Red Peter, Part 3

Red Peter Part III. Serial in five parts

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From SEA STORIES Volume XIV, APRIL, 1927, Number 2. Digital Capture by Doug Frizzle September 2009.

Pedro had been brought up on a lonely island in the Caribbean by his foster father, Don Ramon Ortega, who found him as a baby, tied to a bit of washed-up driftwood. He knew nothing of his real parents or nationality, and when his foster father died he sailed away to discover what he could about his origin, also to carry out an oath of vengeance against the buccaneers who had ruined the old Don. He fell in with an ex-pirate named "One-eared" Jake, who, with a crew of ruffians, helped him prey upon the freebooters themselves. Pedro was dubbed "Red Peter," and, after a bloody battle, he shortly captured his first prize, the ship of the pirate captain, Gautier.

CHAPTER VII.

SINK me, but 'twere a merry fight!" exclaimed Jake, as he wiped the mingled grime, sweat and blood from his face and glanced approvingly about the littered, disordered decks. "Aye," he continued, "a pretty fight in truth. An' blow me, cap'n, but the best on it was the set-to twix' ye an' Gautier. Aye, an' ye saved me life, cap'n, that ye did, an' One-eared Jake owes ye twice for a-doin' of it. But," with a note of regret in his voice, "I were that busy with fightin' I ne'er had time to see the swordplay 'twixt ye two."

"And missed the sight of your ill-spent life," laughed Silver Heels. "By St. George, never have I seen prettier dueling."

"And never have I crossed sword with better man," declared Gautier, who was standing, with folded arms, awaiting the pleasure of his captors. "It irks me not to lose ship to Captain Red Peter, though 'tis strange to find Englishmen and buccaneers"—here he glanced meaningly at Jake and Silver Heels—"making war on ships of the Brethren."

Silver Heels' mouth twisted into a one-sided grin. "There be many strange things in this wicked world, Captain Gautier," he said, "and I misdoubt not, thy present plight is not the strangest turn of fate you will yet meet."

"Stow the fine talk, Sil'er Heels," growled Jake. "We ben't here for palaverin', but for takin' loot. Take ye men an' search the ship. T’ would be the most strangest thing of all if Gautier had no rich booty safe aboard."

Gautier laughed derisively. "Silver Heels told the truth for once," he announced, "and Fate has showed ye a bit of humor. Aye, strange as 'tis, Jake, there be naught of loot aboard ship."

"Ye lyin' hound," cried the one-eared sailor, an ugly look on his face. "Think ye we be babes to be taken in by that talk? Come, lads, to work with ye an' search the ship from keel to trucks."

"An' mayhap a touch of hot iron or a bit of flayin' alive'd bring a different tale from his mouth," suggested Black Tom.

"Silence," commanded Peter, for the first time showing his authority. "You art a murderous villain, Black Tom. Fie upon you for trying to stab a man in the back! And I'll have naught of torturing. Mayhap Captain Gautier speaks but the truth and has no booty. Speak but once more of such villainies and you leave my service."

With a sullen snarl, Black Tom followed after Silver Heels as he started aft toward the cabin on his search for riches.

"Sink me, cap'n, but ye have good luck," declared Jake, as the others walked away. "Here ye be, takin' of yer first prize an' now ye have a fine trim sloop for to go a piratin' of the Brethren with."

"Nay," contradicted Peter. "I have no mind to abandon my piragua. It has served us well and for mine purpose 'tis better than this ship."

Jake's eyes opened wide with surprise. "By the bone's o' Drake!" he exclaimed, "ye do be a rare, queer fish, cap'n. But," he continued, as an idea came to him, "sink me, if ye ben't right. Aye, the piragua be a right handy craft an' better for a-boardin' of them we wants to take than this here sloop. An' belike a few of the lads here be ready to jine with us. I'll have word with 'em."

Presently he returned, bringing word that four of Gautier's men were anxious to join Peter's forces, and thus the places of those who had fallen in the fight were once more filled. Then Silver Heels and Black Tom approached, looks of disappointment and chagrin on their faces, and reported that a few score pieces of eight, a dozen or two doubloons and a set of silver plate were the only valuables aboard the captured vessel.

Jake swore, fumed and threatened, declaring he was sure Gautier had treasure concealed somewhere, but Peter believed Gautier's statement that he had taken no prize since leaving port and that there was nothing in the way of loot aboard the sloop.

But if there was no treasure there was an abundance of food, drink and arms, as well as ammunition, and very rapidly these were transferred to the Sea Gull until the piragua could safely carry no more. Then the question arose as to the disposal of the captured vessel and her men.

Peter was at heart neither cutthroat, robber nor pirate, and though he had set out with the determination to destroy as many of the buccaneers as possible he could not bear the thought of butchering fellow men in cold blood or of leaving them to starve or go mad on some desert isle, as Silver Heels callously suggested. It was a far harder problem to solve than it would have been if Peter had been a real buccaneer and his prisoners Spaniards. In such cases, the freebooters took such of the captives as they desired as slaves and set the rest free on their ship, after disabling her, and left them to be picked up by some passing vessel of their countrymen or to make port however chance willed.

But Peter could do neither in the present case. He could not make slaves of Englishmen, even if he had been able to accommodate them upon his piragua, and it was quite evident that it would not do to leave Gautier and his men to be picked up by other rovers and thus spread the tale of Peter's undertaking and warn the buccaneers of the piragua.

For long they argued and discussed the matter. Silver Heels' suggestion having been discarded, and Black Tom's idea of slitting the throats of the captives not being considered, the entire solution of the matter was left to Jake and Peter. And it was the one-eared old villain who finally solved the puzzle.

"Set 'em ashore with food an' drink an' a few muskets," he said. "It'll not harm 'em nor hurt 'em an' 'twill give 'em a good rest for a bit. An' I know places whereon they'll not be likely to be found for many a month. Sink me, if I don't. Aye, a right pretty spot, just made for ye, cap'n. Aye, a tidy isle with sea birds thick as seeds in a gooseberry an' shellfish a-plenty on the shore, an' where never a ship stops for years on end."

So, taking Jake's advice, Peter detailed the necessary men to handle Gautier's vessel and, with the buccaneer captives and their commander safely locked under hatches, the two craft set sail for the "tidy isle," whose whereabouts only One-eared Jake knew. By daybreak the next day it was in sight, a tiny, wave-washed, barren rock some fifty acres in area and rising scarcely a dozen feet above the sea. Above it wheeled and soared countless sea birds, while thousands more sat on their nests on the rocks. There were stretches of shingle and little beaches where shellfish abounded, and in the hollows of the rocks, were pools of rain water. But there was not a tree, shrub or blade of grass upon the place, and Peter shuddered as he thought of being marooned on the miserable place for months, or maybe years. To be sure the men could not starve —eyen without firearms there was no danger of that with such an inexhaustible supply of birds and eggs—nor could they die of thirst and with the sails from their sloop they could erect shelters to protect themselves from sun and rain. In fact, the men who had expected to be most summarily dealt with, thought their lot was an enviable one, and even Gautier made no objections nor complaints. He was still in ignorance of Peter's motives in attacking him and could not understand this new development in freebooting whereby members of the Brethren attacked their fellows. But he was a man, who, through long years of buccaneering, had learned to take the worst of life along with the best. And as neither Peter nor his men offered an explanation he forbore to ask questions.

With plenty of food, a few casks of wine, ample ammunition, knives, axes, and a few muskets, as well as spars and sails and their chests of clothing, the prisoners were landed on "Aves Island," as Jake called it. Then, the sloop having been towed well out from land, she was scuttled and sunk. Silver Heels, Black Tom and a few others protested against this destruction, for they little liked their cramped quarters in the open piragua, and they saw in the buccaneer vessel a comfortable, well-found craft. But Jake silenced them, declaring that if they didn't like their captain's ways or the piragua they were quite welcome to go ashore and join Gautier and his men. Also he pointed out that as the piragua had brought them luck with their first venture they would be foolish to tempt Fate by shifting vessels, while last and by no means least, was the fact that the Sea Gull was unknown to the buccaneers and would create no suspicions, whereas Gautier's sloop, if manned by others than himself and men, would instantly arouse the suspicions of any buccaneer craft they might approach.

Superstitious and thoroughly believing in luck and ill luck, and also appreciating the truth of Jake's arguments, the men stopped grumbling, and with parting taunts to the marooned buccaneers sailed northward once more.

Three days later, with the bulk of Cuba looming on the horizon ahead, they sighted a good-sized vessel which Jake declared he believed was a buccaneer ship, and they rapidly bore down upon her. As they came within sight of her colors and saw the green flag with its white knot of ribbon, —Silver Heels ripped out an oath and Jake slapped his thigh.

"Sink me, cap'n, we be in for a pretty set-to!" he cried delightedly. "Yonder's the Malice of Cap'n Jerry Mace!"

"Mace!" reiterated Peter. "The fellow whose head I cracked with mine sword hilt back in Anegada?"

"Aye, the same," affirmed the other. "Faith, an' he'll be waitin' for to give ye warm welcome, an' ye can lay to that."

Silver Heels guffawed. "Think you to use hilt or point in this fight, captain?" he asked banteringly.

Peter grinned good-naturedly. "Mayhap both ere I be done," he replied.

"An' mayhap neither, if Jerry Mace be sober," growled Black Tom meaningly.

"Aye, there'll be many a lad tossed to the sharks ere this day's done," remarked Jake. "But all the more loot for them as comes through with whole skins, I'm sayin'."

And as Peter gazed at the stately, three-masted vessel rising and falling on the almost calm sea ahead, and saw the grim muzzles of a dozen cannon sticking from their ports, and the swarm of men upon the decks, he had a strange tingling feeling up and down his spine and was half minded to shift his helm and give up all thoughts of attacking the other craft. That he, with his few men and hand weapons, could successfully assault a heavily-armed ship alive with the brave and reckless buccaneers seemed beyond all reason. It was nothing less than suicidal, be felt; but he had successfully taken Gautier's vessel; he had sworn to attack every buccaneer he met, and real fear did not exist in his make-up. So, straight toward the freebooter he sailed, until presently, the burly figure of the redoubtable Mace appeared by the quarter gallery rail and a bellowed hail came across the water.

