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Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates
Fiction, Fact & Fancy concerning the
Buccaneers & Marooners of the Spanish Main
By Howard Pyle

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Chapter II


IT is not so easy to tell why discredit should be cast upon a man
because of something that his grandfather may have done amiss,
but the world, which is never overnice in its discrimination as
to where to lay the blame, is often pleased to make the innocent
suffer in the place of the guilty.

Barnaby True was a good, honest, biddable lad, as boys go, but
yet he was not ever allowed altogether to forget that his
grandfather had been that very famous pirate, Capt. William
Brand, who, after so many marvelous adventures (if one may
believe the catchpenny stories and ballads that were written
about him), was murdered in Jamaica by Capt. John Malyoe, the
commander of his own consort, the Adventure galley.

It has never been denied, that ever I heard, that up to the time
of Captain Brand's being commissioned against the South Sea
pirates he had always been esteemed as honest, reputable a sea
captain as could be.

When he started out upon that adventure it was with a ship, the
Royal Sovereign, fitted out by some of the most decent merchants
of New York. The governor himself had subscribed to the
adventure, and had himself signed Captain Brand's commission. So,
if the unfortunate man went astray, he must have had great
temptation to do so, many others behaving no better when the
opportunity offered in those far-away seas where so many rich
purchases might very easily be taken and no one the wiser.

To be sure, those stories and ballads made our captain to be a
most wicked, profane wretch; and if he were, why, God knows he
suffered and paid for it, for he laid his bones in Jamaica, and
never saw his home or his wife and daughter again after he had
sailed away on the Royal Sovereign on that long misfortunate
voyage, leaving them in New York to the care of strangers.

At the time when he met his fate in Port Royal Harbor he had
obtained two vessels under his command--the Royal Sovereign,
which was the boat fitted out for him in New York, and the
Adventure galley, which he was said to have taken somewhere in
the South Seas. With these he lay in those waters of Jamaica for
over a month after his return from the coasts of Africa, waiting
for news from home, which, when it came, was of the very
blackest; for the colonial authorities were at that time stirred
up very hot against him to take him and hang him for a pirate, so
as to clear their own skirts for having to do with such a fellow.
So maybe it seemed better to our captain to hide his ill-gotten
treasure there in those far- away parts, and afterward to try and
bargain with it for his life when he should reach New York,
rather than to sail straight for the Americas with what he had
earned by his piracies, and so risk losing life and money both.

However that might be, the story was that Captain Brand and his
gunner, and Captain Malyoe of the Adventure and the sailing
master of the Adventure all went ashore together with a chest of
money (no one of them choosing to trust the other three in so
nice an affair), and buried the treasure somewhere on the beach
of Port Royal Harbor. The story then has it that they fell
a-quarreling about a future division or the money, and that, as a
wind-up to the affair, Captain Malyoe shot Captain Brand through
the head, while the sailing master of the Adventure served the
gunner of the Royal Sovereign after the same fashion through the
body, and that the murderers then went away, leaving the two
stretched out in their own blood on the sand in the staring sun,
with no one to know where the money was hid but they two who had
served their comrades so.

It is a mighty great pity that anyone should have a grandfather
who ended his days in such a sort as this, but it was no fault of
Barnaby True's, nor could he have done anything to prevent it,
seeing that he was not even born into the world at the time that
his grandfather turned pirate, and was only one year old when he
so met his tragical end. Nevertheless, the boys with whom he
went to school never tired of calling him "Pirate," and would
sometimes sing for his benefit that famous catchpenny song
beginning thus:

Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing, And
a-sailing; Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing free.
Oh, my name was Captain Brand, And I sinned by sea and land,
For I broke God's just command, A-sailing free.

'Twas a vile thing to sing at the grandson of so misfortunate a
man, and oftentimes little Barnaby True would double up his fists
and would fight his tormentors at great odds, and would sometimes
go back home with a bloody nose to have his poor mother cry over
him and grieve for him.

Not that his days were all of teasing and torment, neither; for
if his comrades did treat him so, why, then, there were other
times when he and they were as great friends as could be, and
would go in swimming together where there was a bit of sandy
strand along the East River above Fort George, and that in the
most amicable fashion. Or, maybe the very next day after he had
fought so with his fellows, he would go a-rambling with them up
the Bowerie Road, perhaps to help them steal cherries from some
old Dutch farmer, forgetting in such adventure what a thief his
own grandfather had been.

Well, when Barnaby True was between sixteen and seventeen years
old he was taken into employment in the countinghouse of Mr.
Roger Hartright, the well-known West India merchant, and
Barnaby's own stepfather.

It was the kindness of this good man that not only found a place
for Barnaby in the countinghouse, but advanced him so fast that
against our hero was twenty-one years old he had made four
voyages as supercargo to the West Indies in Mr. Hartright's ship,
the Belle Helen, and soon after he was twenty-one undertook a
fifth. Nor was it in any such subordinate position as mere
supercargo that he acted, but rather as the confidential agent of
Mr. Hartright, who, having no children of his own, was very
jealous to advance our hero into a position of trust and
responsibility in the countinghouse, as though he were indeed a
son, so that even the captain of the ship had scarcely more
consideration aboard than he, young as he was in years.

As for the agents and correspondents of Mr. Hartright throughout
these parts, they also, knowing how the good man had adopted his
interests, were very polite and obliging to Master
Barnaby--especially, be it mentioned, Mr. Ambrose Greenfield, of
Kingston, Jamaica, who, upon the occasions of his visits to those
parts, did all that he could to make Barnaby's stay in that town
agreeable and pleasant to him.

So much for the history of our hero to the time of the beginning
of this story, without which you shall hardly be able to
understand the purport of those most extraordinary adventures
that befell him shortly after he came of age, nor the logic of
their consequence after they had occurred.

For it was during his fifth voyage to the West Indies that the
first of those extraordinary adventures happened of which I shall
have presently to tell.

At that time he had been in Kingston for the best part of four
weeks, lodging at the house of a very decent, respectable widow,
by name Mrs. Anne Bolles, who, with three pleasant and agreeable
daughters, kept a very clean and well-served lodging house in the
outskirts of the town.

One morning, as our hero sat sipping his coffee, clad only in
loose cotton drawers, a shirt, and a jacket, and with slippers
upon his feet, as is the custom in that country, where everyone
endeavors to keep as cool as may be while he sat thus sipping his
coffee Miss Eliza, the youngest of the three daughters, came and
gave him a note, which, she said, a stranger had just handed in
at the door, going away again without waiting for a reply. You
may judge of Barnaby's surprise when he opened the note and read
as follows:


SIR,--Though you don't know me, I know you, and I tell you this:
if you will be at Pratt's Ordinary on Harbor Street on Friday
next at eight o'clock of the evening, and will accompany the man
who shall say to you, "The Royal Sovereign is come in," you shall
learn something the most to your advantage that ever befell you.
Sir, keep this note, and show it to him who shall address these
words to you, so to certify that you are the man he seeks.

Such was the wording of the note, which was without address, and
without any superscription whatever.

