon the
arrival of the schooner, and to send a vessel with the result of the
said investigation.

"This is a pretty business," said the admiral to his secretary.  "Young
madcap, I sent him to look after a pirate and he goes after the
governor's daughter!  By the lord Harry, Mr Templemore, but you and I
shall have an account to settle."

"I can hardly believe it, sir," replied the secretary; "and yet it does
look suspicious.  But on so short an acquaintance--"

"Who knows that, Mr Hadley?  Send for his logs, and let us examine
them; he may have been keeping up the acquaintance."

The logs of the _Enterprise_ were examined, and there were the fatal
words--Porto Rico, Porto Rico, bearing in every division of the compass,
and in every separate cruise, nay, even when the schooner was charged
with despatches.

"Plain enough," said the admiral.  "Confounded young scamp, to embroil
me in this way!  Not that his marrying the girl is any business of mine;
but I will punish him for disobedience of orders, at all events.  Try
him by a court-martial, by heavens!"

The secretary made no reply: he knew very well that the admiral would do
no such thing.

"The _Enterprise_ anchored at daylight, sir," reported the secretary as
the admiral sat down to breakfast.

"And where's Mr Templemore?"

"He is outside in the veranda.  They have told him below of what he has
been accused, and he swears it is false.  I believe him, sir, for he
appears half mad at the intelligence."

"Stop a moment.  Have you looked over his log?"

"Yes, sir.  It appears that he was off Porto Rico on the 19th; but the
Spanish governor's letter says that he was there on the 17th, and again
made his appearance on the 19th.  I mentioned it to him, and he declares
upon his honour that he was only there on the 19th, as stated in his
log."

"Well, let him come in and speak for himself."

Edward came in, in a state of great agitation.

"Well, Mr Templemore, you have been playing pretty tricks!  What is all
this, sir?  Where is the girl, sir--the governor's daughter?"

"Where she is, sir, I cannot pretend to say; but I feel convinced that
she has been carried off by the pirates."

"Pirates!  Poor girl, I pity her!--and--I pity you too, Edward.  Come,
sit down here, and tell me all that has happened."

Edward knew the admiral's character so well, that he immediately
disclosed all that had passed between him and Clara.  He then stated how
the _Avenger_ had escaped him by deceiving the frigate, and the
agreement made with Clara to meet for the future on the beach, and his
conviction that the pirate schooner, so exactly similar in appearance to
the _Enterprise_, must have preceded him at Porto Rico, and have carried
off the object of his attachment.

Although Edward might have been severely taken to task, yet the admiral
pitied him, and, therefore, said nothing about his visits to Porto Rico.
When breakfast was over he ordered the signal to be made for a sloop of
war to prepare to weigh, and the _Enterprise_ to be revictualled by the
boats of the squadron.

"Now, Edward, you and the _Comus_ shall sail in company after this
rascally pirate, and I trust you will give me a good account of her, and
also of the governor's daughter.  Cheer up, my boy! depend upon it they
will try for ransom before they do her any injury."

That evening the _Enterprise_ and _Comus_ sailed on their expedition,
and having run by Porto Rico and delivered a letter to the governor,
they steered to the northward, and early the next morning made the land
of the Caicos, just as the _Avenger_ had skirted the reefs and bore up
for the narrow entrance.

"There she is!" exclaimed Edward; "there she is, by heavens!" making the
signal for the enemy, which was immediately answered by the _Comus_.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE CAICOS.

The small patch of islands called the Caicos, or Cayques, is situated
about two degrees to the northward of Saint Domingo, and is nearly the
southernmost of a chain which extends up to the Bahamas.  Most of the
islands of this chain are uninhabited, but were formerly the resort of
piratical vessels,--the reefs and shoals with which they are all
surrounded afforded them protection from their larger pursuers, and the
passages through this dangerous navigation being known only to the
pirates who frequented them, proved an additional security.  The largest
of the Caicos islands forms a curve, like an opened horseshoe, to the
southward, with safe and protected anchorage when once in the bay on the
southern side; but, previous to arriving at the anchorage, there are
coral reefs, extending upwards of forty miles, through which it is
necessary to conduct a vessel.  This passage is extremely intricate, but
was well known to Hawkhurst, who had hitherto been pilot.  Cain was not
so well acquainted with it and it required the greatest care in taking
in the vessel, as, on the present occasion, Hawkhurst could not be
called upon for this service.  The islands themselves--for there were
several of them--were composed of coral rock; a few cocoa-trees raised
their lofty heads where there was sufficient earth for vegetation, and
stunted brush-wood rose up between the interstices of the rocks.  But
the chief peculiarity of the islands, and which rendered them suitable
to those who frequented them, was the numerous caves with which the
rocks were perforated, some above high-water mark, but the majority with
the sea-water flowing in and out of them, in some cases merely rushing
in, and at high-water filling deep pools, which were detached from each
other when the tide receded, in others with a sufficient depth of water
at all times to allow you to pull in with a large boat.  It is hardly
necessary to observe how convenient the higher and dry caves were as
receptacles for articles which were intended to be concealed until an
opportunity occurred for disposing of them.

In our last chapter we stated that, just as the _Avenger_ had entered
the passage through the reefs, the _Comus_ and _Enterprise_ hove in
sight and discovered her: but it will be necessary to explain the
positions of the vessels.  The _Avenger_ had entered the southern
channel, with the wind from the southward, and had carefully sounded her
way for about four miles, under little or no sail.

The _Enterprise_ and _Comus_ had been examining Turk's Island, to the
eastward of the Caicos, and had passed to the northward of it on the
larboard tack, standing in for the northern point of the reef, which
joined on to the great Caicos Island.  They were, therefore, in a
situation to intercept the _Avenger_ before she arrived at her
anchorage, had it not been for the reefs that barred their passage.  The
only plan which the English vessels could act upon was to beat to the
southward, so as to arrive at the entrance of the passage, when the
_Enterprise_ would, of course, find sufficient water to follow the
_Avenger_; for, as the passage was too narrow to beat through, and the
wind was from the southward, the _Avenger_ could not possibly escape.
She was caught in a trap; and all that she had to trust to was the
defence which she might be able to make in her stronghold against the
force which could be employed in the attack.  The breeze was fresh from
the southward, and appeared inclined to increase, when the _Comus_ and
_Enterprise_ made all sail, and worked, in short tacks, outside the
reef.

On board the _Avenger_, the enemy and their motions were clearly
distinguished, and Cain perceived that he was in an awkward dilemma.
That they would be attacked he had no doubt; and although, at any other
time, he would almost have rejoiced in such an opportunity of
discomfiting his assailants, yet now he thought very differently, and
would have sacrificed almost everything to have been able to avoid the
rencontre, and be permitted quietly to withdraw himself from his
associates, without the spilling of more blood.  Francisco was equally
annoyed at this unfortunate collision; but no words were exchanged
between him and the pirate-captain during the time that they were on
deck.

It was about nine o'clock, when having safely passed nearly half through
the channel, that Cain ordered the kedge-anchor to be dropped, and sent
down the people to their breakfast.  Francisco went down into the cabin,
and was explaining their situation to Clara, when Cain entered.  He
threw himself on the locker, and appeared lost in deep and sombre
meditation.