"From the seas," came back the answer and, thinking the piragua some craft of the Brethren, Mace waved his hand, his men hurried to braces. The yards were swung and the Malice rolled motionless upon the waves awaiting the arrival of the supposed friendly visitors alongside.

Idly wondering in a dull way who they might be, Mace leaned upon, the rail, watching the Sea Gull approach. The flag, fluttering from the masthead of the piragua, was as strange to him as it had been to Gautier, but it excited no suspicions in his mind, for as he was well aware, new commanders were constantly arising among the buccaneers, and with a few men were setting out in small craft under their own colors to prey upon the Dons. No doubt, he thought, the oncoming craft was one of these, and having started on his career in a piragua himself, he was somewhat curious to see what manner of man might be in command of this company in the swift craft sailing under the scarlet burgee with its white bird.

Then he started, contracted his bushy brows and stared. His gaze had fallen upon the red head of the piragua's captain. Was it possible that the stranger was the youth who had worsted him back in Anegada? Had not that youth mentioned that he commanded a piragua? To be sure; but there were many piraguas and not a few red-headed pirates; and seizing his glasses, Mace focused them on the occupants of the boat now close to his ship. Instantly he was convinced. There, beside the red-headed captain, stood One-eared Jake, and there, among the motley crew, were none other than Silver Heels and Black Tom.

With an oath, Mace slammed his glasses shut and then gave vent to a sinister chuckle. He was not one to forget an injury or an affront, as Jake had said. Though he had made the best of the situation, had declared that he held no ill will, and had half apologized to Peter at the time of the affair in Anegada, yet in his heart he had vowed that sooner or later he would even scores with "Captain Red Peter," as Jake had called him. Indeed, ever since he had boarded his ship and had put to sea with an aching, bandaged head, the whole affair had rankled in his heart. Never before had he been overcome in a duel, and to be knocked down with a sword hilt like a common ruffian or a barking cur, was an insult he could never forgive nor forget. Not until he had again crossed swords with Peter and had come off victorious could he set foot in buccaneers' haunts without fear of ridicule or ill-timed jests at his expense, and here Fate was playing into his hand and sending his enemy into his clutches.

It never occurred to him that those in the Sea Gull must have known whose ship they were approaching; that Jake, Tom, Silver Heels and the others must have recognized the well-known flag. But even if he had thought of this he would have judged that they had accepted his words at their face value and expected to be treated with courtesy and greeted like friends.

That they had any hostile intentions was also undreamed of, and so, rubbing his hands and smiling to himself at thought of how he would clap the men under hatches and force Peter to crawl and cower before him like a whipped dog, Mace made no move to guard his ship, gave no orders for his men to arm themselves. Merely calling his mate he gave instructions that the visitors were to be plied with drink until helpless and then tossed into the hold and the hatches secured over them. As a result, Mace's crew lined the rails, peering curiously but without the least suspicion at the piragua as it drew alongside, and calling out rude jokes and rough greetings to those members of the Sea Gull's crew whom they recognized with the lessening of the distance.

Had they been so minded, Peter and his men might have boarded the Malice and might have taken her without a show of effective resistance. But strange as it may seem, the buccaneers had certain ethics which they always respected, and unprincipled as Jake and the others were, they would have considered it treacherous and utterly villainous to have fallen upon the ship's company without warning. But like many another ethic of warfare, and of peace as well, they, like others, were quite willing to stretch a principle or a recognized rule to the breaking point if it would be of personal benefit to do so. So, not until the Sea Gull actually grated against the sides of the Malice, did Jake cry out, demanding that Mace and his men yield. And scarcely had the words left his lips before he and his men were swarming up the ship's sides with weapons drawn and ready. Jake's warning had come too late to be of any value to Mace's men. Indeed, the warning and the attack had been simultaneous, and even if they had had time, the men on the Malice could have done little. Not one held a musket or a loaded pistol, the ship's cannon could not be brought to bear upon the craft so close alongside. Before the import of Jake's words and the significance of the piragua's crew scrambling up with drawn weapons had really dawned upon them, Jake, Peter and the rest were on the decks, cutting, stabbing, striking, shouting, as the amazed, bewildered, utterly demoralized crew of' the Malice strove to defend themselves with cutlasses and knives or scurried to seize arms from the racks.

Even Mace was so absolutely dumfounded to find his expected prey transformed into the aggressors that, with drooping jaw and wide eyes, he stood gaping for a moment at the melee on the decks. Then, with a bellow of rage, he whipped out cutlass and pistol and leaped down the ladders toward the scene of battle. Peter had also caught sight of Mace and impetuously had rushed aft, feeling that as commander of his men, and as avenger of Don Ramon's wrongs, he was in duty bound to personally battle with the captains whose vessels he attacked. With sword drawn he gained the foot of the ladder just as Mace reached the upper end. With a savage snarl the buccaneer raised his pistol and fired but his bullet went wild, and casting the weapon aside, he leaped halfway down the ladder with swinging blade. Peter was at a tremendous disadvantage. From his higher stand, Mace could rain savage blows at his antagonist, while Peter could not reach above the other's legs without mounting the steps and exposing himself to Mace's furious onslaught. Grasping the rail, Peter strove to defend himself and advance, but each time was beaten back, and he soon realized that he must either retreat, with the hope of drawing Mace to the deck, or must be beaten. But aid came suddenly and from a most unexpected quarter. Jake, having neatly disposed of the Malice's mate and two men, had chased a third into the cabin. Having settled accounts with him there, he was about to rejoin his men on deck when he heard the blows and hard-drawn breaths of men in conflict just outside the cabin window. Peering out, he had seen a pair of booted legs upon the ladder before his eyes, while just below, Peter was thrusting and parrying upward.

Instantly Jake realized what was taking place. His captain, who had twice saved his life, was battling with some one above and was at a disadvantage, and such a thing was not to be thought of. A fair fight was quite all right, and under no circumstances would the one-eared rascal have interfered. But this was a different matter. From where he stood he could take no active part in the fight, and before he could make his exit from the cabin and gain the side of Peter, the latter might be overcome. But there, within arm's reach, were the sturdy booted legs. Thrusting out one huge, hairy paw, Jake seized an ankle and gave a quick jerk. With a yell and a curse, Mace came plunging head over heels down the ladder, almost knocking Peter over in his fall.

As he struck the deck, Mace's sword flew from his hand, and before he could rise Peter stood threateningly over him.

"Zounds!' but it seems you have an uncommon thick skull!" exclaimed Peter. "Aye!" he added as Mace reached quickly for his knife, "so uncommon thick I must try to crack it once again."

As he spoke he raised his sword and brought the hilt once more crashing down on the buccaneer's head. With a groan, Mace collapsed as Jake reached Peter's side.

"Sink me, but ye did use the hilt, lad!" cried the latter. "An' blow me if I didn't near split me sides with laughter to see he come tumblin' down to ye when I jerked the legs from under him."

"Then 'twas you who caused his fall!" exclaimed Peter, who had thought Mace's tumble wholly accidental.

"Aye, cap'n," assented Jake. "Faith, one good turn deserves another an' ye saved life of mine twice. Belike ye'd have saved yer own this time, but, by the bones o' Drake, I helped ye save it a bit the sooner."

CHAPTER VIII.

Peter could scarcely believe that the seemingly impossible had been accomplished, that the ship had been taken. But so completely had the buccaneers been surprised that the loss on both sides was small, and with far less bloodshed than when Gautier's vessel had been captured, the Malice was in the hands of Peter and his men.

And when Silver Heels reported that she was fairly bulging with loot all were in high spirits.

"Faith, cap'n," said Jake, "ye'H have to let the piragua go an' take this ship. Sink me, but there be that much treasure aboard as'll fill three of the Sea Gull."

"Can we not carry the booty to some spot and place it ashore and set forth in the piragua?" replied Peter, who was still averse to shifting his allegiance from his beloved piragua.

The one-eared pirate shook his head. "Nay, cap'n," he declared. "An' where would ye take it? To the Dons, belike, or to some den of the Brethren? Blow me, but I'd rather twiddle me thumbs in a Dons' prison with the hangman's noose a-danglin' outside ready for me neck than to sail the Malice into a lair of buccaneers without Jerry Mace in command. And by the bones of Drake, he'll never command ship more. Sink me, but ye clouted him a fair, pretty blow, cap'n—to crack his thick skull!"

"You mean he is dead?" queried Peter, who had not realized that his blow had ended Mace's career.

"Aye, that he be, deader'n salt beef," replied Jake, "an' a good deed I'm say-in', an' ye can lay to that, lad."

It cannot be said with truth that the death of the buccaneer troubled Peter greatly. He lived in an age when men's lives were cheap. All the short time he had been among his fellows and away from Don Ramon's island he had been constantly face to face with acts of violence, and, morever, he had set out with the expectation and intention of putting an end to as many of the hated buccaneers as he could. He had done his best to kill Mace the first time he had met him; he had been equally ready to run his sword through Gautier, and both men had done their best to let the life out of him. That Mace had survived that first meeting had been due, as had Gautier's survival, to Peter's code of honor as taught by Don Ramon; and as the blow he had dealt Mace had been in self-defense he was not at all sorry that he had killed his late antagonist. At any rate, it relieved him of all trouble as to the disposal of the buccaneer, captain.

"Mayhap you are right, Jake," he admitted. "Perchance, with this larger ship and her guns, we can take more of the buccaneers and destroy them more easily. You are a sailor and know best, Jake."

Jake chuckled. "Sink me, but ye take things easylike, lad," he exclaimed. "Faith, with the Malice we can take the the best of 'em. Twelve an' four guns she do have, an' a right pretty ship for speed an' handlin'. Aye, cap'n, 'tis a pity ye no have mind to turn buccaneer."

Peter's scowl warned Jake to say no more, and with a mumbled word of apology for the slip of his tongue he hurried off to give orders.

But with the acquisition of the Malice, new troubles confronted Peter. With but a handful of men he could not hope to handle the ship or bring her into action properly. Although many of the captured seamen expressed a willingness to serve under his colors he realized, as Jake pointed out, that a much larger number of men must be secured.

