It was three days after this memorable combat--for the vessels engaged in it needed considerable repairs--when Mr. Rhett of Charles Town sailed down the Cape Fear River with his five vessels--the two with which he had entered it, the pirate Royal James, and the two prizes of the latter, which had waited quietly up the river to see how matters were going to turn out.

On the Henry sailed the pirate Thomas, now discovered to be the notorious Stede Bonnet, and a very quiet and respectful man he was. As has been seen before, Bonnet was a man able to adapt himself to circ.u.mstances. There never was a more demure counting-house clerk than was Bonnet at Belize; there never was an humbler dependent than the almost unnoticed Bonnet after he had joined Blackbeard's fleet before Charles Town, and there never was a more deferential and respectful prisoner than Stede Bonnet on board the Henry. It was really touching to see how this cursing and raging pirate deported himself as a meek and uncomplaining gentleman.

There was no prison-house in Charles Town, but Stede Bonnet's wicked crew, including Ben Greenway--for his captors were not making any distinctions in regard to common men taken on a pirate ship--were clapped into the watch-house--and a crowded and uncomfortable place it was--and put under a heavy and military guard. The authorities were, however, making distinctions where gentlemen of family and owners of landed estates were concerned, no matter if they did happen to be taken on a pirate ship, and Major Bonnet of Barbadoes was lodged in the provost marshal's house, in comfortable quarters, with only two sentinels outside to make him understand he was a prisoner.

The capture of this celebrated pirate created a sensation in Charles Town, and many of the citizens were not slow to pay the unfortunate prisoner the attentions due to his former position in society. He was very well satisfied with his treatment in Charles Town, which city he had never before had the pleasure of visiting.

The attentions paid to Ben Greenway were not pleasing; sometimes he was shoved into one corner and sometimes into another. He frequently had enough to eat and drink, but very often this was not the case. Bonnet never inquired after him. If he thought of him at all, he hoped that he had been killed in the fight, for if that were the case he would be rid of his eternal preachments.

Greenway made known the state of his own case whenever he had a chance to do so, but his complaints received no attention, and he might have remained with the crew of the Royal James as long as they were shut up in the watch-house had not some of the hairy cut-throats themselves taken pity upon him and a.s.sured the guards that this man was not one of them, and that they knew from what they had heard him say and seen him do that there was no more determined enemy of piracy in all the Western continent. So it happened, that after some weeks of confinement Greenway was let out of the watch-house and allowed to find quarters for himself.

The first day the Scotchman was free he went to the provost-marshal's house and pet.i.tioned an interview with his old master, Bonnet.

"Heigho!" cried the latter, who was comfortably seated in a chair reading a letter. "And where do you come from, Ben Greenway? I had thought you were dead and buried in the Cape Fear River."

"Ye did not think I was dead," replied Ben, "when I seized ye an' held ye an' kept ye from buryin' yoursel' in that same river."

Bonnet waved his hand. "No more of that," said he; "I was unfortunate, but that is over now and things have turned out better than any man could have expected."

"Better!" exclaimed Ben. "I vow I know not what that means."

Bonnet laughed. He was looking very well; he was shaved, and wore a neat suit of clothes.

"Ben Greenway," said he, "you are now looking upon a man of high distinction. At this moment I am the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. Yes, Greenway, the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. I have a letter here, which was received by the provost-marshal and which he gave me to read, which tells that Blackbeard, the first pirate of his age, is dead. Therefore, Ben Greenway, I take his place, and there is no living pirate greater than I am."

"An' ye pride yoursel' on that, an' at this moment?" asked Ben, truly amazed.

"That do I," said Bonnet. "And think of it, Ben Greenway, that presumptuous, overbearing Blackbeard was killed, and his head brought away sticking up on the bow of a vessel. What a rare sight that must have been, Ben! Think of his long beard, all tied up with ribbons, stuck up on the bow of a ship!"

"An' ye are now the head de'il on earth?" said Ben.

"You can put it that way, if you like," said Bonnet, "but I am not so looked upon in this town. I am an honoured person. I doubt very much if any prisoner in this country was ever treated with the distinction that is shown me, but I don't wonder at it; I have the reputation of two great pirates joined in one--the pirate Bonnet, of the dreaded ship Revenge, and the terrible Thomas of the Royal James. My man, there are people in this town who have been to me and who have said that a man so famous should not even be imprisoned. I have good reason to believe that it will not be long before pardon papers are made out for me, and that I may go my way."

"An' your men?" asked Greenway. "Will they go free or will they be hung like common pirates?"

Bonnet frowned impatiently. "I don't want to hear anything about the men," he said; "of course they will be hung. What could be done with them if they were not hung? But it is entirely different with me. I am a most respectable person, and, now that I am willing to resign my piratical career, having won in it all the glory that can come to one man, that respectability must be considered."

"Weel, weel," said the Scotchman; "an' when it comes that respectabeelity is better for a man's soul an' body than righteousness, then I am no fit counsellor for ye, Master Bonnet," and he took his leave.

The next morning, when Ben Greenway left his lodging he found the town in an uproar. The pirate Bonnet had bribed his sentinels and, with some others, had escaped. Ben stood still and stamped his foot. Such infamy, such perfidy to the authorities who had treated him so well, the Scotchman could not at first imagine, but when the truth became plain to him, his face glowed, his eye burned; this vile conduct of his old master was a triumph to Ben's principles. Wickedness was wickedness, and could not be washed away by respectability.

The days pa.s.sed on; Bonnet was recaptured, more securely imprisoned, put upon trial, found guilty, and, in spite of the efforts of the advocates of respectability, was condemned to be hung on the same spot where nearly all the members of his pirate crew had been executed.