"What do you intend to do?" said Francisco.

"I do not know; I will not decide myself, Francisco," replied Cain.  "If
I were to act upon my own judgment, probably I should allow the schooner
to remain where she is.  They can only attack in the boats, and, in such
a case, I do not fear; whereas, if we run right through, we allow the
other schooner to follow us, without defending the passage; and we may
be attacked by her in the deep water inside, and overpowered by the
number of men the two vessels will be able to bring against us.  On the
other hand, we certainly may defend the schooner from the shore as well
as on board; but we are weak-handed.  I shall, however, call up the
ship's company and let them decide.  God knows, if left to me I would
not fight at all."

"Is there no way of escape?" resumed Francisco.

"Yes, we might abandon the schooner; and this night, when they would not
expect it, run with the boats through the channel between the great
island and the north Cayque: but that I daren't propose, and the men
would not listen to it: indeed, I very much doubt if the enemy will
allow us the time.  I knew this morning, long before we saw those
vessels, that my fate would be decided before the sun went down."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this, Francisco," said Cain; "that your mother, who always has
visited me in my dreams whenever anything (dreadful now to think of!)
was about to take place, appeared to me last night; and there was sorrow
and pity in her sweet face as she mournfully waved her hand, as if to
summon me to follow her.  Yes, thank God! she no longer looked upon me
as for many years she has done."

Francisco made no answer; and Cain again seemed to be lost in
meditation.

After a little while Cain rose, and taking a small packet from one of
the drawers, put it into the hands of Francisco.

"Preserve that," said the pirate-captain; "should any accident happen to
me, it will tell you who was your mother; and it also contains
directions for finding treasure which I have buried.  I leave everything
to you, Francisco.  It has been unfairly obtained; but you are not the
guilty party, and there are none to claim it.  Do not answer me now.
You may find friends, whom you will make after I am gone, of the same
opinion as I am.  I tell you again, be careful of that packet."

"I see little chance of it availing me," replied Francisco.  "If I live,
shall I not be considered as a pirate?"

"No, no; you can prove the contrary."

"I have my doubts.  But God's will be done!"

"Yes, God's will be done!" said Cain, mournfully.  "I dared not have
said that a month ago."  And the pirate-captain went on deck, followed
by Francisco.

The crew of the _Avenger_ were summoned aft, and called upon to decide
as to the measures they considered to be most advisable.  They preferred
weighing the anchor and running into the bay, where they would be able
to defend the schooner, in their opinion, much better than by remaining
where they were.

The crew of the pirate-schooner weighed the anchor and continued their
precarious course: the breeze had freshened, and the water was in strong
ripples, so that they could no longer see the danger beneath her bottom.
In the meantime, the sloop of war and _Enterprise_ continued to turn to
windward outside the reef.

By noon the wind had considerably increased, and the breakers now turned
and broke in wild foam over the coral reefs, in every direction.  The
sail was still more reduced on board the _Avenger_, and her difficulties
increased from the rapidity of her motion.

A storm-jib was set, and the others hauled down yet even under this
small sail she flew before the wind.

Cain stood at the bowsprit, giving his directions to the helmsman.  More
than once they had grazed the rocks and were clear again.  Spars were
towed astern, and every means resorted to, to check her way.  They had
no guide but the breaking of the wild water on each side of them.

"Why should not Hawkhurst, who knows the passage so well, be made to
pilot us?" said the boatswain to those who were near him on the
forecastle.

"To be sure! let's have him up!" cried several of the crew; and some of
them went down below.

In a minute they reappeared with Hawkhurst, whom they led forward.  He
did not make any resistance, and the crew demanded that he should pilot
the vessel.

"And suppose I will not?" said Hawkhurst, coolly.

"Then you lose your passage, that's all," replied the boatswain.  "Is it
not so, my lads?" continued he, appealing to the crew.

"Yes; either take us safe in, or--overboard," replied several.

"I do not mind that threat, my lads," replied Hawkhurst; "you have all
known me as a good man and true, and it's not likely that I shall desert
you now.  Well, since your captain there cannot save you, I suppose I
must; but," exclaimed he, looking about him, "how's this?  We are out of
the passage already.  Yes--and whether we can get into it again I cannot
tell."

"We are not out of the passage," said Cain; "you know we are not."

"Well, then, if the captain knows better than I, he had better take you
through," rejoined Hawkhurst.

But the crew thought differently, and insisted that Hawkhurst, who well
knew the channel, should take charge.  Cain retired aft, as Hawkhurst
went out on the bowsprit.

"I will do my best, my lads," said Hawkhurst "but recollect, if we
strike in trying to get into the right channel, do not blame me.
Starboard a little--starboard yet--steady, so--there's the true passage
my lads," cried he, pointing to some smoother water between the
breakers; "port a little--steady."

But Hawkhurst, who knew that he was to be put on shore as soon as
convenient, had resolved to lose the schooner, even if his own life were
forfeited, and he was now running her out of the passage on the rocks.
A minute after he had conned her, she struck heavily again and again.
The third time she struck, she came broadside to the wind and heeled
over: a sharp coral rock found its way through her slight timbers and
planking, and the water poured in rapidly.

During this there was a dead silence on the part of the marauders.

"My lads," said Hawkhurst, "I have done my best, and now you may throw
me overboard if you please.  It was not my fault, but his," continued
he, pointing to the captain.

"It is of little consequence whose fault it was, Mr Hawkhurst," replied
Cain; "we will settle that point by-and-by; at present we have too much
on our hands.  Out boats, men! as fast as you can, and let every man
provide himself with arms and ammunition.  Be cool! the schooner is
fixed hard enough, and will not go down; we shall save everything
by-and-by."

The pirates obeyed the orders of the captain.  The three boats were
hoisted out and lowered down.  In the first were placed all the wounded
men and Clara d'Alfarez, who was assisted up by Francisco.  As soon as
the men had provided themselves with arms, Francisco, to protect Clara,
offered to take charge of her, and the boat shoved off.

The men-of-war had seen the _Avenger_ strike on the rocks, and the
preparations of the crew to take to their boats.  They immediately hove
to, hoisted out and manned their own boats, with the hopes of cutting
them off before they could gain the island and prepare for a vigorous
defence; for, although the vessels could not approach the reefs, there
was sufficient water in many places for the boats to pass over them.
Shortly after Francisco, in the first boat, had shoved off from the
_Avenger_, the boats of the men-of-war were darting through the surf to
intercept them.  The pirates perceived this, and hastened their
arrangements; a second boat soon left her, and into that Hawkhurst
leaped as it was shoving off.  Cain remained on board, going round the
lower decks to ascertain if any of the wounded men were left; he then
quitted the schooner in the last boat and followed the others, being
about a quarter of a mile astern of the second, in which Hawkhurst had
secured his place.

At the time that Cain quitted the schooner, it was difficult to say
whether the men-of-war's boats would succeed in intercepting any of the
pirate's boats.  Both parties exerted themselves to their utmost; and
when the first boat, with Francisco and Clara, landed, the headmost of
the assailants was not much more than half a mile from them; but,
shallow water intervening, there was a delay, which was favourable to
the pirate.  Hawkhurst landed in his boat as the launch of the _Comus_
fired her eighteen-pound carronade.  The last boat was yet two hundred
yards from the beach, when another shot from the _Comus's_ launch, which
had been unable hitherto to find a passage through the reef, struck her
on the counter, and she filled and went down.