"Belike I can find a few 'mongst the islands," said Jake. "But 'tis risky business, settin' foot ashore where there be many buccaneers. Soon's they touch rum the lads' tongues'll wag an' we'll be in a fair pretty mess. Nay, methinks, an' ye leave it to One-eared Jake, I'll be headin' a course for Honduras. There'll be many a lad yonder as’ll be glad to give up cuttin' Campeche wood an' jine along with us."

So the piragua having been stripped of all she held, the prisoners were placed aboard her, her sails and rigging were destroyed; and with enough food and water to serve them for a few weeks, the captives were set adrift and the Malice headed into the west.

To Peter it seemed like parting with an old friend as the Sea Gull dropped astern, but his heart swelled with pride as he glanced aloft and saw his scarlet burgee floating from the towering masthead of the Malice, and realized that he now commanded a real ship; that sixteen heavy guns were there to help him wreak vengeance on the freebooters, and that no vessel would prove too powerful for him to attack henceforth.

The immense loot that had been found aboard Mace's ship—for she had just taken three rich prizes—impressed him little. He had very vague ideas as to money or riches, and so far had never needed nor desired wealth. But he realized that loot was what his men wanted, that gold was the lure that led them on and kept them with him, and that, by taking this ship with her precious cargo, he had won the steadfast faith of his men, and that their tales would bring others of the reckless free lances of the sea to join him. But he was troubled over one matter, the question of his birth and nationality. He seemed no nearer a solution of that than before, and he could not see how destroying the buccaneers would help him unravel the mystery. Being young, strong, and not given to worrying, this did not trouble him for long, however, and dismissing the matter as something that would be worked out at some future time, he gave all his thoughts to his cruise of vengeance.

Long before the Malice, which had been rechristened the Sea Gull, had raised the low-lying Honduras coast above the horizon, Peter had met and taken two more buccaneer vessels. One was a large sloop which had been sunk by the guns of Peter's vessel before the men could board her. The other was a bark, under a Captain Sawney, which had been so battered and shattered that she had foundered within a few moments after Jake and the men had secured the thousand pieces of eight and the few other valuables aboard. To be sure, both of these vessels were much smaller than the former Malice and had been taken at a disadvantage and completely surprised. But Peter's men were in high spirits and ready to attempt anything.

Anchoring back of some wooded islets, Jake was rowed ashore, and in an hour or two returned, bringing with him seven ragged, rough-looking scalawags who had been only too glad to desert the logwood camps and join Peter's company. With these fellows as guides, or rather as pilots, the ship sailed along the coast, coming to anchor off many a jungle-shaded, sluggish river or densely-wooded island where the logwood gatherers had their camps, and at each, picking up a few men, until at last the crew of the Sea Gull had been increased to seventy men. This, Jake declared, was an ample number, and Peter, as he looked upon the wild, half-savage faces, the bizarre costumes, the touseled heads and bewhiskered jowls of the assembly had some misgivings as to the wisdom of shipping such an aggregation of cutthroats.

"Aye, they do be a bit rough an' ready," admitted Jake, when Peter mentioned his thoughts. "But they be good lads an' ready to do your biddin', an' ye can lay to that."

But had Jake and Peter known of all that was taking place aboard the ship they would have been far from easy in their minds. Though they never suspected it, the seeds of mutiny had been already sown and were being carefully nurtured toward maturity.

Never once had Silver Heels or Black Tom showed outward signs of discontent or of being anything other than faithful officers, but despite their outward appearances and actions, neither of the two worthies was either satisfied or true to Peter. Both rascals were utterly unprincipled and had no thought or object in life save loot and the wild orgies it would bring, and their only purpose in joining Peter had been to replenish their exhausted purses. To be sure, both had grievances against certain buccaneer leaders, but they had felt that Peter's professed purpose of preying on the freebooters was merely an excuse and that he would attack and take any ship he met with equal impartiality.

When they found that he would not molest peaceful merchant ships, even those of Spain, they were thoroughly disgusted. Although considerable booty might be secured from captured buccaneers' ships, still it was nothing compared to the treasure to be had by taking the vessels of the Dons, while the risk was far greater. Sooner or later they knew, word of Peter's activities would spread among the Brethren, and the freebooters, if they did not set forth with a fleet to hunt Peter down, would be forewarned and would give a very different account of themselves than had those Peter had already attacked. And they had no desire to be present when their red-headed commander was worsted. Indeed, had it not been for Silver Heels' insatiable curiosity and his desire to learn the truth of the mystery that surrounded Peter, he would have commenced his underhanded activities much sooner. But despite the fact that he had been a member of the ship's company for many weeks he was no nearer a solution of the matter than on the night when he had first met Peter in the Rat Hole at Anegada, and he was beginning to despair of satisfying his curiosity or of obtaining information he could use to advantage before Peter's career should come to an untimely end.

So, very carefully and in such a way that it could not be traced to him, he had encouraged discontent among the men, had turned their thoughts to the greater wealth to be won, and the lesser risk in the winning, by pirating the Dons, until, when a few days out from Honduras, the wild lot of villains in the forecastle were quite ready to rise and demand that Peter should act in accordance with their desires. And when a heavily-laden galleon was sighted one morning and the Sea Gull held steadily on her course, they deemed the time ripe, and with lowering brows and sullen looks they massed on the deck, muttering and cursing in a manner so threatening that Jake and Peter on the high poop deck could not mistake their purpose. But they had made the great mistake which is so often made by ignorant men who attempt to start a revolt; they had no leader. In a body they could mill and mumble and swear and even threaten, but there was no one man to champion their cause, no one they could look up to and obey. And not one of the gang seemed anxious to step forward and state their case to the one-eared mate and the red-haired captain who were gazing superciliously at them from the high deck.

And neither Silver Heels nor Black Tom wished to be identified with the incipient rebellion. They were quite willing to take charge after the men had done the dirty work, and to profit by what might result from the discord they had sown, but until all danger was over and the day was won they had no intention of taking any risks.

"What want ye, ye dogs?" cried Jake presently, as the assembled men still hung together amidships and a low, confused growl arose from the seventy-odd throats.

"Blow me, but ben't the food to your likin' or the quarters dainty enough for your dirty carcasses? By the bones of Drake, mayhap 'tis milksops an' sweetmeats ye be missin', or silken hangin's to your beds, belike—ye swine what never knew better bed nor the gutters, nor better food nor wormy bread an' moldy bacon."

At his words, hands reached toward pistol butts and cutlass hilts, and the fumbling growls increased in volume, but still no man made a movement to step forward from the crowd.

"Speak up!" commanded Peter. "If you have grievance out with it. I wish no malcontented crew on ship of mine, and there be aught to right, then shall I right it."

A sneering laugh rang from the throat of a burly, broad-shouldered rascal whose bristling, tangled beard spread over his bare, hairy chest. "Fine words," he bellowed. "Fair, fine words in truth, but not words to take yon galleon nor put good pieces of eight in our pockets. Here we be, seventy soul an' three, with ship an' guns, an' a lettin' yon Don's ship wave her cursed flag of blood an' mustard in our faces like we was a Thames barge an' she king's cutter. An' ye no want trouble, Master Red Head, ye'll shift—"

A pistol shot rang out, and with a choking gurgle the words died on the fellow's lips as he crumpled to the deck.

"Belay that, ye scum!" bellowed Jake as he reloaded his smoking weapon. "Blood an' powder! Think ye ye be runnin' of this ship? An' ye'll mind yer tongues an' speak proper respectful hereafter, I warrant. Sink me, but there be more bullets where that come from for them as likes lead to help sink 'em to Davy Jones, an' ye can lay to that, ye dogs."

At the shot and the death of the be-whiskered pirate, the others had cowered back. Despite the fact that they were seventy to two—for they felt that Silver Heels and Black Tom would side with them—so cowed were they by the superiority of those in command, and so long accustomed to obedience that they did not even make a move to lift the body of their comrade from the spot where it sprawled hideously upon the deck. They would attack a ship or a fortified town; would throw themselves pell-mell to certain death at the hands of their enemies, would never stop to consider risks or consequences in battle, but they dared not brave the two men with cocked pistols who faced them on the quarter deck.

But they were not yet submissive, not yet ready to abandon their purpose, to give up their attempt to force Peter to attack the galleon that was now within plain sight. "Sil'er Heels!" they shouted in chorus. "Give us Sil'er Heels for cap'n! He'll lay the Don alongside, we warrant ye."

Instantly Jake wheeled with leveled pistol pointing at Silver Heels' breast.

"So that's the lay!" he cried. "Ye white-livered, murderin' hound! Sink me but I have mind to shoot ye down like the dog ye be!"

"Nay!" exclaimed Silver Heels, his mouth twisting to one side and his eyes fear filled. "Nay, Jake, I have naught to do with yonder dogs' demands. By the cross of St. George, I swear it!"

"Be not hasty!" cried Peter. "Mayhap there be nothing in the words of the men, and Silver Heels knew nothing of their mutinous plans."

"Mayhap," growled Jake, reluctantly lowering his weapon. "An' mayhap he be the rotten apple in the pile what spoils the lot. Blow me, if I ain't think-in' belike 'tis he an' yon precious Black Tom what's been puttin' of the men up to this."

"I swear you are wrong," declared Silver Heels. "Black Tom I will answer for, and we both are faithful, true men. Aye, we will gladly shoot down the first, low-lived dog who dares raise word or hand against Captain Peter."

"Fine feathers make fine birds," quoth Jake. "But sink me, if I'm think-in' fair words make fair men. Faith, cap'n, Sil'er Heels has ever been a trouble maker an' many's the loggin' he's won for it. An' ye say the word, we'll put he an' his crony ashore on some handy cay with a gang of yonder scum an' leave 'em be to fight it out 'twixt 'emselves."

Peter shook his head. "Nay, Jake," he replied. "If Silver Heels or any of the others be discontented and wish not longer to bide with me, then will I put within reach of friendly port and bid them go."

"Hear ye that, lads!" shouted Jake, again addressing the crowd that still remained on deck. "Naught could be fairer. Let them as wants to go buccaneerin' in other ships step aft an' ye'll be set safe ashore an' no hard feelin's."