The first emotion that stirred Barnaby was one of extreme and
profound amazement. Then the thought came into his mind that
some witty fellow, of whom he knew a good many in that town--and
wild, waggish pranks they were was attempting to play off some
smart jest upon him. But all that Miss Eliza could tell him when
he questioned her concerning the messenger was that the bearer of
the note was a tall, stout man, with a red neckerchief around his
neck and copper buckles to his shoes, and that he had the
appearance of a sailorman, having a great big queue hanging down
his back. But, Lord! what was such a description as that in a
busy seaport town, full of scores of men to fit such a likeness?
Accordingly, our hero put away the note into his wallet,
determining to show it to his good friend Mr. Greenfield that
evening, and to ask his advice upon it. So he did show it, and
that gentleman's opinion was the same as his--that some wag was
minded to play off a hoax upon him, and that the matter of the
letter was all nothing but smoke.

Nevertheless, though Barnaby was thus confirmed in his opinion as
to the nature of the communication he had received, he yet
determined in his own mind that he would see the business
through to the end, and would be at Pratt's Ordinary, as the note
demanded, upon the day and at the time specified therein.

Pratt's Ordinary was at that time a very fine and well-known
place of its sort, with good tobacco and the best rum that ever I
tasted, and had a garden behind it that, sloping down to the
harbor front, was planted pretty thick with palms and ferns
grouped into clusters with flowers and plants. Here were a
number of little tables, some in little grottoes, like our
Vauxhall in New York, and with red and blue and white paper
lanterns hung among the foliage, whither gentlemen and ladies
used sometimes to go of an evening to sit and drink lime juice
and sugar and water (and sometimes a taste of something
stronger), and to look out across the water at the shipping in
the cool of the night.

Thither, accordingly, our hero went, a little before the time
appointed in the note, and passing directly through the Ordinary
and the garden beyond, chose a table at the lower end of the
garden and close to the water's edge, where he would not be
easily seen by anyone coming into the place. Then, ordering some
rum and water and a pipe of tobacco, he composed himself to watch
for the appearance of those witty fellows whom he suspected would
presently come thither to see the end of their prank and to enjoy
his confusion.

The spot was pleasant enough; for the land breeze, blowing strong
and full, set the leaves of the palm tree above his head to
rattling and clattering continually against the sky, where, the
moon then being about full, they shone every now and then like
blades of steel. The waves also were splashing up against the
little landing place at the foot of the garden, sounding very
cool in the night, and sparkling all over the harbor where the
moon caught the edges of the water. A great many vessels were
lying at anchor in their ridings, with the dark, prodigious form
of a man-of-war looming up above them in the moonlight.

There our hero sat for the best part of an hour, smoking his pipe
of tobacco and sipping his grog, and seeing not so much as a
single thing that might concern the note he had received.

It was not far from half an hour after the time appointed in the
note, when a rowboat came suddenly out of the night and pulled up
to the landing place at the foot of the garden above mentioned,
and three or four men came ashore in the darkness. Without
saying a word among themselves they chose a near-by table and,
sitting down, ordered rum and water, and began drinking their
grog in silence. They might have sat there about five minutes,
when, by and by, Barnaby True became aware that they were
observing him very curiously; and then almost immediately one,
who was plainly the leader of the party, called out to him:

"How now, messmate! Won't you come and drink a dram of rum with

"Why, no," says Barnaby, answering very civilly; "I have drunk
enough already, and more would only heat my blood."

"All the same," quoth the stranger, "I think you will come and
drink with us; for, unless I am mistook, you are Mr. Barnaby
True, and I am come here to tell you that the Royal Sovereign is
come in."

Now I may honestly say that Barnaby True was never more struck
aback in all his life than he was at hearing these words uttered
in so unexpected a manner. He had been looking to hear them
under such different circumstances that, now that his ears heard
them addressed to him, and that so seriously, by a perfect
stranger, who, with others, had thus mysteriously come ashore out
of the darkness, he could scarce believe that his ears heard
aright. His heart suddenly began beating at a tremendous rate,
and had he been an older and wiser man, I do believe he would
have declined the adventure, instead of leaping blindly, as he
did, into that of which he could see neither the beginning nor
the ending. But being barely one-and-twenty years of age, and
having an adventurous disposition that would have carried him
into almost anything that possessed a smack of uncertainty or
danger about it, he contrived to say, in a pretty easy tone
(though God knows how it was put on for the occasion):

"Well, then, if that be so, and if the Royal Sovereign is indeed
come in, why, I'll join you, since you are so kind as to ask me."
And therewith he went across to the other table, carrying his
pipe with him, and sat down and began smoking, with all the
appearance of ease he could assume upon the occasion.

"Well, Mr. Barnaby True," said the man who had before addressed
him, so soon as Barnaby had settled himself, speaking in a low
tone of voice, so there would be no danger of any others hearing
the words--"Well, Mr. Barnaby True--for I shall call you by your
name, to show you that though I know you, you don't know me I am
glad to see that you are man enough to enter thus into an affair,
though you can't see to the bottom of it. For it shows me that
you are a man of mettle, and are deserving of the fortune that is
to befall you to-night. Nevertheless, first of all, I am bid to
say that you must show me a piece of paper that you have about
you before we go a step farther."

"Very well," said Barnaby; "I have it here safe and sound, and
see it you shall." And thereupon and without more ado he fetched
out his wallet, opened it, and handed his interlocutor the
mysterious note he had received the day or two before. Whereupon
the other, drawing to him the candle, burning there for the
convenience of those who would smoke tobacco, began immediately
reading it.

This gave Barnaby True a moment or two to look at him. He was a
tall, stout man, with a red handkerchief tied around his neck,
and with copper buckles on his shoes, so that Barnaby True could
not but wonder whether he was not the very same man who had given
the note to Miss Eliza Bolles at the door of his lodging house.

"'Tis all right and straight as it should be," the other said,
after he had so glanced his eyes over the note. "And now that
the paper is read" (suiting his action to his words), "I'll just
burn it, for safety's sake."

And so he did, twisting it up and setting it to the flame of the candle.

"And now," he said, continuing his address, "I'll tell you what I
am here for. I was sent to ask you if you're man enough to take
your life in your own hands and to go with me in that boat down
there? Say 'Yes,' and we'll start away without wasting more time,
for the devil is ashore here at Jamaica--though you don't know
what that means--and if he gets ahead of us, why, then we may
whistle for what we are after. Say 'No,' and I go away again, and
I promise you you shall never be troubled again in this sort. So
now speak up plain, young gentleman, and tell us what is your
mind in this business, and whether you will adventure any farther
or not."

If our hero hesitated it was not for long. I cannot say that his
courage did not waver for a moment; but if it did, it was, I say,
not for long, and when he spoke up it was with a voice as steady
as could be.

"To be sure I'm man enough to go with you," he said; "and if you
mean me any harm I can look out for myself; and if I can't, why,
here is something can look out for me," and therewith he lifted
up the flap of his coat pocket and showed the butt of a pistol he
had fetched with him when he had set out from his lodging house
that evening.

At this the other burst out a-laughing. "Come," says he, "you are
indeed of right mettle, and I like your spirit. All the same, no
one in all the world means you less ill than I, and so, if you
have to use that barker, 'twill not be upon us who are your
friends, but only upon one who is more wicked than the devil
himself. So come, and let us get away."