"He is gone!" exclaimed Francisco, who had led Clara to a cave, and
stood at the mouth of it to protect her: "they have sunk his boat--no,
he is swimming to the shore, and will be here soon, long before the
English seamen can land."

This was true.  Cain was breasting the water manfully, making for a
small cove nearer to where the boat was sunk than the one in which
Francisco had landed with Clara and the wounded men, and divided from
the other by a ridge of rocks which separated the sandy beach, and
extended some way into the water before they were submerged.  Francisco
could easily distinguish the pirate-captain from the other men, who also
were swimming for the beach; for Cain was far ahead of them, and as he
gained nearer to the shore he was shut from Francisco's sight by the
ridge of rocks.  Francisco, anxious for his safety, climbed up the rocks
and was watching.  Cain was within a few yards of the beach when there
was the report of a musket; the pirate-captain was seen to raise his
body convulsively half out of the water--he floundered--the clear blue
wave was discoloured--he sank, and was seen no more.

Francisco darted forward from the rocks, and perceived Hawkhurst,
standing beneath them with the musket in his hand, which he was
recharging.

"Villain!" exclaimed Francisco, "you shall account for this."

Hawkhurst had reprimed his musket and shut the pan.

"Not to you," replied Hawkhurst, levelling his piece, and taking aim at
Francisco.

The ball struck Francisco on the breast; he reeled back from his
position, staggered across the sand, gained the cave, and fell at the
feet of Clara.

"Oh, God!" exclaimed the poor girl, "are you hurt? who is there then, to
protect me?"

"I hardly know," replied Francisco, faintly; and, at intervals, "I feel
no wound, I feel stronger;" and Francisco put his hand to his heart.

Clara opened his vest, and found that the packet given to Francisco by
Cain, and which he had deposited in his breast, had been struck by the
bullet, which had done him no injury further than the violent concussion
of the blow--notwithstanding he was faint from the shock, and his head
fell upon Clara's bosom.

But we must relate the proceedings of those who were mixed up in this
exciting scene.  Edward Templemore had watched from his vessel, with an
eager and painful curiosity, the motions of the schooner--her running on
the rocks, and the subsequent actions of the intrepid marauders.  The
long telescope enabled him to perceive distinctly all that passed, and
his feelings were increased into a paroxysm of agony when his straining
eyes beheld the white and fluttering habiliments of a female for a
moment at the gunwale of the stranded vessel--her descent, as it
appeared to him, nothing loth, into the boat--the arms held out to
receive, and the extension of hers to meet those offered.  Could it be
Clara?  Where was the reluctance, the unavailing attempts at resistance,
which should have characterised her situation?  Excited by feelings
which he dared not analyse, he threw down his glass, and seizing his
sword, sprang into the boat, which was ready manned alongside, desiring
the others to follow him.  For once, and the only time in his existence
when approaching the enemy, did he feel his heart sink within him--a
cold tremor ran through his whole frame, and as he called to mind the
loose morals and desperate habits of the pirates, horrible thoughts
entered his imagination.  As he neared the shore, he stood up in the
stern-sheets of the boat, pale, haggard, and with trembling lips; and
the intensity of his feelings would have been intolerable but for a more
violent thirst for revenge.  He clenched his sword, while the quick
throbs of his heart seemed, at every pulsation, to repeat to him his
thoughts of blood! blood! blood!  He approached the small bay and
perceived that there was a female at the mouth of the cave--nearer and
nearer, and he was certain that it was his Clara--her name was on his
lips when he heard the two shots fired one after another by Hawkhurst--
he saw the retreat and fall of Francisco--when, madness to behold! he
perceived Clara rush forward, and there lay the young man supported by
her, and with his head on her bosom.  Could he believe what he saw!
could she really be his betrothed!  Yes, there she was, supporting the
handsome figure of a young man, and that man a pirate--she had even put
her hand into his vest, and was now watching over his reviving form.
Edward could bear no more: he covered his eyes, and now, maddened with
jealousy, in a voice of thunder, he called out:

"Give way, my lads! for your lives, give way!"

The gig was within half-a-dozen strokes of the oar from the beach, and
Clara, unconscious of wrong, had just taken the packet of papers from
Francisco's vest, when Hawkhurst made his appearance from behind the
rocks which separated the two little sandy coves.  Francisco had
recovered his breath, and, perceiving the approach of Hawkhurst, he
sprang upon his feet to recover his musket; but, before he could
succeed, Hawkhurst had closed in with him, and a short and dreadful
struggle ensued.  It would soon have terminated fatally to Francisco,
for the superior strength of Hawkhurst had enabled him to bear down the
body of his opponent with his knee; and he was fast strangling him by
twisting his handkerchief round his throat, while Clara shrieked, and
attempted in vain to tear the pirate from him.  As the prostrate
Francisco was fast blackening into a corse, and the maiden screamed for
pity, and became frantic in her efforts for his rescue, the boat dashed
high up on the sand; and, with the bound of a maddened tiger, Edward
sprang upon Hawkhurst, tearing him down on his back, and severing his
wrist with his sword-blade until his hold of Francisco was relaxed, and
he wrestled in his own defence.

"Seize him, my lads!" said Edward, pointing with his left hand to
Hawkhurst; as with his sword directed to the body of Francisco he
bitterly continued, "_This victim is mine_!"  But whatever were his
intentions, they were frustrated by Clara's recognition, who shrieked
out, "My Edward!" sprang into his arms, and was immediately in a state
of insensibility.

The seamen who had secured Hawkhurst looked upon the scene with curious
astonishment, while Edward waited with mingled feelings of impatience
and doubt for Clara's recovery: he wished to be assured by her that he
was mistaken, and he turned again and again from her face to that of
Francisco, who was fast recovering.  During this painful suspense,
Hawkhurst was bound and made to sit down.

"Edward! dear Edward!" said Clara, at last, in a faint voice, clinging
more closely to him; "and am I then rescued by thee, dearest!"

Edward felt the appeal; but his jealousy had not yet subsided.

"Who is that, Clara?" said he sternly.

"It is Francisco.  No pirate, Edward, but my preserver."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Hawkhurst, with a bitter sneer, for he perceived how
matters stood.

Edward Templemore turned towards him with an inquiring look.

"Ha, ha!" continued Hawkhurst; "why, he is the captain's son!  No
pirate, eh?  Well, what will women not swear to, to save those they dote
upon!"

"If the captain's son," said Edward, "why were you contending?"

"Because just now I shot his scoundrel father."

"Edward!" said Clara, solemnly, "this is no time for explanation, but,
as I hope for mercy, what I have said is true; believe not the villain."

"Yes," said Francisco, who was now sitting up, "believe him when he says
that he shot the captain, for that is true; but, sir, if you value your
own peace of mind, believe nothing to the prejudice of that young lady."

"I hardly know what to believe," muttered Edward Templemore; "but, as
the lady says, this is no time for explanation.  With your permission,
madam," said he to Clara, "my coxswain will see you in safety on board
of the schooner, or the other vessel, if you prefer it; my duty will not
allow me to accompany you."