But Silver Heels' declaration of fidelity to his commanders had been overheard. The men, whose dull wits could not see through his double dealing and deceit, were confused, disappointed and at a loss. Realizing that half a loaf is better than no bread, they instantly decided that the loot to be won by preying on the buccaneers' ships was preferable to being "on the beach" without a centavo to their names. So no member of the company stepped out at Jake's words. Then a tall, sinewy, logwood cutter spoke: "Beggin' yer pardon, cap'n," he cried, "might I be arskin' of a question—meanin' no harm an' no offense to no one, so to say?"

Peter nodded. "Aye," he replied, "but whether I give answer or not is another matter."

The fellow, somewhat embarrassed at his own boldness, cleared his throat and spat viciously over the rail.

"Jake, yonder," he began, "was a-tell-in' of us as how ye have grudge against the Brethren an' was a-piratin' of 'em. Now me an' me mates was a-thinkin' as we'd have chance to even old scores a bit by a j'inin' of ye, but we was minded as how ye'd be doin' buccaneerin' an' a-takin' of loot, too. Then, strike me blind, if we don't find ye a parsin' of yonder Don by without firin' of a shot, an' we says, says we, this ain't no fit buccaneer craft for we if we ben't takin' of prizes, says we. An' now me an' me mates'll be arskin' of ye why ye ben't takin' of Dons' ships an' loot, an' where, we're arskin' of ye, do we get our lay of swag if ye ain't, says I? An' I'd be arskin' of ye, too, what ye got against the Brethren, cap'n? An' if 'tis all on 'em ye have mind to set on, or sartin' of 'em?"

"I be no buccaneer," replied Peter, "and that you knew when you joined my ship. I have naught against the Dons and I molest them not, but there be booty aboard the buccaneers' ships an' to spare; aye more loot than aboard ships of Spain, and what we rob from the robbers is your gain. What I hold against the buccaneers is concern of mine own and has naught to do with you. But I mind not telling you that 'tis against all, but most against he that is known as Captain Starling."

"And now back to your kennels," snapped out Jake as Peter ceased speaking. "And thank your stars ye have a fine, fair cap'n, an' that yer misbegotten carcasses ben't danglin' to yardarm for darin' to threaten mutiny aboard of this ship."

Still glowering but obedient, the crew turned toward the bows, carrying their dead comrade with them and casting longing, hungry glances at the rapidly vanishing topsails of the galleon, now hull down on the horizon.

For a time the trouble was over. No doubt, as Jake told Peter, the men would mull the matter over, would argue among themselves, would discuss the pros and cons of the affair, and, as a result, would be divided and broken up; some still remaining discontented and wishing to follow the true buccaneer's life, others standing by their officers, while—so the one-eared rascal affirmed —if Silver Heels had had a part in the mutinous attitude of the men he would be cordially hated by them for deserting their cause at the critical moment and would have no further influence with them.

In a way, the experienced old pirate's prophecy was borne out. The men did not argue and discuss the matter and many, especially those who had been with Peter on the piragua and had won riches in the taking of Mace's ship, were loud in their avowals of faithfulness to Peter and Jake and declared they had never intended either mutiny or disobedience. Others, as Jake had foreseen, still grumbled and growled and threatened. But Jake had underestimated Silver Heels' influence and power. A few of the men were outspoken in their opinion of his disavowal of any part in the affair when called upon, but others, who had thought on the matter, had rightly come to the conclusion that Silver Heels had some good reasons for his seeming treachery, and still defended him.

"He be a rare wise old bird, do Silver Heels," declared one hoary old corsair. "Aye, mates, he had reason for a denyin' of sayin' aught to us or a knowin' of what we was after, an' ye can lay to that, I'm sayin'."

"Aye, blow me if he hadn't!" jeered a red-faced youth whose right shoulder, due to some wound or injury, projected forward and had won him the nickname of "Starboard-tack" Jack, "Aye, a right good reason—Jake's pistol muzzle at his breast."

A chorus of laughs mingled with growls of disapproval greeted the deformed man's sally.

"Aye," he continued, "an' mind ye what Jake was sayin'! That fair words don't make fair men! Scuttle me, but he might have added as brave boots don't make brave hearts, an' him with his sil'er heels an' crooked mouth a-gab-blin' like frighted woman an' most a-beggin' of Jake not to shoot him."

"Say that to Sil'er Heels, Jack," rumbled another man. "Faith, ye be the first to talk of he bein' coward.''

"Mayhap he be not—with a crowd of stout lads at his back," admitted Jack. "But, stiffen one, if he weren't scared when he see Jake's pistol aimin' at he, an' Bill a-lyin' there where he'd been shot down by that there same pistol."

"Ye're a babblin' fool," growled another. " 'Tis brains, not bravado, what tells. Belike Sil'er Heels knowed better'n to get kilt or hurted then. What good would it have done us, I'm askin' of ye, if he had? Nay, a dead leader's no use to none but the sharks, but a live un's a live un an' Sil'er Heels ain't done yet.''

Jack chuckled. "An' faith, if Sil'er Heels ben't blessed with more brains than bravado 'tis little he has to be blowed out of his skull when the time comes," he declared. "An' mark me well, mates, he'll be more use to the sharks than to we if he runs 'thwart the hawse of One-eared Jake or Cap'n Red Peter too often."

The retort to this was never uttered, for at this moment the cry of "sail!" was raised, and the men forgot all differences as they scrambled to vantage points, peering ahead at the distant ship.

CHAPTER IX.

To the men's delight she was soon identified as a buccaneer—a French ship, and the ill feeling between the French and British freebooters running high at that time, the men on Peter's vessel were almost as pleased at the prospect of attacking the Frenchman as though she had been a Spanish galleon.

But for once, Fate or luck was against Peter. The French captain, suspicious of any British vessel, whether buccaneer or merchantman, was taking no chances and was thoroughly prepared for anything when the Sea Gull came within hail. And the more he studied the ship flying the scarlet burgee, the more he disliked the appearance of the ready guns grinning from their ports and the rough-looking swarm of men upon the decks. When it was evident that the Sea Gull intended to run alongside, the French captain leaped to the rail of his lofty, gilded poop and roared out an order in broken English to "sheer off." Then, seeing this was disregarded, he suddenly shifted his helm, and running up into the wind, tacked. The maneuver was deftly executed and those on the Sea Gull, being absolutely unprepared for it, were unable to shift their course or trim sail until their vessel had swept past the Frenchman whose immense lateen sails enabled him to handle his craft much more quickly and easily than was possible with the square sails of Peter's vessel.

"Curse him for a frog-eating Frenchie!" cried Jake, as orders were shouted and the men rushed to braces and bowlines and he strove to bring the Sea Gull about. "Sink me if he ben't scared of lettin' of us alongside."

Had the French captain been sure that those on the Sea Gull had hostile intentions he might easily have sunk the ship with a broadside, but as yet there had been nothing to prove they were not friendly, and he had no desire to engage in battle if it was unwarranted. So, with every man ready to obey any order, the French buccaneer awaited the next move of the Sea Gull. It was not long in coming. Bringing the ship about in wonderfully quick time, Jake headed again for the French vessel, hoping to get at close quarters before the other could evade him, and to proclaim his intentions and pour in a broadside at the same instant. But once more the French freebooter out-maneuvered the one-eared pirate. He had noticed men at the ship's guns; he no longer doubted that she intended to attack him. Being a firm believer in the advantage of striking the first blow, he luffed his vessel, and as the Sea Gull swept by within a cable's length, he poured a broadside into her stern.

Fortunately for Peter and his ship the French gunners were poor shots, and in their excitement had failed to alter the original elevation of their pieces which had been trained for long range. As a result, the bulk of the metal went screeching over the heads of those on the Sea Gull, ripping through sails and rigging, carrying away a few spars, but doing little serious damage. One chain shot tore through the quarter gallery, disabling the rudder. Another struck the after gun, dismounting it and killing the gunners, and a third ripped along the Sea Gull's starboard side, carrying away the gun port bulkheads, knocking guns helter-skelter and effectually putting all but three of the starboard guns out of commission. Unmanageable, helpless and crippled, the Sea Gull swung into the wind. As she did so, thus bringing her port side toward the French vessel, her heavy guns thundered out and a terrific hail of shot was hurled at the other craft. But the broadside had come too late. The Frenchman had no desire to endanger his ship and men in an engagement that promised no returns in booty, and no sooner had he raked the Sea Gull with his battery than he bore off before the wind at topmost speed. As a result, the shot from Peter's heavy artillery hurtled harmlessly into the sea, only two reaching their mark, and these doing no greater damage than to carry away the ornate lantern on the Frenchman's poop and to knock ten feet of scroll work from her highly-decorated quarter.

Jake was fairly beside himself with rage. His pop eyes seemed about to burst from their sockets, his face was purple, he foamed at the mouth, and he swore and cursed until even the hardened men shrank back, as he gazed at the damage wrought, at the littered, wreckage-covered decks, and at the unhurt, rapidly vanishing, French ship.

It was bad enough to be beaten by a Frenchman, but to be crippled, put out of the running, and not even have a chance to get in a telling shot in retaliation, was more than the one-eared old reprobate could stand. Even Peter's arguments that they were lucky to have gotten off so easily were of no avail. Jake fumed and raged, driving the men to superhuman efforts to clear away the litter and repair the damage, swearing vengeance on the French captain and acting for all the world as though the Frenchman had been the aggressor and the Sea Gull an innocent, peaceful ship fired upon without provocation.

So maddened with rage was he that he gave orders as though he were in command, paid no heed to Peter and behaved altogether like a maniac. And when he turned on Peter, and quite forgetting who he was addressing, uttered a foul oath in response to a question, Peter's hot blood rose, and leaping forward, he drove his fist full into his mate's face. Jake staggered back, one pop eye half closed, blood streaming from his nose and amazement on his rage-distorted features.

But Peter's blow had brought him to his senses.

"Blow me, but ye done right, cap'n," he spluttered. "Faith, an' I crave pardon, but I was that beside meself I fair forgot I wasn't cap'n meself."

The men working madly at the wreckage had been too busy to see this momentary set-to between their commander and mate, but Silver Heels had taken it in and burst into a sneering laugh as Jake uttered his apology.

"Ye snickerin' popinjay!" snarled' Jake, turning on Silver Heels, and only too glad of a chance to vent his fury on some one. "Ye laugh, do ye! Belike, that'll straighten yer mouth for ye!"