During all this time Ben Greenway kept away from his old master; he had borne ill-treatment of every kind, but the deception practised upon him when, at his latest interview, Bonnet talked to him of his respectability, having already planned an escape and return to his evil ways, was too much for the honest Scotchman. He had done with this man, faithless to friend and foe, to his own blood, and even to his own bad reputation.

But not quite done. It was but half an hour before the time fixed for the pirate's execution that Ben Greenway gained access to him.

"What!" cried Bonnet, raising his head from his hands. "You here? I thought I had done with you!"

"Ay, I am here," said Ben Greenway. "I hae stood by ye in good fortune an' in bad fortune, an' I hae never left ye, no matter what happened; an' I told ye I would follow ye to the gates o' h.e.l.l, but I could go no farther. I hae kept my word an' here I stop. Fareweel!"

"The only comfortable thing about this business," said Bonnet, "is to know that at last I am rid of that fellow!"

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

AGAIN d.i.c.kORY WAS THERE

There were indeed gay times in Spanish Town, and with the two loads lifted from her heart, Kate helped very much to promote the gaiety. If this young lady had wished to make a good colonial match, she had opportunities enough for so doing, but she was not in that frame of mind, and encouraged no suitor.

But, bright as she was, she was not so bright as on that great and glorious day when she received Ben Greenway's letter, telling her that her father was no longer a pirate. There were several reasons for this gradually growing twilight of her happiness, and one was that no letter came from her father. To be sure, there were many reasons why no letter should come. There were no regular mails in these colonies which could be depended upon, and, besides, the new career of her father, sailing as a privateer under the king's flag, would probably make it very difficult for him to send a letter to Jamaica by any regular or irregular method. Moreover, her father was a miserable correspondent, and always had been. Thus she comforted herself and was content, though not very well content, to wait.

Then there was another thing which troubled her, when she thought of it.

That good man and steady lover, Martin Newcombe, had written that he was coming to Spanish Town, and she knew very well what he was coming for and what he would say, but she did not know what she would say to him; and the thought of this troubled her. In a letter she might put off the answer for which he had been so long and patiently waiting, but when she met him face to face there could be no more delay; she must tell him yes or no, and she was not ready to do this.

There was so much to think of, so many plans to be considered in regard to going back to Barbadoes or staying in Jamaica, that really she could not make up her mind, at least not until she had seen her father. She would be so sorry if Mr. Newcombe came to Spanish Town before her father should arrive, or at least before she should hear from him.

Then there was another thing which added to the twilight of these cheerful days, and this Kate could scarcely understand, because she could see no reason why it should affect her. The Governor, whom they frequently met in the course of the pleasant social functions of the town, looked troubled, and was not the genial gentleman he used to be.

Of course he had a right to his own private perplexities and annoyances, but it grieved Kate to see the change in him. He had always been so cordial and so cheerful; he was now just as kind as ever, perhaps a little more so, in his manner, but he was not cheerful.

Kate mentioned to her uncle the changed demeanour of the Governor, but he could give no explanation; he had heard of no political troubles, but supposed that family matters might easily have saddened the good man.

He himself was not very cheerful, for day after day brought nearer the time when that uncertain Stede Bonnet might arrive in Jamaica, and what would happen after that no man could tell. One thing he greatly feared, and that was, that his dear niece, Kate, might be taken away from him.

Dame Charter was not so very cheerful either. Only in one way did she believe in Stede Bonnet, and that was, that after some fashion or another he would come between her and her bright dreams for her dear d.i.c.kory.

And so there were some people in Spanish Town who were not as happy as they had been.

Still there were dinners and little parties, and society made itself very pleasant; and in the midst of them all a ship came in from Barbadoes, bringing a letter from Martin Newcombe.

A strange thing about this letter was that it was addressed to Mr.

Delaplaine and not to Miss Kate Bonnet. This, of course, proved the letter must be on business; and, although he was with his little family when he opened his letter, he thought it well to glance at it before reading it aloud. The first few lines showed him that it was indeed a business letter, for it told of the death of Madam Bonnet, and how the writer, Martin Newcombe, as a neighbour and friend of the family, had been called in to take temporary charge of her effects, and, having done so, he hastened to inform Mr. Delaplaine of his proceedings and to ask advice. This letter he now read aloud, and Kate and the others were greatly interested therein, although they cautiously forbore the expression of any opinion which might rise in their minds regarding this turn of affairs.

Having finished these business details, Mr. Delaplaine went on and read aloud, and in the succeeding portion of the letter Mr. Newcombe begged Mr. Delaplaine to believe that it was the hardest duty of his whole life to write what he was now obliged to write, but that he knew he must do it, and therefore would not hesitate. At this the reader looked at his niece and stopped.

"Go on," cried Kate, her face a little flushed, "go on!"

The face of Mr. Delaplaine was pale, and for a moment he hesitated, then, with a sudden jerk, he nerved himself to the effort and read on; he had seen enough to make him understand that the duty before him was to read on.

[Ill.u.s.tration: In an instant d.i.c.kory was there.]

Briefly and tersely, but with tears in the very ink, so sad were the words, the writer a.s.sured Mr. Delaplaine that his love for his niece had been, and was, the overpowering impulse of his life; that to win this love he had dared everything, he had hoped for everything, he had been willing to pa.s.s by and overlook everything, but that now, and it tore his heart to write it, his evil fortune had been too much for him; he could do anything for the sake of his love that a man with respect for himself could do, but there was one thing at which he must stop, at which he must bow his head and submit to his fate--he could not marry the daughter of an executed felon.

Thus came to that little family group the news of the pirate Bonnet's death. There was more of the letter, but Mr. Delaplaine did not read it.