Clara darted a reproachful yet fond look on Edward, as, with swimming
eyes, she was led by the coxswain to the boat, which had been joined by
the launch of the _Comus_, the crew of which were, with their officers,
wading to the beach.  The men of the gig remained until they had given
Hawkhurst and Francisco in charge of the other seamen, and then shoved
off with Clara for the schooner.  Edward Templemore gave one look at the
gig as it conveyed Clara on board, and ordering Hawkhurst and Francisco
to be taken to the launch, and a guard to be kept over them, went up,
with the remainder of the men, in pursuit of the pirates.

During the scene we have described, the other boats of the men-of-war
had landed on the island, and the _Avenger's_ crew, deprived of their
leaders, and scattered in every direction, were many of them slain or
captured.  In about two hours it was supposed that the majority of the
pirates had been accounted for, and the prisoners being now very
numerous, it was decided that the boats should return with them to the
_Comus_, the captain of which vessel, as commanding officer, would then
issue orders as to their future proceedings.

The captured pirates, when mustered on the deck of the _Comus_, amounted
to nearly sixty, out of which number one-half were those who had been
sent on shore wounded, and had surrendered without resistance.  Of
killed there were fifteen; and it was conjectured that as many more had
been drowned in the boat when she was sunk by the shot from the
carronade of the launch.  Although, by the account given by the captured
pirates, the majority were secured, yet there was reason to suppose that
some were still left on the island concealed in the caves.

As the captain of the _Comus_ had orders to return as soon as possible,
he decided to sail immediately for Port Royal with the prisoners,
leaving the _Enterprise_ to secure the remainder, if there were any, and
recover anything of value which might be left in the wreck of the
_Avenger_, and then to destroy her.

With the usual celerity of the service these orders were obeyed.  The
pirates, among whom Francisco was included, were secured, the boats
hoisted up, and in half an hour the _Comus_ displayed her ensign, and
made all sail on a wind, leaving Edward Templemore with the
_Enterprise_, at the back of the reef, to perform the duties entailed
upon him; and Clara, who was on board of the schooner, to remove the
suspicion and jealousy which had arisen in the bosom of her lover.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE TRIAL.

In a week, the _Comus_ arrived at Port Royal, and the captain went up to
the Penn to inform the admiral of the successful result of the
expedition.

"Thank God," said the admiral, "we have caught these villains at last!
A little hanging will do them no harm.  The captain, you say, was
drowned?"

"So it is reported, sir," replied Captain Manly; "he was in the last
boat which left the schooner, and she was sunk by a shot from the
launch."

"I am sorry for that; the death was too good for him.  However, we must
make an example of the rest; they must be tried by the Admiralty Court,
which has the jurisdiction of the high seas.  Send them on shore, Manly,
and we wash our hands of them."

"Very good, sir: but there are still some left on the island, we have
reason to believe; and the _Enterprise_ is in search of them."

"By-the-by, did Templemore find his lady?"

"Oh yes, sir; and--all's right, I believe: but I had very little to say
to him on the subject."

"Humph!" replied the admiral.  "I am glad to hear it.  Well, send them
on shore, Manly, to the proper authorities.  If any more be found, they
must be hung afterwards when Templemore brings them in.  I am more
pleased at having secured these scoundrels than if we had taken a French
frigate."

About three weeks after this conversation, the secretary reported to the
admiral that the _Enterprise_ had made her number outside; but that she
was becalmed, and would not probably be in until the evening.

"That's a pity," replied the admiral; "for the pirates are to be tried
this morning.  He may have more of them on board."

"Very true, sir; but the trial will hardly be over to-day: the judge
will not be in court till one o'clock at the soonest."

"It's of little consequence, certainly; as it is, there are so many that
they must be hanged by divisions.  However, as he is within signal
distance, let them telegraph `Pirates now on trial.'  He can pull on
shore in his gig, if he pleases."

It was about noon on the same day that the pirates, and among them
Francisco, escorted by a strong guard, were conducted to the Court
House, and placed at the bar.  The Court House was crowded to excess,
for the interest excited was intense.

Many of them who had been wounded in the attack upon the property of Don
Cumanos, and afterwards captured, had died in their confinement.  Still
forty-five were placed at the bar; and their picturesque costume, their
bearded faces, and the atrocities which they had committed, created in
those present a sensation of anxiety mingled with horror and
indignation.

Two of the youngest amongst them had been permitted to turn king's
evidence.  They had been on board of the _Avenger_ but a few months;
still their testimony as to the murder of the crews of three West India
ships, and the attack upon the property of Don Cumanos, was quite
sufficient to condemn the remainder.

Much time was necessarily expended in going through the forms of the
court; in the pirates answering to their various names; and, lastly, in
taking down the detailed evidence of the above men.  It was late when
the evidence was read over to the pirates, and they were asked if they
had anything to offer in their defence.  The question was repeated by
the judge; when Hawkhurst was the first to speak.  To save himself he
could scarcely hope; his only object was to prevent Francisco pleading
his cause successfully, and escaping the same disgraceful death.

Hawkhurst declared that he had been some time on board the _Avenger_,
but that he had been taken out of a vessel and forced to serve against
his will, as could be proved by the captain's son, who stood there
(pointing to Francisco), who had been in the schooner since her first
fitting out:--that he had always opposed the captain, who would not part
with him, because he was the only one on board who was competent to
navigate the schooner: that he had intended to rise against him, and
take the vessel, having often stimulated the crew so to do; and that, as
the other men, as well as the captain's son, could prove, if they chose,
he actually was in confinement for that attempt when the schooner was
entering the passage to the Caicos; and that he was only released
because he was acquainted with the passage, and threatened to be thrown
overboard if he did not take her in; that, at every risk, he had run her
on the rocks; and aware that the captain would murder him, he had shot
Cain as he was swimming to the shore, as the captain's son could prove;
for he had taxed him with it, and he was actually struggling with him
for life, when the officers and boat's crew separated them, and made
them both prisoners: that he hardly expected that Francisco, the
captain's son, would tell the truth to save him, as he was his bitter
enemy, and in the business at the Magdalen river, which had been long
planned (for Francisco had been sent on shore under the pretence of
being wrecked, but, in fact, to ascertain where the booty was, and to
assist the pirates in their attack), Francisco had taken the opportunity
of putting a bullet through his shoulder, which was well known to the
other pirates, and Francisco could not venture to deny.  He trusted that
the court would order the torture to Francisco, and then he would
probably speak the truth; at all events, let him speak now.

When Hawkhurst had ceased to address the court, there was an anxious
pause for some minutes.  The day was fast declining, and most parts of
the spacious Court House were already deeply immersed in gloom; while
the light, sober, solemn, and almost sad, gleamed upon the savage and
reckless countenances of the prisoners at the bar.  The sun had sunk
down behind a mass of heavy yet gorgeous clouds, fringing their edges
with molten gold.  Hawkhurst had spoken fluently and energetically, and
there was an appearance of almost honesty in his coarse and deep-toned
voice.  Even the occasional oaths with which his speech was garnished,
but which we have omitted, seemed to be pronounced more in sincerity
than in blasphemy, and gave a more forcible impression to his narrative.