As he spoke, he aimed a vicious blow at Silver Heels' face. But the fellow had expected it; had, in fact, purposely tried to excite Jake's anger. As Jake leaped at him he swung up his right hand, there was the flash of steel, and with a half inarticulate cry, the one-eared pirate staggered back, blood streaming from an ugly gash in the shoulder. Had it not been for his upraised arm which had foiled Silver Heels' stroke, the knife would have been plunged into Jake's breast, and his life would have sped then and there.

Peter had seen all. At the flash of the blade he had leaped forward, drawing his sword as he did so; but he was at too close quarters to use the steel. Quickly shifting his grip, he brought the hand-wrought iron hilt crashing onto Silver Heels' head, and despite the thick felt hat and the kerchief under it, the man went down like a felled ox.

Whether he was dead or merely stunned Peter neither knew nor cared. He had struck at Jake with intent to kill, and as yet Peter was not sure whether his mate had received a mortal wound or not. But his first glance at the gash assured him that Jake's time had not yet come, for the mate, swearing roundly and cursing Silver' Heels fluently, seemed quite as strong and sound as ever, despite the loss of blood dripping from the long, deep cut. By this time the men's attentions had been attracted to the quarter deck, and dropping their work, they had gathered about, some even climbing up the ladders to the poop to get a better view of what was going on.

And what they saw was decidedly disconcerting to some and quite to the liking of others. Silver Heels was stretched senseless on the deck, Jake, with blood flowing copiously from his sleeve, was being aided by Peter whose face bore an expression none had ever seen before, while Black Tom was crouching near the helm, lips drawn back, eyes glaring, and poised as if half minded to spring upon the captain and mate, and yet fearing to do so.

Disgruntled at having been beaten by the Frenchman and having no booty for their pains, malcontented as they were, the mutinous members of the crew saw, in the preoccupation of Peter and in Jake's wound, a chance to strike, despite the fact that Silver Heels, whom they had counted upon, was either dead or unconscious. Whipping out a pistol, the nearest fellow sprang up the last few steps to the deck, calling to the others to follow, and hurled himself toward Peter and Jake. Instantly the others were at his heels. A leader had been needed, a leader had arisen, and like snarling wolves, they followed him.

At the sound of footsteps and of growling voices, Peter and Jake wheeled and faced the oncoming cutthroats. With a curse, Jake drew his pistol with his left hand and fired and Peter's sword flashed from its scabbard. The leader's pistol fell clattering to the deck as Jake's bullet crashed through his arm, but the onrush was unchecked.

An instant more and Peter and Jake would have been overwhelmed—would have been borne down, torn to pieces. But before that instant passed, at the second when the foremost mutineer met Peter's sword, there was a thunderous explosion, a belching burst of flame and smoke from the starboard side of the poop. Before the amazed, half-blinded eyes of Peter and Jake, the oncoming pirates seemed to dissolve in air; seemed to be swept from before them like chaff. Where an instant before had been a murderous mob of shouting savage men, was now a hideous litter of dead and dying men, of severed limbs, of gruesome blood and shattered flesh. Half stunned by the explosion so near them, for a moment unable to understand what had occurred, Peter staggered back, wiping the pungent powder smoke from his smarting eyes and stared about. And then he knew. Beside the starboard carronade, stood two men, one a gnarled old villain, the other a younger man whose projecting right shoulder identified him as Starboard-tack Jack. From the grim muzzle of the bronze piece, wisps of smoke still drifted and the muzzle pointed inward across the decks!

With a grin, Starboard-tack Jack touched his forehead. "Scuttle me, cap'n, but I feared I'd aimed too far aft," he exclaimed, as he saw Peter and Jake were unhurt by the terrific blast from the carronade that he and his crony had wheeled about and had discharged into the mutineers in the nick of time.

"I be no gunner, as ye know, an' old Bart here, ain't much better. But I see 'twas no time for pickin' an' choosin' an' we took the chance. Blow me for a bloomin' sojer, but I'm think-in' there be few of 'em swabs left for to mutiny."

"Aye," cackled old Bartholomew. 'An' ye fair made a holy mess of yon decks, Jackie. 'Twill be takin' a shipload of holystones an' a sea of water to clean 'em up, lad."

"You saved our lives, men," cried Peter, stepping forward and grasping-the hands of the two faithful men. "And we'll not forget."

"That we won't, lad," declared Jake. "By the bones of Drake, 'twas a merry thought ye had."

"An' pity Sil'er Heels were not amongst 'em," put in old Bart. "Though," he added, with a glance at the still prostrate Silver Heels, "he do look uncommon dead. Mayhap, cap'n, ye cracked his skull as neat as ye served Jerry Mace."

Jack chuckled. "Do ye mind how I was sayin' as he'd be more use to the sharks than to we if he fouled cap'n's hawse?" he queried.

" ‘Tis all the likes of he be fitten for," mumbled Bart, as he stepped toward Silver Heels. "Come, Jackie lad, let's be not keepin' the sharks waitin'."

As they stooped to lift Silver Heels' body, old Bart started. "He ben't dead!" he exclaimed.

"Sink me, if he be," cried Jack. "Faith, cap'n, shall we heave him o'er side ere he knows he lives?"

"Nay," commanded Peter. "You be murderous rascals to give thought to such act. Take him below, secure him well, and when he recovers I will pass upon his case."

Jake shook his head a bit dubiously as the others lifted Silver Heels and carried him below.

"Belike 'tis a pity he wasn't tossed over, dead or alive," he muttered. "Mark me well, cap'n, 'twere better to have end of such as he. But," as an afterthought, "mayhap 'twere better yet to hang him to yardarm for 'tothers to see. An', sink me, where be that sea louse, Black Tom?"

Peter shook his head. "I know not," he replied. "Perchance amongst the crew."

But a search among the men revealed no sign of Black Tom's presence, and Jake declared he must have been blown to pieces along with half a dozen of the mutineers by the opportune discharge of the carronade.

As far as the uprising was concerned, all troubles were over. The men, awed and terrorized by the sudden and awful fate of their fellows, had lost all desire to assert themselves. Both faithful and rebellious men had retreated to the forward portion of the ship and stood silent, speaking in lowered tones, and anxiously awaiting the next move of Peter and Jake who, with old Bart and Starboard-tack Jack, were talking together on the poop. That swift punishment would be meted out to them, the mutineers were convinced, and their only concern was whether they would be marooned, forced to walk the plank, or summarily hanged.

Jake was all for making a terrible example of the rascals, and old Bart supported him, but Peter had other ideas and Jack agreed with him.

He pointed out that if the remaining mutineers were executed or marooned the ship would be left short-handed and might fall an easy prey to the first buccaneer's ship they met; for the Frenchman, having escaped, would unquestionably spread the news of the former Malice's attack upon him. From now on they might expect to find the freebooters prepared for battle whenever they were sighted. Moreover, he argued, the men had already received a wholesome lesson and a severe punishment, and those malcontents remaining would be only too willing to serve faithfully to save their lives. Finally, as he stated to the others, it would be almost impossible to identify the mutineers, for even Jack could not with certainty name them all and they were not likely to admit their part in the uprising.

"Them as talked the most be gone to their last port," said Jack. "An' with Sil'er Heels lyin' with cracked pate, an' trussed neat and tidy below, the lads'll not be makin' trouble more."

"Mayhap ye be right," assented Jake a bit reluctantly. "An' 'tis true we cannot be Ieavin' of oursel's short-handed. Aye, most of 'em's been that near hell they heard the flames roarin', an' belike they'll not be longin' for gettin' nearer."

So it was agreed that, for the present at least, the men should be left unpunished, and after a forcible harangue by Jake, they were ordered to work, repairing the neglected damages and scouring the "holy mess" as Bart had called the carnage on the poop, from the planks.

By evening the Sea Gull was once more under sail and on her way while the crew, many of whom had pictured their lifeless bodies floating on the sea or dangling from the yards ere sundown, used every effort to show their submissiveness and willingness to serve. Indeed, Jake with a chuckle, declared that he had never seen more nimble, obedient men and that, in his opinion, a mutiny followed by blowing a dozen men to bits might prove a desirable part of the daily routine of a ship.

In this, Jack and Bart were rather inclined to agree with him, for these two worthies lot had been vastly improved by the events of the memorable day. Bart had been given Black Tom's place as quartermaster, and Starboard-tack Jack had stepped into Silver Heels position as second mate. From ordinary seamen they had been transformed to officers, and Jack, feeling that his new position warranted it, had arrayed himself as befitted the occasion. With his malformed shoulder hunched forward he paced the high deck garbed in a long-skirted coat of wine color so smeared with dirt and grime that it appeared a dull brown, a tattered shirt of what had once been fine linen, wide breeches of black, banded with white, a black beribboned hat on his head and battered jack boots on his bare feet. Bart, who possessed no such resources in the way of a wardrobe, had contented himself by donning a flapping straw hat which was jammed over the gray bandanna tied about his gray head, thrusting his feet into almost soleless shoes with immense brass buckles, and adding a strip of scarlet rag as an auxiliary to the tarred marline that supported his dilapidated canvas breeches.

Silver Heels' case still remained unsettled. That he richly deserved death all agreed, but Peter, who had been taught and trained by a former grandee of Spain, felt that to execute an injured man would be a cowardly act and was for nursing the ringleader of the mutiny to health before passing sentence. Jack suggested as a compromise that he be marooned, while old Bart, with a toothless grin, hinted that if the captain should turn Silver Heels over to the crew there would be no further need of bothering their heads over his fate.

Finally a compromise was reached and it was agreed that until Silver Heels had fully recovered he should remain a prisoner, and that as soon as he was able to care for himself he should be placed in a small boat with a slender stock of food and water and set adrift off some uninhabited shore, thus leaving it to himself to remain marooned or pull for the nearest settlement. .

But the best-laid plans of the four in command of the Sea Gull were as apt to go awry as the plans of other men. At the change of watch, old Bart was sent below to see how the captive fared and to serve him food and water. A moment later, his cracked voice echoed through the ship in a high-pitched shout, his rapid footsteps clattered up the ladder, and with his disreputable hat flapping about his eyes and his tattered shirt flying, he came racing aft.