Thereupon he and the others, who had not spoken a single word for
all this time, rose from the table, and he having paid the scores
of all, they all went down together to the boat that still lay
at the landing place at the bottom of the garden.

Thus coming to it, our hero could see that it was a large yawl
boat manned with half a score of black men for rowers, and there
were two lanterns in the stern sheets, and three or four iron shovels.

The man who had conducted the conversation with Barnaby True for
all this time, and who was, as has been said, plainly the captain
of the party, stepped immediately down into the boat; our hero
followed, and the others followed after him; and instantly they
were seated the boat was shoved off and the black men began
pulling straight out into the harbor, and so, at some distance
away, around under the stern of the man-of-war.

Not a word was spoken after they had thus left the shore, and
presently they might all have been ghosts, for the silence of the
party. Barnaby True was too full of his own thoughts to talk--and
serious enough thoughts they were by this time, with crimps to
trepan a man at every turn, and press gangs to carry a man off so
that he might never be heard of again. As for the others, they
did not seem to choose to say anything now that they had him
fairly embarked upon their enterprise.

And so the crew pulled on in perfect silence for the best part of
an hour, the leader of the expedition directing the course of the
boat straight across the harbor, as though toward the mouth of
the Rio Cobra River. Indeed, this was their destination, as
Barnaby could after a while see, by the low point of land with a
great long row of coconut palms upon it (the appearance of which
he knew very well), which by and by began to loom up out of the
milky dimness of the moonlight. As they approached the river
they found the tide was running strong out of it, so that some
distance away from the stream it gurgled and rippled alongside
the boat as the crew of black men pulled strongly against it.
Thus they came up under what was either a point of land or an
islet covered with a thick growth of mangrove trees. But still no
one spoke a single word as to their destination, or what was the
business they had in hand.

The night, now that they were close to the shore, was loud with
the noise of running tide-water, and the air was heavy with the
smell of mud and marsh, and over all the whiteness of the
moonlight, with a few stars pricking out here and there in the
sky; and all so strange and silent and mysterious that Barnaby
could not divest himself of the feeling that it was all a dream.

So, the rowers bending to the oars, the boat came slowly around
from under the clump of mangrove bushes and out into the open
water again.

Instantly it did so the leader of the expedition called out in a
sharp voice, and the black men instantly lay on their oars.

Almost at the same instant Barnaby True became aware that there
was another boat coming down the river toward where they lay, now
drifting with the strong tide out into the harbor again, and he
knew that it was because of the approach of that boat that the
other had called upon his men to cease rowing.

The other boat, as well as he could see in the distance, was full
of men, some of whom appeared to be armed, for even in the dusk
of the darkness the shine of the moonlight glimmered sharply now
and then on the barrels of muskets or pistols, and in the silence
that followed after their own rowing had ceased Barnaby True
could hear the chug! chug! of the oars sounding louder and louder
through the watery stillness of the night as the boat drew nearer
and nearer. But he knew nothing of what it all meant, nor whether
these others were friends or enemies, or what was to happen next.

The oarsmen of the approaching boat did not for a moment cease
their rowing, not till they had come pretty close to Barnaby and
his companions. Then a man who sat in the stern ordered them to
cease rowing, and as they lay on their oars he stood up. As they
passed by, Barnaby True could see him very plain, the moonlight
shining full upon him--a large, stout gentleman with a round red
face, and clad in a fine laced coat of red cloth. Amidship of the
boat was a box or chest about the bigness of a middle-sized
traveling trunk, but covered all over with cakes of sand and
dirt. In the act of passing, the gentleman, still standing,
pointed at it with an elegant gold-headed cane which he held in
his hand. "Are you come after this, Abraham Dawling?" says he,
and thereat his countenance broke into as evil, malignant a grin
as ever Barnaby True saw in all of his life.

The other did not immediately reply so much as a single word, but
sat as still as any stone. Then, at last, the other boat having
gone by, he suddenly appeared to regain his wits, for he bawled
out after it, "Very well, Jack Malyoe! very well, Jack Malyoe!
you've got ahead of us this time again, but next time is the
third, and then it shall be our turn, even if William Brand must
come back from hell to settle with you."

This he shouted out as the other boat passed farther and farther
away, but to it my fine gentleman made no reply except to burst
out into a great roaring fit of laughter.

There was another man among the armed men in the stern of the
passing boat--a villainous, lean man with lantern jaws, and the
top of his head as bald as the palm of my hand. As the boat went
away into the night with the tide and the headway the oars had
given it, he grinned so that the moonlight shone white on his big
teeth. Then, flourishing a great big pistol, he said, and
Barnaby could hear every word he spoke, "Do but give me the word,
Your Honor, and I'll put another bullet through the son of a sea

But the gentleman said some words to forbid him, and therewith
the boat was gone away into the night, and presently Barnaby
could hear that the men at the oars had begun rowing again,
leaving them lying there, without a single word being said for a
long time.

By and by one of those in Barnaby's boat spoke up. "Where shall
you go now?" he said.

At this the leader of the expedition appeared suddenly to come
back to himself, and to find his voice again. "Go?" he roared
out. "Go to the devil! Go? Go where you choose! Go? Go back
again--that's where we'll go!" and therewith he fell a-cursing
and swearing until he foamed at the lips, as though he had gone
clean crazy, while the black men began rowing back again across
the harbor as fast as ever they could lay oars into the water.

They put Barnaby True ashore below the old custom house; but so
bewildered and shaken was he by all that had happened, and by
what he had seen, and by the names that he heard spoken, that he
was scarcely conscious of any of the familiar things among which
he found himself thus standing. And so he walked up the moonlit
street toward his lodging like one drunk or bewildered; for "John
Malyoe" was the name of the captain of the Adventure galley--he
who had shot Barnaby's own grandfather--and "Abraham Dawling" was
the name of the gunner of the Royal Sovereign who had been shot
at the same time with the pirate captain, and who, with him, had
been left stretched out in the staring sun by the murderers.

The whole business had occupied hardly two hours, but it was as
though that time was no part of Barnaby's life, but all a part of
some other life, so dark and strange and mysterious that it in no
wise belonged to him.

As for that box covered all over with mud, he could only guess at
that time what it contained and what the finding of it signified.

But of this our hero said nothing to anyone, nor did he tell a
single living soul what he had seen that night, but nursed it in
his own mind, where it lay so big for a while that he could think
of little or nothing else for days after.

Mr. Greenfield, Mr. Hartright's correspondent and agent in these
parts, lived in a fine brick house just out of the town, on the
Mona Road, his family consisting of a wife and two
daughters--brisk, lively young ladies with black hair and eyes,
and very fine bright teeth that shone whenever they laughed, and
with a plenty to say for themselves. Thither Barnaby True was
often asked to a family dinner; and, indeed, it was a pleasant
home to visit, and to sit upon the veranda and smoke a cigarro
with the good old gentleman and look out toward the mountains,
while the young ladies laughed and talked, or played upon the
guitar and sang. And oftentimes so it was strongly upon
Barnaby's mind to speak to the good gentleman and tell him what
he had beheld that night out in the harbor; but always he would
think better of it and hold his peace, falling to thinking, and
smoking away upon his cigarro at a great rate.