We have said, that when he concluded there was a profound silence; and
amid the fast-falling shadows of the evening, those who were present
began to feel, for the first time, the awful importance of the drama
before them, the number of lives which were trembling upon the verge of
existence, depending upon the single word of "Guilty."  This painful
silence, this harrowing suspense, was at last broken by a restrained sob
from a female; but owing to the obscurity involving the body of the
court, her person could not be distinguished.  The wail of a woman so
unexpected--for who could there be of that sex interested in the fate of
these desperate men?--touched the heart of its auditors, and appeared to
sow the first seeds of compassionate and humane feeling among those who
had hitherto expressed and felt nothing but indignation towards the
prisoners.

The judge upon the bench, the counsel at the bar, and the jury
impannelled in their box, felt the force of the appeal; and it softened
down the evil impression created by the address of Hawkhurst against the
youthful Francisco.  The eyes of all were now directed towards the one
doubly accused--accused not only by the public prosecutor, but even by
his associate in crime,--and the survey was favourable.  They
acknowledged that he was one whose personal qualities might indeed
challenge the love of woman in his pride, and her lament in his
disgrace; and as their regard was directed towards him, the sun, which
had been obscured, now pierced through a break in the mass of clouds,
and threw a portion of his glorious beams from a window opposite upon
him, and him alone, while all the other prisoners who surrounded him
were buried more or less in deep shadow.  It was at once evident that
his associates were bold yet commonplace villains--men who owed their
courage, their only virtue perhaps, to their habits, to their physical
organisation, or the influence of those around them.  They were mere
human butchers, with the only adjunct that, now that the trade was to be
exercised upon themselves, they could bear it with sullen apathy--a
feeling how far removed from true fortitude!  Even Hawkhurst, though
more commanding than the rest, with all his daring mien and scowl of
defiance, looked nothing more than a distinguished ruffian.  With the
exception of Francisco, the prisoners had wholly neglected their
personal appearance; and in them the squalid and sordid look of the
mendicant seemed allied with the ferocity of the murderer.

Francisco was not only an exception, but formed a beautiful contrast to
the others; and as the evening beams lighted up his figure, he stood at
the bar, if not with all the splendour of a hero of romance, certainly a
most picturesque and interesting personage, elegantly if not richly
attired.

The low sobs at intervals repeated, as if impossible to be checked,
seemed to rouse and call him to a sense of the important part which he
was called upon to act in the tragedy there and then performing.  His
face was pale, yet composed; his mien at once proud and sorrowful: his
eye was bright, yet his glance was not upon those in court, but far
away, fixed, like an eagle's, upon the gorgeous beams of the setting
sun, which glowed upon him through the window that was in front of him.

At last the voice of Francisco was heard, and all in that wide court
started at the sound--deep, full, and melodious as the evening chimes.
The ears of those present had, in the profound silence, but just
recovered from the harsh, deep-toned, and barbarous idiom of Hawkhurst's
address, when the clear, silvery, yet manly voice of Francisco, riveted
their attention.  The jury stretched forth their heads, the counsel and
all in court turned anxiously round towards the prisoner, even the judge
held up his forefinger to intimate his wish for perfect silence.

"My lord and gentlemen," commenced Francisco, "when I first found myself
in this degrading situation, I had not thought to have spoken or to have
uttered one word in my defence.  He that has just now accused me has
recommended the torture to be applied; he has already had his wish, for
what torture can be more agonising than to find myself where I now am?
So tortured, indeed, have I been through a short yet wretched life, that
I have often felt that anything short of self-destruction which would
release me would be a blessing; but within these few minutes I have been
made to acknowledge that I have still feelings in unison with my
fellow-creatures; that I am not yet fit for death, and all too young,
too unprepared to die: for who would not reluctantly leave this world
while there is such a beauteous sky to love and look upon, or while
there is one female breast who holds him innocent, and has evinced her
pity for his misfortunes?  Yes, my lord! mercy, and pity, and
compassion, have not yet fled from earth; and therefore do I feel I am
too young to die.  God forgive me! but I thought they had--for never
have they been shown in those with whom by fate I have been connected;
and it has been from this conviction that I have so often longed for
death.  And now may that righteous God who judges us not here, but
hereafter, enable me to prove that I do not deserve an ignominious
punishment from my fellow-sinners--men!

"My lord, I know not the subtleties of the laws, nor the intricacy of
pleadings.  First, let me assert that I have never robbed; but I have
restored unto the plundered: I have never murdered; but I have stood
between the assassin's knife and his victim.  For this have I been hated
and reviled by my associates, and for this, is my life now threatened by
those laws against which I never had offended.  The man who last
addressed you has told you that I am the pirate-captain's son; it is the
assertion of the only irreclaimable and utterly remorseless villain
among those who now stand before you to be judged--the assertion of one
whose glory, whose joy, whose solace has been blood-shedding.

"My lord, I had it from the mouth of the captain himself, previous to
his murder by that man, that I was not his son.  His son! thank God, not
so.  Connected with him and in his power I was, most certainly and most
incomprehensibly.  Before he died, he delivered me a packet that would
have told me who I am; but I have lost it, and deeply have I felt the
loss.  One only fact I gained from him whom they would call my father,
which is, that with his own hand he slew--yes, basely slew--my mother."

The address of Francisco was here interrupted by a low deep groan of
anguish, which startled the whole audience.  It was now quite dark, and
the judge ordered the court to be lighted previous to the defence being
continued.  The impatience and anxiety of those present were shown in
low murmurs of communication until the lights were brought in.  The word
"Silence!" from the judge produced an immediate obedience, and the
prisoner was ordered to proceed.

Francisco then continued his address, commencing with the remembrances
of his earliest childhood.  As he warmed with his subject, he became
more eloquent; his action became energetical without violence; and the
pallid and modest youth gradually grew into the impassioned and inspired
orator.  He recapitulated rapidly, yet distinctly and with terrible
force, all the startling events in his fearful life.  There was truth in
the tones of his voice, there was conviction in his animated
countenance, there was innocence in his open and expressive brow.

All who heard believed; and scarcely had he concluded his address, when
the jury appeared impatient to rise and give their verdict in his
favour.  But the judge stood up, and, addressing the jury, told them
that it was his most painful duty to remind them that as yet they had
heard but assertion, beautiful and almost convincing assertion truly;
but still it was not proof.

"Alas!" observed Francisco, "what evidence can I bring forward, except
the evidence of those around me at the bar, which will not be admitted?
Can I recall the dead from the grave?  Can I expect those who have been
murdered to rise again to assert my innocence?  Can I expect that Don
Cumanos will appear from distant leagues to give evidence on my behalf?
Alas he knows not how I am situated, or he would have flown to my
succour.  No, no; not even can I expect that the sweet Spanish maiden,
the last to whom I offered my protection, will appear in such a place as
this to meet the bold gaze of hundreds!"

"She is here!" replied a manly voice; and a passage was made through the
crowd; and Clara, supported by Edward Templemore, dressed in his
uniform, was ushered into the box for the witnesses.  The appearance of
the fair girl, who looked round her with alarm, created a great
sensation.  As soon as she was sufficiently composed, she was sworn, and
gave her evidence as to Francisco's behaviour during the time that she
was a prisoner on board of the _Avenger_.  She produced the packet which
had saved the life of Francisco, and substantiated a great part of his
defence.  She extolled his kindness and his generosity; and when she had
concluded, every one asked of himself, "Can this young man be a pirate
and a murderer?"  The reply was, "It is impossible."