"He be gone!" he shrilled. "Gone, body an' soul. Aye, stab me if he ben't —belike the devil's tooken he!"

"Gone!" cried Jake. "Ye blatherin' scum of a madhouse how be he gone?"

Without waiting for a reply, the one-eared sailor dashed below with Peter. But old Bart was right. There was no trace of Silver Heels who, a short time before, had been lying securely bound, and apparently helpless from his wounded head, within the tiny cubbyhole of a lazarette. He had vanished as completely as though Satan had flown off with him, as Bart had said.

"By the bones of Drake, there be treachery aboard!" cried Jake. "He could never win away without help. Sink me, but I'll have the blood of them as has done this."

"Yea, he escaped not alone," agreed Peter. "Mayhap—yea that is it, Jake —Black Tom has had a hand in it. Methinks he was in hiding for this very purpose."

"Then strike me dead if I don't have 'em!" exploded Jake. "They have neither wings to fly nor fins to swim, an' they'll be still aboard. Sink me, but I'll rip the planks from timbers to find 'em!"

"Mayhap, if they be still aboard," said Peter. "But I misdoubt it, Jake. Seek first if a boat be not missing."

Jake's jaw dropped. "Blood an' powder!" he exclaimed. "I be a fair idiot, in truth."

Turning, he hurried on deck and rapidly made the rounds of the boats. But he did not have far to search. The wherry, which had been used in clearing away the wreckage of the battle, had been left in the water, trailing astern at the end of its painter, and as Jake grasped the line and drew it in the mystery was solved. The rope had been cut—the wherry was gone.

Disgustedly Jake dropped the severed rope, gazed about the dark sea and muttered an oath.

"Fair gone—the crooked-mouthed dog," he muttered. "Aye, an' that black sea louse with him, I'll warrant. Faith, cap'n, didn't I say 'twere better to have tossed him to the sharks this morn?"

"Scuttle me, Jake, but 'twould have but given the beasts their meal the sooner," remarked Jack. "An' they'll be gettin' twice the feedin' now. Yon wherry'll not live long in the blow that's comin', an' ye can lay to that."

"Aye, the devil'll have his own," mumbled old Bart, nodding his head. "He was a goin' to be set adrift in a boat anyhow, an' he's but saved us the bother."

"Yea," agreed Peter, "and his blood is not on mine hands. Look you, Jake, 'twill be a wild night as Jack says."

So fully occupied had they been with the escape of Silver Heels that they had not noticed the rising sea and increasing wind, but now that Jack had called attention to the weather, all could see that they were in for a blow, or perhaps a hurricane.

Shouting orders, Jake and the others routed up the crew. Men came racing across the decks and swarmed into the rigging; and hurriedly, feverishly, sails were stowed and reefed and all made snug. Before it was accomplished, the wind was screeching through the rigging, great black seas came surging out of the west to break in hissing foam, livid in the incessant greenish glare of lightning. Inky, shredded clouds scudded by so low that the dizzily rolling mastheads seemed to pierce them, and under almost bare poles, the Sea Gull raced through the night before the tempest.

Stanch, buoyant, well found as she was, the big ship strained, pitched, groaned and trembled, and all upon the Sea Gull knew that Silver Heels and Black Tom—or whoever had escaped with him—must have gone to death in the storm-lashed sea. No small boat could survive an hour, and with every sense, every ounce of their strength, all their seamanship, devoted to bringing the vessel in safety through the hurricane, those upon Peter's reeling, pitching ship gave no further thought to the wherry and its human freight.

CHAPTER X.

The Sea Gull safely weathered the storm, though driven far to the east, and a few days later, successfully attacked and took a buccaneer ship with no inconsiderable booty, though losses were heavy on both sides.

Weeks passed and grew into months, and still Peter and his men cruised, having many a battle, taking many a ship, and putting into out-of-the-way spots far from settlements of the Dons or haunts of the Brethren to refit and secure water and supplies. Several times, too, they visited ports wherein no buccaneer dared set foot, orderly, law-abiding isles and towns. And with incredible speed, considering the means of communication of the times, word of Peter's object, and stories of his deeds, spread far and near.

By the peaceful inhabitants, Peter was looked upon as a sort of hero, for, with the treaty of peace signed between Spain and England, the buccaneers were deteriorating into common pirates and more than one British and French ship had been taken by them. But the stories of the Sea Gull's activities and of Peter's deeds had also reached the ears of the freebooters, and every corsair craft kept a sharp lookout for the ship flying the scarlet flag with the white bird, and none were to be caught napping as in the early days of Peter's cruise. Several times he had been beaten in battle and had been driven off, and few of his original crew remained. Jake had come through it all unscathed, Starboard-tack Jack was still there, and old Bart was much the same as ever, aside from three fingers of his left hand which had been lopped off by a cutlass in the hand of a buccaneer.

The ship, too, had suffered. Her rigging had been shot away, repaired and replaced in a score of places. Her hull had been pierced by cannon shot and had been patched, but still Peter refused to desert the vessel that had served him so well, and in her stead make use of one of his prizes. And in this, Jake, who was not a little superstitious, heartily agreed with his captain. During the months that had passed the two had become the closest friends. In fact they were more like brothers; and while Jake was ever respectful and deferential to Peter in the presence of others, still, when by themselves, the two were on most intimate terms. And Jake had never forgotten that he owed his life to Peter. Though he had put in many a timely stroke and had fired many an opportune pistol shot in the nick of time to save Peter, he still vowed the score was not evened and never would be. Both Bart and Jack would also willingly have given their lives if need be for either their redheaded young captain or the villainous-looking, one-eared old pirate, and the four had piled up fairly comfortable fortunes in loot taken from the sea robbers whom they had robbed.

It was not strange that Peter should have saved, for he was no spendthrift and was a temperate man for his times, but it was little short of incredible that the other three should have put away a centavo of their booty. Jake had never thought of money or treasure except as a means to an unholy spree, and Jack, and even the ancient Bart, had always been as free with their gold as any of the freebooters. But under Peter's influence they had greatly changed in their ways. Moreover, for the first month or two, they had had no opportunity to spend their riches, even had they so desired, for the Sea Gull had given a wide berth to all spots where such pleasures as they craved were to be had. During that time they had contented themselves with gloating over their rapidly accumulating wealth and imagining the glorious debauch that it would buy when they reached port. But gradually, the saving habit grew upon them and they spent hours trying to calculate how much they would have at the end of six months and arguing over the best way to spend it.

Old Bart, to every one's amusement, vowed he was going to marry and settle down, "to spend me old age," as he put it.

"Belay!" Jake had cried, "Ye be a dodderin' derelict nigh a hundred year old now. Sink me, where think ye ye'd find woman to mate with a bag of skin an' bones like ye?"

The ancient pirate's eyes narrowed and his toothless gums showed in a wide grin. "Faith, Jake, me lad," he had cackled, "ye may be a fair fine sailor an' tidy hand with cutlass an' pistol, but ye know naught of woman. Nay, give the wooden figgerhead of a ship bags of good gold, or fill scarecrows' pockets with pieces of eight, an' ye'll not meet lack of lassies willin' to marry of 'em. An', ye crab-eyed old swab, I ben't old—mayhap a bit o'er three score—an' a long life an' a easy one is afore me bows."

Jack chuckled. "Aye, Bart," he exclaimed. "An' after ye be settled with the missus I'll be droppin' in for a bit of chat an' to dangle yer younkers on me knee!"

"Mayhap, mayhap;" nodded the old fellow, failing to note Jack’s wink and the banter in his tones. "Aye, an' I'm minded to name one of 'em after ye, an' mayhap t'others for Jake an' cap'n."

"Heaven have mercy on ye for a old simpleton! Mayhap they'd be all lassies!" roared Jake.

"Stab me if I thought of that," cried Bart, and mumbling to himself, he forgot all else in his efforts to think of some scheme for avoiding such a catastrophe.

As for Jake, he declared that he would purchase a ship and go trading. Jack vowed he'd sail for England and go to farming, while Peter's one thought was to use his wealth in traveling about in search of his birthplace and parents. In fact, with the passing of the days, he became more and more concerned over this matter. Destroying the buccaneers' ships and their crews was beginning to pale and seemed of little use, for, as he confided to Jake, there always seemed to be as many more, no matter how many he swept from the sea, and despite all his efforts, he had so far been unable to come to grips with the man he sought most of all—the redoubtable Starling.

Thus matters stood when the Sea Gull, being in need of supplies, put into Barbados and came to anchor in Carlisle Bay off Bridgetown.

There was no fear of buccaneers to make matters uncomfortable for Peter and his men here. Never had the Barbadians countenanced the freebooters, nor winked at their misdeeds as had the denizens of many other British isles, and Peter felt safe in entering the harbor and letting his sea-weary men ashore. But he had no intention of allowing them to make trouble by overdrinking and carousing. Knowing the ways of the rough fellows as well as any one by this time, he gave orders to Jake that the men should be given only such portions of their dues as might be safely spent. Of course, the rascals grumbled, for there were attractions, such as they sought, to be had in plenty in Bridgetown. But Peter's word was law, and the reputation he had earned —not to mention Jake's and Jack's— was such that the most blustering, swashbuckling, mutinous buccaneer on the Caribbean would think twice before showing open rebellion.

Leaving the ship in charge of old Bart and Jack, Peter went ashore with Jake. Scarcely had they stepped upon the quay when an officer in the king's uniform approached them.

"Sink me if he don't think we be pirates," exclaimed Jake.

"Nay, more likely some of our men have been overgay," muttered Peter.

"If I mistake not, you come from yonder ship, the Sea Gull," said the officer, barring their way while a gaping, curious crowd of white, black and colored onlookers gathered about the three.

Peter nodded in assent.

"And I judge that you, sir," he said to Peter, "be the captain."

"Aye, Captain Red Peter."

"Then, captain," continued the other. " 'Tis my orders to conduct you before his excellency, the governor."

"Did I not say he took we for pirates," exclaimed Jake in a hoarse whisper intended only for Peter's ears, but which was quite audible to all within a dozen paces.

"Nay, his excellency knows well who you be," the officer assured them. " ‘Tis his pleasure to have word with ye."