A day or two before the Belle Helen sailed from Kingston Mr.
Greenfield stopped Barnaby True as he was going through the
office to bid him to come to dinner that night (for there within
the tropics they breakfast at eleven o'clock and take dinner in
the cool of the evening, because of the heat, and not at midday,
as we do in more temperate latitudes). "I would have you meet,"
says Mr. Greenfield, "your chief passenger for New York, and his
granddaughter, for whom the state cabin and the two staterooms
are to be fitted as here ordered [showing a letter]--Sir John
Malyoe and Miss Marjorie Malyoe. Did you ever hear tell of Capt.
Jack Malyoe, Master Barnaby?"

Now I do believe that Mr. Greenfield had no notion at all that
old Captain Brand was Barnaby True's own grandfather and Capt.
John Malyoe his murderer, but when he so thrust at him the name
of that man, what with that in itself and the late adventure
through which he himself had just passed, and with his brooding
upon it until it was so prodigiously big in his mind, it was like
hitting him a blow to so fling the questions at him.
Nevertheless, he was able to reply, with a pretty straight face,
that he had heard of Captain Malyoe and who he was.

"Well," says Mr. Greenfield, "if Jack Malyoe was a desperate
pirate and a wild, reckless blade twenty years ago, why, he is
Sir John Malyoe now and the owner of a fine estate in Devonshire.
Well, Master Barnaby, when one is a baronet and come into the
inheritance of a fine estate (though I do hear it is vastly
cumbered with debts), the world will wink its eye to much that he
may have done twenty years ago. I do hear say, though, that his
own kin still turn the cold shoulder to him."

To this address Barnaby answered nothing, but sat smoking away at
his cigarro at a great rate.

And so that night Barnaby True came face to face for the first
time with the man who murdered his own grandfather--the greatest
beast of a man that ever he met in all of his life.

That time in the harbor he had seen Sir John Malyoe at a distance
and in the darkness; now that he beheld him near by it seemed to
him that he had never looked at a more evil face in all his life.
Not that the man was altogether ugly, for he had a good nose and
a fine double chin; but his eyes stood out like balls and were
red and watery, and he winked them continually, as though they
were always smarting; and his lips were thick and purple-red, and
his fat, red cheeks were mottled here and there with little clots
of purple veins; and when he spoke his voice rattled so in his
throat that it made one wish to clear one's own throat to listen
to him. So, what with a pair of fat, white hands, and that hoarse
voice, and his swollen face, and his thick lips sticking out, it
seemed to Barnaby True he had never seen a countenance so
distasteful to him as that one into which he then looked.

But if Sir John Malyoe was so displeasing to our hero's taste,
why, the granddaughter, even this first time he beheld her,
seemed to him to be the most beautiful, lovely young lady that
ever he saw. She had a thin, fair skin, red lips, and yellow
hair--though it was then powdered pretty white for the
occasion--and the bluest eyes that Barnaby beheld in all of his
life. A sweet, timid creature, who seemed not to dare so much as
to speak a word for herself without looking to Sir John for leave
to do so, and would shrink and shudder whenever he would speak of
a sudden to her or direct a sudden glance upon her. When she did
speak, it was in so low a voice that one had to bend his head to
hear her, and even if she smiled would catch herself and look up
as though to see if she had leave to be cheerful.

As for Sir John, he sat at dinner like a pig, and gobbled and ate
and drank, smacking his lips all the while, but with hardly a
word to either her or Mrs. Greenfield or to Barnaby True; but
with a sour, sullen air, as though he would say, "Your damned
victuals and drink are no better than they should be, but I must
eat 'em or nothing." A great bloated beast of a man!

Only after dinner was over and the young lady and the two misses
sat off in a corner together did Barnaby hear her talk with any
ease. Then, to be sure, her tongue became loose, and she
prattled away at a great rate, though hardly above her breath,
until of a sudden her grandfather called out, in his hoarse,
rattling voice, that it was time to go. Whereupon she stopped
short in what she was saying and jumped up from her chair,
looking as frightened as though she had been caught in something
amiss, and was to be punished for it.

Barnaby True and Mr. Greenfield both went out to see the two into
their coach, where Sir John's man stood holding the lantern. And
who should he be, to be sure, but that same lean villain with
bald head who had offered to shoot the leader of our hero's
expedition out on the harbor that night! For, one of the circles
of light from the lantern shining up into his face, Barnaby True
knew him the moment he clapped eyes upon him. Though he could not
have recognized our hero, he grinned at him in the most impudent,
familiar fashion, and never so much as touched his hat either to
him or to Mr. Greenfield; but as soon as his master and his young
mistress had entered the coach, banged to the door and scrambled
up on the seat alongside the driver, and so away without a word,
but with another impudent grin, this time favoring both Barnaby
and the old gentleman.

Such were these two, master and man, and what Barnaby saw of them
then was only confirmed by further observation--the most hateful
couple he ever knew; though, God knows, what they afterward
suffered should wipe out all complaint against them.

The next day Sir John Malyoe's belongings began to come aboard
the Belle Helen, and in the afternoon that same lean, villainous
manservant comes skipping across the gangplank as nimble as a
goat, with two black men behind him lugging a great sea chest.
"What!" he cried out, "and so you is the supercargo, is you? Why,
I thought you was more account when I saw you last night
a-sitting talking with His Honor like his equal. Well, no
matter; 'tis something to have a brisk, genteel young fellow for
a supercargo. So come, my hearty, lend a hand, will you, and help
me set His Honor's cabin to rights."

What a speech was this to endure from such a fellow, to be sure!
and Barnaby so high in his own esteem, and holding himself a
gentleman! Well, what with his distaste for the villain, and
what with such odious familiarity, you can guess into what temper
so impudent an address must have cast him. "You'll find the
steward in yonder," he said, "and he'll show you the cabin," and
therewith turned and walked away with prodigious dignity, leaving
the other standing where he was.

As he entered his own cabin he could not but see, out of the tail
of his eye, that the fellow was still standing where he had left
him, regarding him with a most evil, malevolent countenance, so
that he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made one
enemy during that voyage who was not very likely to forgive or
forget what he must regard as a slight put upon him.

The next day Sir John Malyoe himself came aboard, accompanied by
his granddaughter, and followed by this man, and he followed
again by four black men, who carried among them two trunks, not
large in size, but prodigious heavy in weight, and toward which
Sir John and his follower devoted the utmost solicitude and care
to see that they were properly carried into the state cabin he
was to occupy. Barnaby True was standing in the great cabin as
they passed close by him; but though Sir John Malyoe looked hard
at him and straight in the face, he never so much as spoke a
single word, or showed by a look or a sign that he knew who our
hero was. At this the serving man, who saw it all with eyes as
quick as a cat's, fell to grinning and chuckling to see Barnaby
in his turn so slighted.

The young lady, who also saw it all, flushed up red, then in the
instant of passing looked straight at our hero, and bowed and
smiled at him with a most sweet and gracious affability, then the
next moment recovering herself, as though mightily frightened at
what she had done.