"My lord," said Edward Templemore, "I request permission to ask the
prisoner a question.  When I was on board of the wreck of the _Avenger_,
I found this book floating in the cabin.  I wish to ask the prisoner,
whether, as that young lady has informed me, it is his?"  And Edward
Templemore produced the Bible.

"It is mine," replied Francisco.

"May I ask you by what means it came into your possession?"

"It is the only relic left of one who is now no more.  It was the
consolation of my murdered mother; it has since been mine.  Give it to
me, sir; I may probably need its support now more than ever."

"Was your mother murdered, say you?" cried Edward Templemore, with much
agitation.

"I have already said so; and I now repeat it."

The judge again rose, and recapitulated the evidence to the jury.
Evidently friendly to Francisco he was obliged to point out to them,
that although the evidence of the young lady had produced much which
might be offered in extenuation, and induce him to submit it to His
Majesty, in hopes of his gracious pardon after condemnation, yet, that
many acts in which the prisoner had been involved had endangered his
life and no testimony had been brought forward to prove that he had not,
at one time, acted with the pirates, although he might since have
repented.  They would of course, remember that the evidence of the mate,
Hawkhurst, was not of any value, and must dismiss any impression which
it might have made against Francisco.  At the same time he had the
unpleasant duty to point out, that the evidence of the Spanish lady was
so far prejudicial, that it pointed out the good terms subsisting
between the young man and the pirate-captain.  Much as he was interested
in his fate, he must reluctantly remind the jury, that the evidence on
the whole was not sufficient to clear the prisoner; and he considered it
their duty to return a verdict of _guilty against all the prisoners at
the bar_.

"My lord," said Edward Templemore, a few seconds after the judge had
resumed his seat; "may not the contents of this packet, the seal of
which I have not ventured to break, afford some evidence in favour of
the prisoner?  Have you any objection that it should be opened previous
to the jury delivering their verdict?"

"None," replied the judge: "but what are its supposed contents?"

"The contents, my lord," replied Francisco, "are in the writing of the
pirate-captain.  He delivered that packet into my hands previous to our
quitting the schooner, stating that it would inform me who were my
parents.  My lord, in my present situation I claim that packet, and
refuse that its contents should be read in court.  If I am to die an
ignominious death, at least those who are connected with me shall not
have to blush at my disgrace, for the secret of my parentage shall die
with me."

"Nay--nay; be ruled by me," replied Edward Templemore, with much
emotion.  "In the narrative, the handwriting of which can be proved by
the king's evidence, there may be acknowledgment of all you have stated,
and it will be received as evidence; will it not, my lord?"

"If the handwriting is proved, I should think it may," replied the
judge, "particularly as the lady was present when the packet was
delivered, and heard the captain's assertion.  Will you allow it to be
offered as evidence, young man?"

"No, my lord," replied Francisco; "unless I have permission first to
peruse it myself.  I will not have its contents divulged, unless I am
sure of an honourable acquittal.  The jury must deliver their verdict."

The jury turned round to consult, during which Edward Templemore walked
to Francisco, accompanied by Clara, to entreat him to allow the packet
to be opened; but Francisco was firm against both their entreaties.  At
last the foreman of the jury rose to deliver the verdict.  A solemn and
awful silence prevailed throughout the court; the suspense was painful
to a degree.

"My lord," said the foreman of the jury, "our verdict is--"

"Stop, sir!" said Edward Templemore as he clasped one arm round the
astonished Francisco, and extended the other towards the foreman.
"Stop, sir! harm him not! for he is my brother!"

"And my preserver!" cried Clara, kneeling on the other side of
Francisco, and holding up her hands in supplication.

The announcement was electrical; the foreman dropped into his seat; the
judge and whole court were in mute astonishment.  The dead silence was
followed by confusion, to which, after a time, the judge in vain
attempted to put a stop.

Edward Templemore, Clara, and Francisco, continued to form the same
group; and never was there one more beautiful.  And now that they were
together, every one in court perceived the strong resemblance between
the two young men.

Francisco's complexion was darker than Edward's from his constant
exposure, from infancy, to a tropical sun; but the features of the two
were the same.

It was some time before the judge could obtain silence in the court; and
when it had been obtained, he was himself puzzled how to proceed.

Edward and Francisco, who had exchanged a few words, were now standing
side by side.

"My lord," said Edward Templemore, "the prisoner consents that the
packet shall be opened."

"I do," said Francisco, mournfully; "although I have but little hope
from its contents.  Alas! now that I have everything to live for--not
that I cling to life, I feel as if every chance was gone!  The days of
miracles have passed; and nothing but the miracle of the reappearance of
the pirate-captain from the grave can prove my innocence."

"He reappears from the grave to prove thine innocence, Francisco!" said
a deep, hollow voice, which startled the whole court, and most of all
Hawkhurst and the prisoners at the bar.  Still more did fear and horror
distort their countenances when into the witness-box stalked the giant
form of Cain.

But it was no longer the figure which we have described in the
commencement of this narrative; his beard had been removed, and he was
pale, wan, and emaciated.  His sunken eyes, his hollow cheek, and a
short cough, which interrupted his speech, proved that his days were
nearly at a close.

"My lord," said Cain, addressing the judge, "I am the pirate Cain, and
was the captain of the _Avenger_!  Still am I free!  I come here
voluntarily, that I may attest the innocence of that young man!  As yet,
my hand has not known the manacle, nor my feet the gyves!  I am not a
prisoner, nor included in the indictment, and at present my evidence is
good.  None know me in this court, except those whose testimony, as
prisoners, is unavailing; and therefore, to save that boy, and only to
save him, I demand that I may be sworn."

The oath was administered, with more than usual solemnity.

"My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I have been in court since the
commencement of the trial, and I declare that every word which Francisco
has uttered in his own defence is true.  He is totally innocent of any
act of piracy or murder; the packet would, indeed, have proved as much:
but in that packet there are secrets which I wished to remain unknown to
all but Francisco; and, rather than it should be opened, I have come
forward myself.  How that young officer discovered that Francisco is his
brother I know not; but if he also is the son of Cecilia Templemore, it
is true.  But the packet will explain all.

"And now, my lords, that my evidence is received, I am content: I have
done one good deed before I die, and I surrender myself, as a pirate and
a foul murderer, to justice.  True, my life is nearly closed--thanks to
that villain there; but I prefer that I should meet that death I merit,
as an expiation of my many deeds of guilt."

Cain then turned to Hawkhurst, who was close to him, but the mate
appeared to be in a state of stupor; he had not recovered from his first
terror, and still imagined the appearance of Cain to be supernatural.

"Villain!" exclaimed Cain, putting his mouth close to Hawkhurst's ear;
"doubly damned villain! thou'lt die like a dog, and unrevenged!  The boy
is safe, and I'm alive!"

"Art thou really living?" said Hawkhurst, recovering from his fear.