Curious to know why the governor should have summoned him, and how, indeed, his excellency had ever heard of him, Peter, with Jake striding by his side, followed the officer through Bridgetown's streets toward the government house.

The governor, a middle-aged man with twinkling eyes, soon appeared in the reception hall where the one-eared pirate, very ill at ease, and the redheaded young captain of the Sea Gull were waiting.

"So you be Captain Red Peter!" exclaimed the governor, extending his hand. "Zounds! but you are a mere stripling, captain. I thought, from tales that had reached mine ears, that I would see a grizzle-headed man. And yonder old sea dog," he continued, nodding toward Jake, "he, I take it, is your master-at-arms?"

"And my mate as well, your excellency," replied Peter. "A faithful man and true. He be known as One-eared Jake."

"A most fitting name, in truth," laughed the governor. "Though both it and its bearer savor mightily of piracy."

"Aye," burst out Jake. "An' afore cap'n here ran afoul of me, 'twere name an' face as were knowed far an' near 'mongst the Brethren an' with deeds ahind 'em as no man need be 'shamed on."

"No doubt, no doubt!" agreed the governor. "And if words I have heard be truth, much less to be ashamed of since joining Captain Peter. And now," he went on after seating himself, "for the purpose of mine audience with you, captain.

" 'Tis little passes in the Indies that comes not to mine ears in due time," he continued. "And from time to time word of your deeds has been brought hither. 'Tis no secret, I take it, that for some strange cause you have chosen to gather unto yourself a wild crew of rovers and with them have wrought havoc 'mongst the pirates, for such be the buccaneers to-day since our majesty the king has signed treaty of peace with Spain. Those who harass the Dons violate the pledge of friendship 'twixt their majesties and thereby are but common malefactors to be punished as the law decrees.

"But, though edicts have gone forth to this effect, and decreeing severe punishments for all pirates, yet the corsairs still sail and snap their fingers at law and treaties. Faith, 'tis little wonder. England has few ships and fewer men with which to patrol the seas; and those of her colonies in the West Indies —though I regret to say it—are much in secret sympathy with the pirates, and will do little or naught to bring them to justice. Aye, they be more likely to give warning to the rascals and afford them safe harbor, methinks. Yea, even from Jamaica, where Sir Henry Morgan rules with iron hand, rumor has it that pirate ships still set sail and that the ex-buccaneer reaps benefit to his purse thereby.

"But we of Barbados have no patience, nor feeling for the freebooters, and it had been in my mind, to equip a vessel to aid his majesty's forces in suppressing piracy upon the Caribbean. Then to me came word of your deeds, and by chance your ship—as though guided by Fate or Providence—dropped anchor off our port. Here then, captain, is my proposal—that you shall act for us and his majesty, continuing to prey upon the corsairs, but under royal warrant. 'Twill hamper you not at all and give unto you due authority for destroying the pirates, though perchance the glory, if aught there be, may redound more to mine own credit and that of England than to thyself. And there be another matter to consider. I know not if you destroy the pirates for sake of loot or merely for some whim of thy fancy, and it matters not a farthing to me. But with royal commission to prosecute thy strange warfare, there will be prize money and recompense for thyself and thy men as well. What think you, captain? Wilt join the forces of his majesty and sail under the banner of England?"

Peter was quite speechless with surprise at the wholly unexpected proposition of the governor, and Jake, for once, was too amazed even to blurt out a quaint oath. To sail with a royal commission, to fly the white ensign and become a member—if an irregular one— of England's naval forces; to be an accredited representative of Britain's power were honors Peter had never dreamed of. To accept the governor's proposal would not in the least interfere with his plans. It would give him prestige and standing. Any pirate who resisted him would be using force of arms against the British Crown, and he could freely visit any British or friendly port without fear. But how would his wild crew take it? How would Jake and the others like the change from a free lance to a British privateer? They had signed on with Peter, but not on a privateering vessel, and they had the right to say whether or not they would serve under royal commission.

But as far as Jake was concerned that worthy settled the matter before Peter could speak.

"Sink me!" he cried. "But who'd 'a' thought of seein' One-eared Jake a sailin' in king's ship an' a huntin' down of the Brethren? Bones of Drake!' That be a right merry jest, sir, blow me, if it ben't. An' fair fine for ye, cap'n. I warrant them as meets ye'll think twice afore firin' on the Sea Gull with the cross of St. George a-flyin' from her peak. An' belike ye'll be a-findin' out of who ye be, what with a visitin' the isles an' gov'nors, an' all."

His excellency, who had been listening to Jake's words with a smile, showed signs of interest as he spoke the last sentence.

"What's that?" he exclaimed. "You mean Captain Peter knows not his parentage?"

"Nor mine country," put in Peter before Jake could reply.

Then, in as few words as possible, he told his story to the governor, who listened intently to his account until he had ended.

"An amazing tale!" he exclaimed when Peter finished. "A most amazing and romantic tale, but after all, not so amazing. Many a youngster was left an orphan by the wild deeds of the buccaneers, and I fear much 'twill be passing hard for thee to find trace of thy origin. But, after all, what matters it? ‘Tis a man's deeds and life, not his birth, that count and, for all you know, 'tis as likely you be son of noble blood as of adventurer or seafarer. And it matters still less whether you be British, Spanish, French or Dutch. With royal warrant in thy pocket and under England's flag, English will you be if you accept mine offer, captain."

"Yea, I will accept," agreed Peter, "I was but thinking, would Jake and the others agree, and Jake takes to it as readily as he takes to ship's deck or smell of powder smoke."

So, four days later, when the Sea Gull's anchors were lifted and her sails spread and she bore outward from Carlisle Bay, the royal standard floated bravely from her peak and Peter bore the beribboned and besealed parchment that commissioned him to attack, capture and destroy all pirates and pirate craft wherever they might be met.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Red Peter Part1

Red Peter
By A. Hyatt Verrill
From Sea Stories Magazine Volume XIII FEBRUARY, 1927 Number 6.
Digital capture by Doug Frizzle September 2009.

A thrilling tale of the buccaneers who roamed the Caribbean to prey upon the galleons of Spain, and of the brave deeds of "Red Peter" who set himself to curb their ruthless depredations.