The same day the Belle Helen sailed, with as beautiful, sweet
weather as ever a body could wish for.

There were only two other passengers aboard, the Rev. Simon
Styles, the master of a flourishing academy in Spanish Town, and
his wife, a good, worthy old couple, but very quiet, and would
sit in the great cabin by the hour together reading, so that,
what with Sir John Malyoe staying all the time in his own cabin
with those two trunks he held so precious, it fell upon Barnaby
True in great part to show attention to the young lady; and glad
enough he was of the opportunity, as anyone may guess. For when
you consider a brisk, lively young man of one-and-twenty and a
sweet, beautiful miss of seventeen so thrown together day after
day for two weeks, the weather being very fair, as I have said,
and the ship tossing and bowling along before a fine humming
breeze that sent white caps all over the sea, and with nothing to
do but sit and look at that blue sea and the bright sky overhead,
it is not hard to suppose what was to befall, and what pleasure
it was to Barnaby True to show attention to her.

But, oh! those days when a man is young, and, whether wisely or
no, fallen in love! How often during that voyage did our hero
lie awake in his berth at night, tossing this way and that
without sleep--not that he wanted to sleep if he could, but would
rather lie so awake thinking about her and staring into the

Poor fool! He might have known that the end must come to such a
fool's paradise before very long. For who was he to look up to
Sir John Malyoe's granddaughter, he, the supercargo of a merchant
ship, and she the granddaughter of a baronet.

Nevertheless, things went along very smooth and pleasant, until
one evening, when all came of a sudden to an end. At that time he
and the young lady had been standing for a long while together,
leaning over the rail and looking out across the water through
the dusk toward the westward, where the sky was still of a
lingering brightness. She had been mightily quiet and dull all
that evening, but now of a sudden she began, without any preface
whatever, to tell Barnaby about herself and her affairs. She
said that she and her grandfather were going to New York that
they might take passage thence to Boston town, there to meet her
cousin Captain Malyoe, who was stationed in garrison at that
place. Then she went on to say that Captain Malyoe was the next
heir to the Devonshire estate, and that she and he were to be
married in the fall.

But, poor Barnaby! what a fool was he, to be sure! Methinks when
she first began to speak about Captain Malyoe he knew what was
coming. But now that she had told him, he could say nothing, but
stood there staring across the ocean, his breath coming hot and
dry as ashes in his throat. She, poor thing, went on to say, in
a very low voice, that she had liked him from the very first
moment she had seen him, and had been very happy for these days,
and would always think of him as a dear friend who had been very
kind to her, who had so little pleasure in life, and so would
always remember him.

Then they were both silent, until at last Barnaby made shift to
say, though in a hoarse and croaking voice, that Captain Malyoe
must be a very happy man, and that if he were in Captain Malyoe's
place he would be the happiest man in the world. Thus, having
spoken, and so found his tongue, he went on to tell her, with his
head all in a whirl, that he, too, loved her, and that what she
had told him struck him to the heart, and made him the most
miserable, unhappy wretch in the whole world.

She was not angry at what he said, nor did she turn to look at
him, but only said, in a low voice, he should not talk so, for
that it could only be a pain to them both to speak of such
things, and that whether she would or no, she must do everything
as her grandfather bade her, for that he was indeed a terrible

To this poor Barnaby could only repeat that he loved her with all
his heart, that he had hoped for nothing in his love, but that he
was now the most miserable man in the world.

It was at this moment, so tragic for him, that some one who had
been hiding nigh them all the while suddenly moved away, and
Barnaby True could see in the gathering darkness that it was that
villain manservant of Sir John Malyoe's and knew that he must
have overheard all that had been said.

The man went straight to the great cabin, and poor Barnaby, his
brain all atingle, stood looking after him, feeling that now
indeed the last drop of bitterness had been added to his trouble
to have such a wretch overhear what he had said.

The young lady could not have seen the fellow, for she continued
leaning over the rail, and Barnaby True, standing at her side,
not moving, but in such a tumult of many passions that he was
like one bewildered, and his heart beating as though to smother

So they stood for I know not how long when, of a sudden, Sir John
Malyoe comes running out of the cabin, without his hat, but
carrying his gold- headed cane, and so straight across the deck
to where Barnaby and the young lady stood, that spying wretch
close at his heels, grinning like an imp.

"You hussy!" bawled out Sir John, so soon as he had come pretty
near them, and in so loud a voice that all on deck might have
heard the words; and as he spoke he waved his cane back and forth
as though he would have struck the young lady, who, shrinking
back almost upon the deck, crouched as though to escape such a
blow. "You hussy!" he bawled out with vile oaths, too horrible
here to be set down. "What do you do here with this Yankee
supercargo, not fit for a gentlewoman to wipe her feet upon? Get
to your cabin, you hussy" (only it was something worse he called
her this time), "before I lay this cane across your shoulders!"

What with the whirling of Barnaby's brains and the passion into
which he was already melted, what with his despair and his love,
and his anger at this address, a man gone mad could scarcely be
less accountable for his actions than was he at that moment.
Hardly knowing what he did, he put his hand against Sir John
Malyoe's breast and thrust him violently back, crying out upon
him in a great, loud, hoarse voice for threatening a young lady,
and saying that for a farthing he would wrench the stick out of
his hand and throw it overboard.

Sir John went staggering back with the push Barnaby gave him, and
then caught himself up again. Then, with a great bellow, ran
roaring at our hero, whirling his cane about, and I do believe
would have struck him (and God knows then what might have
happened) had not his manservant caught him and held him back.

"Keep back!" cried out our hero, still mighty hoarse. "Keep
back! If you strike me with that stick I'll fling you overboard!"

By this time, what with the sound of loud voices and the stamping
of feet, some of the crew and others aboard were hurrying up, and
the next moment Captain Manly and the first mate, Mr. Freesden,
came running out of the cabin. But Barnaby, who was by this
fairly set agoing, could not now stop himself.

"And who are you, anyhow," he cried out, "to threaten to strike
me and to insult me, who am as good as you? You dare not strike
me! You may shoot a man from behind, as you shot poor Captain
Brand on the Rio Cobra River, but you won't dare strike me face
to face. I know who you are and what you are!"

By this time Sir John Malyoe had ceased to endeavor to strike
him, but stood stock-still, his great bulging eyes staring as
though they would pop out of his head.

"What's all this?" cries Captain Manly, bustling up to them with
Mr. Freesden. "What does all this mean?"

But, as I have said, our hero was too far gone now to contain
himself until all that he had to say was out.

"The damned villain insulted me and insulted the young lady," he
cried out, panting in the extremity of his passion, "and then he
threatened to strike me with his cane. But I know who he is and
what he is. I know what he's got in his cabin in those two
trunks, and where he found it, and whom it belongs to. He found
it on the shores of the Rio Cobra River, and I have only to open
my mouth and tell what I know about it."

At this Captain Manly clapped his hand upon our hero's shoulder
and fell to shaking him so that he could scarcely stand, calling
out to him the while to be silent. "What do you mean?" he cried.
"An officer of this ship to quarrel with a passenger of mine! Go
straight to your cabin, and stay there till I give you leave to
come out again."