"Yes, living--yes, flesh and blood; feel, wretch! feel this arm, and be
convinced: thou hast felt the power of it before now," continued Cain,
sarcastically.  "And now, my lord, I have done.  Francisco, fare thee
well!  I loved thee, and have proved my love.  Hate not, then, my
memory, and forgive me--yes, forgive me when I'm no more," said Cain,
who then turned his eyes to the ceiling of the court-house.--"Yes, there
she is, Francisco!--there she is! and see," cried he, extending both
arms above his head, "she smiles upon--yes, Francisco, your sainted
mother smiles and pardons--"

The sentence was not finished; for Hawkhurst, when Cain's arms were
upheld, perceived his knife in his girdle, and, with the rapidity of
thought, he drew it out, and passed it through the body of the
pirate-captain.

Cain fell heavily on the floor while the court was again in confusion.
Hawkhurst was secured, and Cain raised from the ground.

"I thank thee, Hawkhurst!" said Cain, in an expiring voice; "another
murder thou hast to answer for: and you have saved me from the disgrace,
not of the gallows, but of the gallows in thy company.  Francisco, boy,
farewell!" and Cain groaned deeply, and expired.

Thus perished the renowned pirate-captain, who in his life had shed so
much blood, and whose death produced another murder.  "Blood for blood!"

The body was removed; and it now remained but for the jury to give their
verdict.  All the prisoners were found guilty, with the exception of
Francisco, who left the dock accompanied by his newly-found brother, and
the congratulations of every individual who could gain access to him.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

CONCLUSION.

Our first object will be to explain to the reader by what means Edward
Templemore was induced to surmise that in Francisco, whom he considered
as a rival, he had found a brother; and also to account for the
reappearance of the pirate Cain.

In pursuance of his orders, Edward Templemore had proceeded on board of
the wreck of the _Avenger_; and while his men were employed in
collecting articles of great value which were on board of her, he had
descended into the cabin, which was partly under water.  He had picked
up a book floating near the lockers, and on examination found it to be a
Bible.

Surprised at seeing such a book on board of a pirate, he had taken it
with him when he returned to the _Enterprise_, and had shown it to
Clara, who immediately recognised it as the property of Francisco.  The
book was saturated with the salt water, and as Edward mechanically
turned over the pages, he referred to the title-page to see if there was
any name upon it.  There was not: but he observed that the blank or
fly-leaf next to the binding had been pasted down, and that there was
writing on the other side.  In its present state it was easily detached
from the cover; and then, to his astonishment, he read the name of
Cecilia Templemore--his own mother.  He knew well the history; how he
had been saved, and his mother and brother supposed to be lost; and it
may readily be imagined how great was his anxiety to ascertain by what
means her Bible had come into the possession of Francisco.  He dared not
think Francisco was his brother--that he was so closely connected with
one he still supposed to be a pirate: but the circumstance was possible;
and although he had intended to have remained a few days longer, he now
listened to the entreaties of Clara, whose peculiar position on board
was only to be justified by the peculiar position from which she had
been rescued, and returning that evening to the wreck he set fire to
her, and then made all sail for Port Royal.

Fortunately he arrived, as we have stated, on the day of the trial; and
as soon as the signal was made by the admiral he immediately manned his
gig, and, taking Clara with him, in case her evidence might be of use,
arrived at the Court House when the trial was about half over.

In our last chapter but one, we stated that Cain had been wounded by
Hawkhurst, when he was swimming on shore, and had sunk; the ball had
entered his chest, and passed through his lungs.  The contest between
Hawkhurst and Francisco, and their capture by Edward, had taken place on
the other side of the ridge of rocks in the adjacent cove, and although
Francisco had seen Cain disappear, and concluded that he was dead, it
was not so; he had again risen above the water, and dropping his feet
and finding bottom, he contrived to crawl out, and wade into a cave
adjacent, where he lay down to die.

But in this cave there was one of the _Avenger's_ boats, two of the
pirates mortally wounded, and the four Kroumen, who had concealed
themselves there with the intention of taking no part in the conflict,
and, as soon as it became dark, of making their escape in the boat,
which they had hauled up dry into the cave.

Cain staggered in, recovered the dry land; and fell.  Pompey, the
Krouman, perceiving his condition, went to his assistance and bound up
his wound, and the stanching of the blood soon revived the
pirate-captain.  The other pirates died unaided.

Although the island was searched in every direction, this cave, from the
water flowing into it, escaped the vigilance of the British seamen; and
when they re-embarked, with the majority of the pirates captured, Cain
and the Kroumen were undiscovered.

As soon as it was dark, Cain informed them of his intentions; and
although the Kroumen would probably have left him to his fate, yet, as
they required his services to know how to steer to some other island, he
was assisted into the stern-sheets, and the boat was backed out of the
cave.

By the direction of Cain they passed through the passage between the
great island and the northern Caique, and before daylight were far away
from any chance of capture.

Cain had now to a certain degree recovered, and knowing that they were
in the channel of the small traders, he pointed out to the Kroumen that,
if supposed to be pirates, they would inevitably be punished, although
not guilty, and that they must pass off as the crew of a small
coasting-vessel which had been wrecked.  He then, with the assistance of
Pompey, cut off his beard as close as he could, and arranged his dress
in a more European style.  They had neither water nor provisions, and
were exposed to a vertical sun.  Fortunately for them, and still more
fortunately for Francisco, on the second day they were picked up by an
American brig bound to Antigua.

Cain narrated his fictitious disasters, but said nothing about his
wound, the neglect of which would certainly have occasioned his death a
very few days after he appeared at the trial, had he not fallen by the
malignity of Hawkhurst.

Anxious to find his way to Port Royal, for he was indifferent as to his
own life, and only wished to save Francisco, he was overjoyed to meet a
small schooner trading between the islands, bound to Port Royal.  In
that vessel he obtained a passage for himself and the Kroumen, and had
arrived three days previous to the trial, and during that time had
remained concealed until the day that the Admiralty Court assembled.

It may be as well here to remark, that Cain's reason for not wishing the
packet to be opened was, that among the other papers relative to
Francisco were directions for the recovery of the treasure which he had
concealed, and which, of course, he wished to be communicated to
Francisco alone.

We will leave the reader to imagine what passed between Francisco and
Edward after the discovery of their kindred, and proceed to state the
contents of the packet, which the twin-brothers now opened in the
presence of Clara alone.

We must, however, condense the matter, which was very voluminous.  It
stated that Cain, whose real name was Charles Osborne, had sailed in a
fine schooner from Bilboa, for the coast of Africa, to procure a cargo
of slaves; and had been out about twenty-four hours when the crew
perceived a boat apparently with no one in her, about a mile ahead of
them.  The water was then smooth, and the vessel had but little way.  As
soon as they came up with the boat, they lowered down their skiff to
examine her.

The men sent in the skiff soon returned, towing the boat alongside.
Lying at the bottom of the boat were found several men almost dead, and
reduced to skeletons; and in the stern-sheets a negro woman, with a
child at her breast, and a white female in the last state of exhaustion.

Osborne was then a gay and unprincipled man, but not a hardened villain
and murderer, as he afterwards became; he had compassion and feeling--
they were all taken on board the schooner: some recovered, others were
too much exhausted.  Among those restored was Cecilia Templemore and the
infant, who at first had been considered quite dead; but the negro
woman, exhausted by the demands of her nursling and her privations,
expired as she was being removed from the boat.  A goat, that
fortunately was on board, proved a substitute for the negress; and
before Osborne had arrived off the coast, the child had recovered its
health and vigour, and the mother her extreme beauty.

We must now pass over a considerable portion of the narrative.  Osborne
was impetuous in his passions, and Cecilia Templemore became his victim.
He had, indeed, afterwards quieted her qualms of conscience by a
pretended marriage, when he arrived at the Brazils with his cargo of
human flesh.  But that was little alleviation of her sufferings; she who
had been indulged in every luxury, who had been educated with the
greatest care, was now lost for ever, an outcast from the society to
which she could never hope to return, and associating with those she
both dreaded and despised.  She passed her days and her nights in tears;
and had soon more cause for sorrow from the brutal treatment she
received from Osborne, who had been her destroyer.  Her child was her
only solace; but for him, and the fear of leaving him to the
demoralising influence of those about him, she would have laid down and
died: but she lived for him--for him attempted to recall Osborne from
his career of increasing guilt--bore meekly with reproaches and with
blows.  At last Osborne changed his nefarious life for one of deeper
guilt: he became a pirate, and still carried with him Cecilia and her
child.

This was the climax of her misery: she now wasted from day to day, and
grief would soon have terminated her existence, had it not been hastened
by the cruelty of Cain, who, upon an expostulation on her part, followed
up with a denunciation of the consequences of his guilty career, struck
her with such violence that she sank under the blow.  She expired with a
prayer that her child might be rescued from a life of guilt; and when
the then repentant Cain promised what he never did perform, she blessed
him, too, before she died.

Such was the substance of the narrative, as far as it related to the
unfortunate mother of these two young men, who, when they had concluded,
sat hand-in-hand in mournful silence.  This, however, was soon broken by
the innumerable questions asked by Edward of his brother, as to what he
could remember of their ill-fated parent, which were followed up by the
history of Francisco's eventful life.

"And the treasure, Edward," said Francisco; "I cannot take possession of
it."

"No, nor shall you either," replied Edward; "it belongs to the captors,
and must be shared as prize-money.  You will never touch one penny of
it, but I shall, I trust, pocket a very fair proportion of it!  However,
keep this paper, as it is addressed to you."

The admiral had been made acquainted with all the particulars of the
eventful trial, and had sent a message to Edward, requesting that, as
soon as he and his brother could make it convenient, he would be happy
to see them at the Penn, as well as the daughter of the Spanish
governor, whom he must consider as being under his protection during the
time that she remained at Port Royal.  This offer was gladly accepted by
Clara; and on the second day after the trial they proceeded up to the
Penn.  Clara and Francisco were introduced, and apartments and suitable
attendance provided for the former.

"Templemore," said the admiral, "I'm afraid I must send you away to
Porto Rico, to assure the governor of his daughter's safety."

"I would rather you would send some one else, sir, and I'll assure her
happiness in the meantime."

"What! by marrying her?  Humph! you've a good opinion of yourself!  Wait
till you're a captain, sir."

"I hope I shall not have to wait long, sir," replied Edward, demurely.

"By-the-bye," said the admiral, "did you not say you have notice of
treasure concealed in those islands?"

"My brother has: I have not."

"We must send for it.  I think we must send you, Edward.  Mr Francisco,
you must go with him."

"With pleasure, sir," replied Francisco, laughing; "but I think I'd
rather wait till Edward is a captain.  His wife and his fortune ought to
come together.  I think I shall not deliver up my papers until the day
of his marriage!"

"Upon my word," said Captain Manly, "I wish, Templemore, you had your
commission, for there seems so much depending on it--the young lady's
happiness, my share of the prize-money, and the admiral's eighth.
Really, admiral, it becomes a common cause; and I'm sure he deserves
it!"

"So do I, Manly," replied the admiral; "and to prove that I have thought
so here comes Mr Hadley with it in his hand; it only wants one little
thing to complete it--"

"Which is your signature, admiral, I presume," replied Captain Manly,
taking a pen full of ink, and presenting it to his senior officer.

"Exactly," replied the admiral, scribbling at the bottom of the paper;
"and now--it does not want that.  Captain Templemore, I wish you joy!"

Edward made a very low obeisance, as his flushed countenance indicated
his satisfaction.

"I cannot give commissions, admiral," said Francisco, presenting a paper
in return; "but I can give information--and you will find it not
unimportant--for the treasure appears of great value."

"God bless my soul!  Manly, you must start at daylight!" exclaimed the
admiral; "why, there is enough to load your sloop!  There!--read it!--
and then I will write your orders, and enclose a copy of it, for fear of
accident."

"That was to have been my fortune," said Francisco, with a grave smile;
"but I would not touch it."

"Very right, boy!--a fine principle!  But we are not quite so
particular," said the admiral.  "Now, where's the young lady?  Let her
know that dinner's on the table."

A fortnight after this conversation, Captain Manly returned with the
treasure; and the Enterprise, commanded by another officer, returned
from Porto Rico, with a letter from the governor in reply to one from
the admiral, in which the rescue of his daughter by Edward had been
communicated.  The letter was full of thanks to the admiral, and
compliments to Edward; and, what was of more importance, it sanctioned
the union of the young officer with his daughter, with a dozen boxes of
gold doubloons.

About six weeks after the above-mentioned important conversation, Mr
Witherington, who had been reading a voluminous packet of letters in his
breakfast-room in Finsbury Square, pulled his bell so violently that old
Jonathan thought his master must be out of his senses.  This, however,
did not induce him to accelerate his solemn and measured pace; and he
made his appearance at the door, as usual, without speaking.

"Why don't that fellow answer the bell?" cried Mr Witherington.

"I am here, sir," said Jonathan, solemnly.

"Well, so you are! but, confound you! you come like the ghost of a
butler!--But who do you think is coming here, Jonathan?"

"I cannot tell, sir."

"But I can!--you solemn old!  Edward's coming here!--coming home
directly?"

"Is he to sleep in his old room, sir?" replied the imperturbable butler.

"No! the best bedroom!  Why, Jonathan, he is married--he is made a
captain--Captain Templemore!"

"Yes--sir."

"And he has found his brother, Jonathan; his twin-brother!"

"Yes--sir."

"His brother Francis--that was supposed to be lost!  But it's a long
story, Jonathan--and a very wonderful one! his poor mother has long been
dead!"

"In caelo quies!" said Jonathan, casting up his eyes.

"But his brother has turned up again."

"Resurgam!" said the butler.

"They will be here in ten days--so let everything be in readiness,
Jonathan.  God bless my soul!" continued the old gentleman, "I hardly
know what I'm about.  It's a Spanish girl, Jonathan!"

"What is, sir?"

"What is, sir!--who, Captain Templemore's wife; and he was tried as a
pirate!"

"Who, sir?"

"Who sir! why, Francis, his brother!  Jonathan, you're a stupid old
fellow!"

"Have you any further commands, sir?"

"No--no!--there--that'll do--go away."

And in three weeks after this conversation, Captain and Mrs Templemore,
and his brother Frank, were established in the house, to the great
delight of Mr Witherington; for he had long been tired of solitude and
old Jonathan.

The twin-brothers were a comfort to him in his old age: they closed his
eyes in peace--they divided his blessing and his large fortune and thus
ends our history of THE PIRATE!






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