At this Master Barnaby came somewhat back to himself and into his
wits again with a jump. "But he threatened to strike me with his
cane, Captain," he cried out, "and that I won't stand from any

"No matter what he did," said Captain Manly, very sternly. "Go to
your cabin, as I bid you, and stay there till I tell you to come
out again, and when we get to New York I'll take pains to tell
your stepfather of how you have behaved. I'll have no such
rioting as this aboard my ship."

Barnaby True looked around him, but the young lady was gone. Nor,
in the blindness of his frenzy, had he seen when she had gone nor
whither she went. As for Sir John Malyoe, he stood in the light
of a lantern, his face gone as white as ashes, and I do believe
if a look could kill, the dreadful malevolent stare he fixed upon
Barnaby True would have slain him where he stood.

After Captain Manly had so shaken some wits into poor Barnaby he,
unhappy wretch, went to his cabin, as he was bidden to do, and
there, shutting the door upon himself, and flinging himself down,
all dressed as he was, upon his berth, yielded himself over to
the profoundest passion of humiliation and despair.

There he lay for I know not how long, staring into the darkness,
until by and by, in spite of his suffering and his despair, he
dozed off into a loose sleep, that was more like waking than
sleep, being possessed continually by the most vivid and
distasteful dreams, from which he would awaken only to doze off
and to dream again.

It was from the midst of one of these extravagant dreams that he
was suddenly aroused by the noise of a pistol shot, and then the
noise of another and another, and then a great bump and a
grinding jar, and then the sound of many footsteps running across
the deck and down into the great cabin. Then came a tremendous
uproar of voices in the great cabin, the struggling as of men's
bodies being tossed about, striking violently against the
partitions and bulkheads. At the same instant arose a screaming
of women's voices, and one voice, and that Sir John Malyoe's,
crying out as in the greatest extremity: "You villains! You
damned villains!" and with the sudden detonation of a pistol
fired into the close space of the great cabin.

Barnaby was out in the middle of his cabin in a moment, and
taking only time enough to snatch down one of the pistols that
hung at the head of his berth, flung out into the great cabin, to
find it as black as night, the lantern slung there having been
either blown out or dashed out into darkness. The prodigiously
dark space was full of uproar, the hubbub and confusion pierced
through and through by that keen sound of women's voices
screaming, one in the cabin and the other in the stateroom
beyond. Almost immediately Barnaby pitched headlong over two or
three struggling men scuffling together upon the deck, falling
with a great clatter and the loss of his pistol, which, however,
he regained almost immediately.

What all the uproar meant he could not tell, but he presently
heard Captain Manly's voice from somewhere suddenly calling out,
"You bloody pirate, would you choke me to death?" wherewith some
notion of what had happened came to him like a dash, and that
they had been attacked in the night by pirates.

Looking toward the companionway, he saw, outlined against the
darkness of the night without, the blacker form of a man's
figure, standing still and motionless as a statue in the midst of
all this hubbub, and so by some instinct he knew in a moment that
that must be the master maker of all this devil's brew.
Therewith, still kneeling upon the deck, he covered the bosom of
that shadowy figure pointblank, as he thought, with his pistol,
and instantly pulled the trigger.

In the flash of red light, and in the instant stunning report of
the pistol shot, Barnaby saw, as stamped upon the blackness, a
broad, flat face with fishy eyes, a lean, bony forehead with what
appeared to be a great blotch of blood upon the side, a cocked
hat trimmed with gold lace, a red scarf across the breast, and
the gleam of brass buttons. Then the darkness, very thick and
black, swallowed everything again.

But in the instant Sir John Malyoe called out, in a great loud
voice: "My God! 'Tis William Brand!" Therewith came the sound
of some one falling heavily down.

The next moment, Barnaby's sight coming back to him again in the
darkness, he beheld that dark and motionless figure still
standing exactly where it had stood before, and so knew either
that he had missed it or else that it was of so supernatural a
sort that a leaden bullet might do it no harm. Though if it was
indeed an apparition that Barnaby beheld in that moment, there is
this to say, that he saw it as plain as ever he saw a living man
in all of his life.

This was the last our hero knew, for the next moment
somebody--whether by accident or design he never knew--struck him
such a terrible violent blow upon the side of the head that he
saw forty thousand stars flash before his eyeballs, and then,
with a great humming in his head, swooned dead away.

When Barnaby True came back to his senses again it was to find
himself being cared for with great skill and nicety, his head
bathed with cold water, and a bandage being bound about it as
carefully as though a chirurgeon was attending to him.

He could not immediately recall what had happened to him, nor
until he had opened his eyes to find himself in a strange cabin,
extremely well fitted and painted with white and gold, the light
of a lantern shining in his eyes, together with the gray of the
early daylight through the dead- eye. Two men were bending over
him--one, a negro in a striped shirt, with a yellow handkerchief
around his head and silver earrings in his ears; the other, a
white man, clad in a strange outlandish dress of a foreign make,
and with great mustachios hanging down, and with gold earrings in
his ears.

It was the latter who was attending to Barnaby's hurt with such
extreme care and gentleness.

All this Barnaby saw with his first clear consciousness after his
swoon. Then remembering what had befallen him, and his head
beating as though it would split asunder, he shut his eyes again,
contriving with great effort to keep himself from groaning aloud,
and wondering as to what sort of pirates these could be who would
first knock a man in the head so terrible a blow as that which he
had suffered, and then take such care to fetch him back to life
again, and to make him easy and comfortable.

Nor did he open his eyes again, but lay there gathering his wits
together and wondering thus until the bandage was properly tied
about his head and sewed together. Then once more he opened his
eyes, and looked up to ask where he was.

Either they who were attending to him did not choose to reply, or
else they could not speak English, for they made no answer,
excepting by signs; for the white man, seeing that he was now
able to speak, and so was come back into his senses again, nodded
his head three or four times, and smiled with a grin of his white
teeth, and then pointed, as though toward a saloon beyond. At the
same time the negro held up our hero's coat and beckoned for him
to put it on, so that Barnaby, seeing that it was required of him
to meet some one without, arose, though with a good deal of
effort, and permitted the negro to help him on with his coat,
still feeling mightily dizzy and uncertain upon his legs, his
head beating fit to split, and the vessel rolling and pitching at
a great rate, as though upon a heavy ground swell.

So, still sick and dizzy, he went out into what was indeed a fine
saloon beyond, painted in white and gilt like the cabin he had
just quitted, and fitted in the nicest fashion, a mahogany table,
polished very bright, extending the length of the room, and a
quantity of bottles, together with glasses of clear crystal,
arranged in a hanging rack above.

Here at the table a man was sitting with his back to our hero,
clad in a rough pea-jacket, and with a red handkerchief tied
around his throat, his feet stretched out before him, and he
smoking a pipe of tobacco with all the ease and comfort in the

As Barnaby came in he turned round, and, to the profound
astonishment of our hero, presented toward him in the light of
the lantern, the dawn shining pretty strong through the skylight,
the face of that very man who had conducted the mysterious
expedition that night across Kingston Harbor to the Rio Cobra

This man looked steadily at Barnaby True for a moment or two, and
then burst out laughing; and, indeed, Barnaby, standing there
with the bandage about his head, must have looked a very droll
picture of that astonishment he felt so profoundly at finding who
was this pirate into whose hands he had fallen.

"Well," says the other, "and so you be up at last, and no great
harm done, I'll be bound. And how does your head feel by now, my
young master?"

To this Barnaby made no reply, but, what with wonder and the
dizziness of his head, seated himself at the table over against
the speaker, who pushed a bottle of rum toward him, together with
a glass from the swinging shelf above.

He watched Barnaby fill his glass, and so soon as he had done so
began immediately by saying: "I do suppose you think you were
treated mightily ill to be so handled last night. Well, so you
were treated ill enough-- though who hit you that crack upon the
head I know no more than a child unborn. Well, I am sorry for the
way you were handled, but there is this much to say, and of that
you may believe me, that nothing was meant to you but kindness,
and before you are through with us all you will believe that well

Here he helped himself to a taste of grog, and sucking in his
lips, went on again with what he had to say. "Do you remember,"
said he, "that expedition of ours in Kingston Harbor, and how we
were all of us balked that night?"

"Why, yes," said Barnaby True, "nor am I likely to forget it."

"And do you remember what I said to that villain, Jack Malyoe,
that night as his boat went by us?"

"As to that," said Barnaby True, "I do not know that I can say
yes or no, but if you will tell me, I will maybe answer you in

"Why, I mean this," said the other. "I said that the villain had
got the better of us once again, but that next time it would be
our turn, even if William Brand himself had to come back from
hell to put the business through."

"I remember something of the sort," said Barnaby, "now that you
speak of it, but still I am all in the dark as to what you are
driving at."

The other looked at him very cunningly for a little while, his
head on one side, and his eyes half shut. Then, as if satisfied,
he suddenly burst out laughing. "Look hither," said he, "and
I'll show you something," and therewith, moving to one side,
disclosed a couple of traveling cases or small trunks with brass
studs, so exactly like those that Sir John Malyoe had fetched
aboard at Jamaica that Barnaby, putting this and that together,
knew that they must be the same.

Our hero had a strong enough suspicion as to what those two cases
contained, and his suspicions had become a certainty when he saw
Sir John Malyoe struck all white at being threatened about them,
and his face lowering so malevolently as to look murder had he
dared do it. But, Lord! what were suspicions or even certainty
to what Barnaby True's two eyes beheld when that man lifted the
lids of the two cases--the locks thereof having already been
forced--and, flinging back first one lid and then the other,
displayed to Barnaby's astonished sight a great treasure of gold
and silver! Most of it tied up in leathern bags, to be sure, but
many of the coins, big and little, yellow and white, lying loose
and scattered about like so many beans, brimming the cases to the
very top.

Barnaby sat dumb-struck at what he beheld; as to whether he
breathed or no, I cannot tell; but this I know, that he sat
staring at that marvelous treasure like a man in a trance, until,
after a few seconds of this golden display, the other banged down
the lids again and burst out laughing, whereupon he came back to
himself with a jump.

"Well, and what do you think of that?" said the other. "Is it not
enough for a man to turn pirate for? But," he continued, "it is
not for the sake of showing you this that I have been waiting for
you here so long a while, but to tell you that you are not the
only passenger aboard, but that there is another, whom I am to
confide to your care and attention, according to orders I have
received; so, if you are ready, Master Barnaby, I'll fetch her in
directly." He waited for a moment, as though for Barnaby to
speak, but our hero not replying, he arose and, putting away the
bottle of rum and the glasses, crossed the saloon to a door like
that from which Barnaby had come a little while before. This he
opened, and after a moment's delay and a few words spoken to some
one within, ushered thence a young lady, who came out very slowly
into the saloon where Barnaby still sat at the table.

It was Miss Marjorie Malyoe, very white, and looking as though
stunned or bewildered by all that had befallen her.

Barnaby True could never tell whether the amazing strange voyage
that followed was of long or of short duration; whether it
occupied three days or ten days. For conceive, if you choose,
two people of flesh and blood moving and living continually in
all the circumstances and surroundings as of a nightmare dream,
yet they two so happy together that all the universe beside was
of no moment to them! How was anyone to tell whether in such
circumstances any time appeared to be long or short? Does a dream
appear to be long or to be short?

The vessel in which they sailed was a brigantine of good size and
build, but manned by a considerable crew, the most strange and
outlandish in their appearance that Barnaby had ever
beheld--some white, some yellow, some black, and all tricked out
with gay colors, and gold earrings in their ears, and some with
great long mustachios, and others with handkerchiefs tied around
their heads, and all talking a language together of which Barnaby
True could understand not a single word, but which might have
been Portuguese from one or two phrases he caught. Nor did this
strange, mysterious crew, of God knows what sort of men, seem to
pay any attention whatever to Barnaby or to the young lady. They
might now and then have looked at him and her out of the corners
of their yellow eyes, but that was all; otherwise they were
indeed like the creatures of a nightmare dream. Only he who was
the captain of this outlandish crew would maybe speak to Barnaby
a few words as to the weather or what not when he would come down
into the saloon to mix a glass of grog or to light a pipe of
tobacco, and then to go on deck again about his business.
Otherwise our hero and the young lady were left to themselves, to
do as they pleased, with no one to interfere with them.

As for her, she at no time showed any great sign of terror or of
fear, only for a little while was singularly numb and quiet, as
though dazed with what had happened to her. Indeed, methinks
that wild beast, her grandfather, had so crushed her spirit by
his tyranny and his violence that nothing that happened to her
might seem sharp and keen, as it does to others of an ordinary

But this was only at first, for afterward her face began to grow
singularly clear, as with a white light, and she would sit quite
still, permitting Barnaby to gaze, I know not how long, into her
eyes, her face so transfigured and her lips smiling, and they, as
it were, neither of them breathing, but hearing, as in another
far-distant place, the outlandish jargon of the crew talking
together in the warm, bright sunlight, or the sound of creaking
block and tackle as they hauled upon the sheets.

Is it, then, any wonder that Barnaby True could never remember
whether such a voyage as this was long or short?

It was as though they might have sailed so upon that wonderful
voyage forever. You may guess how amazed was Barnaby True when,
coming upon deck one morning, he found the brigantine riding upon
an even keel, at anchor off Staten Island, a small village on the
shore, and the well- known roofs and chimneys of New York town in
plain sight across the water.

'Twas the last place in the world he had expected to see.

And, indeed, it did seem strange to lie there alongside Staten
Island all that day, with New York town so nigh at hand and yet
so impossible to reach. For whether he desired to escape or no,
Barnaby True could not but observe that both he and the young
lady were so closely watched that they might as well have been
prisoners, tied hand and foot and laid in the hold, so far as any
hope of getting away was concerned.

All that day there was a deal of mysterious coming and going
aboard the brigantine, and in the afternoon a sailboat went up to
the town, carrying the captain, and a great load covered over
with a tarpaulin in the stern. What was so taken up to the town
Barnaby did not then guess, but the boat did not return again
till about sundown.

For the sun was just dropping below the water when the captain
came aboard once more and, finding Barnaby on deck, bade him come
down into the saloon, where they found the young lady sitting,
the broad light of the evening shining in through the skylight,
and making it all pretty bright within.

The captain commanded Barnaby to be seated, for he had something
of moment to say to him; whereupon, as soon as Barnaby had taken
his place alongside the young lady, he began very seriously, with
a preface somewhat thus: "Though you may think me the captain of
this brigantine, young gentleman, I am not really so, but am
under orders, and so have only carried out those orders of a
superior in all these things that I have done." Having so begun,
he went on to say that there was one thing yet remaining for him
to do, and that the greatest thing of all. He said that Barnaby
and the young lady had not been fetched away from the Belle Helen
as they were by any mere chance of accident, but that 'twas all a
plan laid by a head wiser than his, and carried out by one whom
he must obey in all things. He said that he hoped that both
Barnaby and the young lady would perform willingly what they
would be now called upon to do, but that whether they did it
willingly or no, they must, for that those were the orders of one
who was not to be disobeyed.

You may guess how our hero held his breath at all this; but
whatever might have been his expectations, the very wildest of
them all did not reach to that which was demanded of him. "My
orders are these," said the other, continuing: "I am to take you
and the young lady ashore, and to see that you are married before
I quit you; and to that end a very good, decent, honest minister
who lives ashore yonder in the village was chosen and hath been
spoken to and is now, no doubt, waiting for you to come. Such are
my orders, and this is the last thing I am set to do; so now I
will leave you alone together for five minutes to talk it over,
but be quick about it, for whether willing or not, this thing
must be done."

Thereupon he went away, as he had promised, leaving those two
alone together, Barnaby like one turned into stone, and the young
lady, her face turned away, flaming as red as fire in the fading

Nor can I tell what Barnaby said to her, nor what words he used,
but only, all in a tumult, with neither beginning nor end he told
her that God knew he loved her, and that with all his heart and
soul, and that there was nothing in all the world for him but
her; but, nevertheless, if she would not have it as had been
ordered, and if she were not willing to marry him as she was
bidden to do, he would rather die than lend himself to forcing
her to do such a thing against her will. Nevertheless, he told
her she must speak up and tell him yes or no, and that God knew
he would give all the world if she would say "yes."

All this and more he said in such a tumult of words that there
was no order in their speaking, and she sitting there, her bosom
rising and falling as though her breath stifled her. Nor may I
tell what she replied to him, only this, that she said she would
marry him. At this he took her into his arms and set his lips to
hers, his heart all melting away in his bosom.

So presently came the captain back into the saloon again, to find
Barnaby sitting there holding her hand, she with her face turned
away, and his heart beating like a trip hammer, and so saw that
all was settled as he would have it. Wherewith he wished them
both joy, and gave Barnaby his hand.

The yawlboat belonging to the brigantine was ready and waiting
alongside when they came upon deck, and immediately they
descended to it and took their seats. So they landed, and in a
little while were walking up the village street in the darkness,
she clinging to his arm as though she would swoon, and the
captain of the brigantine and two other men from aboard following
after them. And so to the minister's house, finding him waiting
for them, smoking his pipe in the warm evening, and walking up
and down in front of his own door. He immediately conducted them
into the house, where, his wife having fetched a candle, and two
others of the village folk being present, the good man having
asked several questions as to their names and their age and where
they were from, the ceremony was performed, and the certificate
duly signed by those present-- excepting the men who had come
ashore from the brigantine, and who refused to set their hands to
any paper.

The same sailboat that had taken the captain up to the town in
the afternoon was waiting for them at the landing place, whence,
the captain, having wished them Godspeed, and having shaken
Barnaby very heartily by the hand, they pushed off, and, coming
about, ran away with the slant of the wind, dropping the shore
and those strange beings alike behind them into the night.

As they sped away through the darkness they could hear the
creaking of the sails being hoisted aboard of the brigantine, and
so knew that she was about to put to sea once more. Nor did
Barnaby True ever set eyes upon those beings again, nor did
anyone else that I ever heard tell of.

It was nigh midnight when they made Mr. Hartright's wharf at the
foot of Wall Street, and so the streets were all dark and silent
and deserted as they walked up to Barnaby's home.

You may conceive of the wonder and amazement of Barnaby's dear
stepfather when, clad in a dressing gown and carrying a lighted
candle in his hand, he unlocked and unbarred the door, and so saw
who it was had aroused him at such an hour of the night, and the
young and beautiful lady whom Barnaby had fetched with him.

The first thought of the good man was that the Belle Helen had
come into port; nor did Barnaby undeceive him as he led the way
into the house, but waited until they were all safe and sound in
privily together before he should unfold his strange and
wonderful story.

"This was left for you by two foreign sailors this afternoon,
Barnaby," the good old man said, as he led the way through the
hall, holding up the candle at the same time, so that Barnaby
might see an object that stood against the wainscoting by the
door of the dining room.

Nor could Barnaby refrain from crying out with amazement when he
saw that it was one of the two chests of treasure that Sir John
Malyoe had fetched from Jamaica, and which the pirates had taken
from the Belle Helen. As for Mr. Hartright, he guessed no more
what was in it than the man in the moon.

The next day but one brought the Belle Helen herself into port,
with the terrible news not only of having been attacked at night
by pirates, but also that Sir John Malyoe was dead. For whether
it was the sudden shock of the sight of his old captain's
face--whom he himself had murdered and thought dead and
buried--flashing so out against the darkness, or whether it was
the strain of passion that overset his brains, certain it is that
when the pirates left the Belle Helen, carrying with them the
young lady and Barnaby and the traveling trunks, those left
aboard the Belle Helen found Sir John Malyoe lying in a fit upon
the floor, frothing at the mouth and black in the face, as though
he had been choked, and so took him away to his berth, where, the
next morning about ten o'clock, he died, without once having
opened his eyes or spoken a single word.

As for the villain manservant, no one ever saw him afterward;
though whether he jumped overboard, or whether the pirates who so
attacked the ship had carried him away bodily, who shall say?

Mr. Hartright, after he had heard Barnaby's story, had been very
uncertain as to the ownership of the chest of treasure that had
been left by those men for Barnaby, but the news of the death of
Sir John Malyoe made the matter very easy for him to decide. For
surely if that treasure did not belong to Barnaby, there could be
no doubt that it must belong to his wife, she being Sir John
Malyoe's legal heir. And so it was that that great fortune (in
actual computation amounting to upward of sixty- three thousand
pounds) came to Barnaby True, the grandson of that famous pirate,
William Brand; the English estate in Devonshire, in default of
male issue of Sir John Malyoe, descended to Captain Malyoe, whom
the young lady was to have married.

As for the other case of treasure, it was never heard of again,
nor could Barnaby ever guess whether it was divided as booty
among the pirates, or whether they had carried it away with them
to some strange and foreign land, there to share it among

And so the ending of the story, with only this to observe, that
whether that strange appearance of Captain Brand's face by the
light of the pistol was a ghostly and spiritual appearance, or
whether he was present in flesh and blood, there is only to say
that he was never heard of again; nor had he ever been heard of
till that time since the day he was so shot from behind by Capt.
John Malyoe on the banks of the Rio Cobra River in the year 1733.




| Home | Reading Room Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates




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