PART—1
CHAPTER I.
DON RAMON ORTEGA was dying. Very old and frail and weak he looked, propped among the coarse pillows on his rawhide bed. His gaunt, brown hands, long, bony fingers and thin, scrawny neck appeared pallid under their coat of tan. His keen eyes, beneath their bushy brows, held a vacant, far-away look—as if seeking to peer into the beyond he was soon to enter. But his voice, as he spoke, was as deep and as resonant as ever.
"Pedro mio," he said, addressing the huge-limbed youth who was seated dejectedly by the old don's bedside, "the time approaches when I breathe my last. Nay, grieve not for that. Death will be welcome and I have no regrets. Rather, rejoice that my soul may soon find rest, and listen well to my last words, for much will they mean to you. Ever have you thought me your father; but now the time comes when I must speak the truth and tell you that you are not my son. Nay, start not, Pedro. Years ago you came to me, a tiny thing lashed fast to a bit of wreckage cast upon the shores of this island by the sea.
"At first, as I saw you, my hands clenched and my mind told me to strangle your tiny throat, for your hair was ruddy, like unto the accursed British, and your eyes were blue. Then the thought came to me that among those of my own race are many both red-haired and blue-eyed, and that, perchance, you too were of Spanish blood and a victim of the thrice-cursed buccaneers. So, great pity and love took the place of hatred and anger, and tenderly I cared for the waif that fate —or the Blessed Virgin—had sent to my lonely island. And, never knowing of a surety whether your mother tongue was Castilian or English or perchance French, I taught you all three. Though, like as not, my knowledge and understanding of them, aside from my own Castilian, is poor indeed. Yet will the knowledge you have be a help to you when, after my passing, you go forth to face the world and to seek your own people. Nay, do not interrupt me, Pedro mio. There be naught upon this islet to hold you, once my old bones are laid at rest. And, as surely as the soldier crabs find their way from mountain to sea and back, so, sooner or later, will you, too, find the spot where you were born. But to go on:
"Much of my life you know; yet, of my former wealth and station I have never spoken. But know now, Pedro, that in my youth my riches were great and even his majesty the king thought it not beneath his dignity to grasp my hand, while the Donna Maria, with whom I wed, was the daughter of a grandee. Then came the accursed English, the devil-born buccaneers, to rob, torture and murder, and at one blow I lost all—wife, honor, fortune and freedom, and became a slave; a butt for curses, blows and jests, until, hoping rather for death than for freedom, I plunged into the kindly sea.
"But death was not to be my lot and upon the shores of this tiny isle I dragged myself to safety, a free man, but bereft of all that life holds worth while. But life struggles ever to fight death, Pedro mio, and I lived —though Heaven knows how—until you also came to this bit of land, and together we have labored and lived on. Mayhap, Pedro, you will find such matters as I have taught you of some avail in the world. The skill with the sword will never come amiss, as long as there be fights and wars and struggles amongst men. And to read is no mean accomplishment. And I give thanks to Heaven that I were able to write, that I could thus teach you to do the same. But otherwise I leave you little.
"There is the boat, Pedro, and little more; no wealth of gold or of fine raiment, not even a fine sword, though the blade I salvaged from the sea and fitted with hilt at my own forge, is of good Toledo make—and with less trusty blades many men have won fame and fortune.
"So, after I am gone and you have placed me in the spot beneath the palms —wherever I was wont to tell you I desired to lie—take you the boat and the sword and what few things you desire, and go forth into the world of men and struggles, from which, for so many long years, I have hidden myself. To remain here would be scarcely better than a sin, Pedro. You are young and strong and quick of wit and with more learning than many a viceroy, to say naught of your skill with the sword which—though as I myself taught you to parry and thrust, and make many intricate passes, I should not boast of— is greater than many a veteran's of the wars, and you are uncommon skilled as a sailor as well.
"The world needs brave, strong men, ready blades and good seamen, Pedro— whether you throw your lot with the accursed English, the mincing French or us dons—so bide you not here after I have passed. A few doubloons and pieces of eight you will find—those that we saved from the pockets of the dead seaman and from our sales of fish and hides—and the piragua should bring as many more—little enough, but better than none, for to go forth into the world without money is even worse than to go without a sword. What befalls you then will be but the will of Heaven, and what the future holds for you, none may say—and but one pledge I ask of you, Pedro: Be you of Spanish blood or of British, I would have your oath that ever your hand shall be against these sons of Satan, the buccaneers, and more especially that monster—the Captain Starling—who led those who robbed me of all, as I have said.
"Aye," he continued, as Pedro lifted the crucifix from the dying man's side and swore to obey his wishes: "Now may I die the more easily, even though the padres tell us 'tis a sin to leave life with hatred or vengeance in our hearts."
For a few moments the old don lay silent; only his eyes and his aimlessly moving fingers, picking at the bed coverings, showing that a spark of life yet lingered in the fever-racked, sinewy frame. Then, as if there were nothing more to be said—or as though he had lived only to complete his story and to pledge the youth to vengeance—Don Ramon closed his eyes and breathed his last, as peacefully as though falling into a restful slumber.
For a long time Pedro sat beside the bed, unable to realize that the only father he had ever known was no more. Then, convinced at last that Don Ramon had truly died, he drew the coarse cotton coverlet over the bearded face and bowed his head in sorrow. But his grief was in part assuaged by the fact that he knew—as the old don had said —that he should rejoice rather than lament. For Don Ramon had prayed most fervently for death, as for long weeks he had lain, helpless and tortured with jungle fever, and now at last he had found the peace and surcease from suffering that he had sought.
So, rising, he stepped softly to the doorway of the tiny hut, and in the glow of the setting sun made his way to that little hillock under the swaying palms that, years before, the old Spaniard had chosen as his final resting place. It was a depressing task—this digging of a grave in the soft, sandy soil—but not until his shovel grated on the coral rock itself did Pedro cease his labors. Tenderly as a mother bearing her babe, the red-haired youth carried the mortal remnant of Don Ramon through the moonlight to the newly made grave, and as gently he lowered the emaciated body to its bed of coral rock. Then, kneeling beside the grave, Pedro prayed, and placing the tiny crucifix upon the dead man's breast, he shoveled back the sand, and until day dawned, remained, with bared head beside the mound.
But as the sun rose in tropic splendor from the Caribbean, Pedro stood up and walked slowly, with bowed head, to the tiny hut. Very lonely the place seemed without the old don, and as the youth busied himself about the task of cooking a simple breakfast, his thoughts were filled with the strange tale he had heard from the lips of the dying man.
Never before had it occurred to him to leave the island whereon he and Don Ramon had dwelt for so many years. There had been no call from the outside world, no desire to leave the lovely Caribbean paradise and seek the company of his fellow men. Indeed, the very thought would have dismayed him, for he was contented. In Don Ramon he had a friend, father and comrade in one. There was ever plenty to eat, occupations to keep his strong muscles busy; and when tools, clothing or other articles were required a few pieces of eight could always be obtained by carrying a load of fish or hides to the settlements upon the mainland, two days' sail across the sparkling blue sea.
Visitors had seldom come to the isle. Now and then a chance fishing boat or some piragua or bark, trading among the islands, would anchor and its captain and crew would come ashore for a few hours. Occasionally a larger vessel would heave to and send a boat ashore for water or fresh meat and vegetables, but the island was well out of the beaten tracks of shipping and even the dreaded buccaneers saw nothing in it to attract them. An old man with a tiny farm and a small piragua, and with a youth for sole companion, promised neither loot nor merrymaking, and even when the corsairs were in need of supplies there were far too many better spots at which to rob and help themselves. So, through the long years since Don Ramon Ortega had won his freedom from the pirates and by a whim of fate had drawn himself upon the island, his peace had never been disturbed and Pedro had grown to look upon it as his only home.
But now all was changed. Don Ramon had gone, there was no one to bear him company and the dying man's revelations had aroused his youthful curiosity and had filled him with strange desires and longings.
Who was he, he wondered, as he ate his early morning meal and pondered on the past. Was he Spanish, French, English—perchance even Dutch? Did his parents still live? Would he ever find them, ever learn what fate had befallen them, why or how he had been cast adrift, lashed to a bit of wreckage? He racked his brains, striving to fathom the mystery, trying to recall some vague memory that seemed to linger in the back of his mind, a dreamlike, hazy remembrance of a bearded man, a fair-skinned woman and a ship. But was it really a memory or the figment of a dream? Pedro could not be sure and he wondered if, when he had first been cast upon the beach and had been found by Don Ramon, he had not worn something, some garment, some trinket, that might identify him later. Strange, the old man had said nothing of this, but then, even had there been such things, with his mind concentrated on his story, and being on the verge of death, he might have forgotten to mention them.
Perchance, thought Pedro, there had been something, some clew, and if so no doubt it would be in the old chest that Ramon had salvaged from a wreck and in which he kept his few valuable possessions—the coins of gold and silver, tools, fishhooks and books. As he rose, preparing to search the chest, he remembered the mark upon his own breast—the faint blue tattooing that had often aroused his childish curiosity and about which old Don Ramon had always been so reticent. Might that not be a clew to his birth? Just what it was Pedro himself could not say, for it was a somewhat blurred and intricate design and, by bending his head and straining his eyes he could barely catch a distorted view of the lower portion of the tattooing, and such a utensil as a mirror did not exist upon the island.
But the next moment, Pedro cast all such ideas and hopes aside. Surely, had the tattooing meant anything, Don Ramon would have mentioned it! Yes, if it had been upon his skin when he had been washed ashore the old man would have called attention to it as he told of the foundling's arrival. No, doubtless the don had tattooed the design upon the skin himself—for what purpose Pedro could not guess—and afterward, being ashamed to admit it, had ever refused to discuss the matter or had managed to evade the boy's queries.
So putting all thoughts of the matter from his mind, Pedro stooped over the battered old chest, opened the heavy lid, whose salt-corroded hinges creaked dolefully, and busied himself with its contents. It did not take long. Within the wooden box were Don Ramon's stained, thumbed, worm-eaten books— all saved from the sea or purchased for a few centavos from the shops in the distant town; a number of fishhooks, buttons and other household necessities; an ink horn, quills and parchment; a bag containing the half dozen doubloons taken from the pockets of a drowned seaman years before; another bag of irregularly cut "cross money" and worn pieces of eight, the result of sales of fish and hides; a few tools— hammers, saws, ax heads, nails and what not; some heavy but serviceable shoes; a few trinkets, sea shells and a silver buckle, evidently picked up on the beach; a wooden shuttle for making nets; a gourd of powder and another of slugs; a few spare flints for a gunlock; and a cumbersome pistol.
Pedro looked them all over. The fishhooks and tools were of some value and might be useful. The books he would keep as he loved them dearly. The money was, in his eyes, riches, and the powder and shot were essentials. The pistol attracted him, but a cursory examination convinced him that it too had been salvaged from the sea and that the corrosion on its lock and barrel rendered it useless as a weapon. But it was a handsome thing, its butt decorated with mother of pearl, silver, and a few dull gems, and Pedro decided that it would be well to take it and that somewhere it might be worth a few pieces of eight. So, finding that there was really nothing in the chest that he wished to leave behind, and reasoning that the chest was as good a receptacle as any in which to transport his belongings, he replaced the various articles and rose, with a sigh of disappointment, no wiser than before.
That he would leave the island he regarded as a matter of course. In the first place, he had promised—sworn upon the cross—to do so at the request of the dying man. There was nothing left to stay for and, moreover, he was so thrilled with the thought of adventure and the idea of searching for his own people that he was anxious to set forth as soon as possible.
Accordingly, he busied himself preparing for this most important step in his life. To be sure he might have placed his chest aboard the piragua, hoisted sail and departed at once. But Pedro was a sensible chap, a youth with brains to match his brawn, and he had spent his life on an island where his existence depended upon foresight and patient work. He realized that haste meant waste in such an undertaking as he had in mind—though his undertaking was still hazy and indefinite, even if its purpose were clear—and he had no intention of leaving his island home improperly equipped for any adventure that might ensue.
There was food to be prepared, vegetables to be garnered, meat to be buccaned, coconuts to be gathered. Then, the piragua must be put in good condition, her cordage spliced and overhauled, her sails mended and her leaks calked. To accomplish all this single-handed took time, and a week had passed since old Don Ramon had been laid at rest before Pedro saw everything accomplished and carried the old sea chest to the waiting piragua, moored in a sheltered cove. This and the ancient long-barreled, cumbersome musket, the few garments and cooking utensils, flint, steel and tinder and his food supplies were all that the youthful adventurer was to take. But no, there was one thing more. There was the sword, the weapon Don Ramon had mentioned, and which, in an age when most misunderstandings between men or nations were settled with cold steel, was, in a way, the most important thing of all. As the sword played an important part in Pedro's life and subsequent adventures, it may be well to digress a bit and describe the weapon more precisely.
Whence the blade had originally come Pedro did not know and Don Ramon had not seen fit to state. He had said that it was a truly good Toledo blade and Pedro—knowing the old don had been a gallant, a hidalgo and a soldier—trusted Ramon's judgment in that matter. Indeed, as he examined the sword and tested its temper and suppleness he realized that it was most uncommonly good steel—little as he knew of swords or steel. The blue sheen of its surface—for Don Ramon had ever kept the blade keen, bright and polished —fascinated him. It reminded him of the scales of a serpent in the sun, as it had always, and he remembered how, as Don Ramon had shown him how to thrust and parry and strike, the darting blade had seemed endowed with life and venom, like a snake also.
And almost as supple and mobile as a serpent was the blade, as he bent it in his strong brown hands, forcing the tip around until it met the hilt, and laughing at the hissing, ringing sound as he released his grasp and the blade sprung back, all a-quiver. Along it ran a much involved and intricate design of gold inlay, beautiful craftsmanship—though it is to be feared that Pedro could not appreciate its artistry—and there the beauty of the wondrous thing ended and stern utility began. For at the base of the blade—forged no one could say how many years before at some master armorer's forge in old Toledo—was a hilt as crude and as clumsy as the blade itself was beautiful and perfect. Don Ramon may have been a wondrous swordsman—as indeed he had been in his day—he had been a scholar, a most rare thing for those days, a grandee of Spain, a rich man, but he had been no craftsman, no mechanic. What he had known of arts and crafts, of the use of tools and of manual labor, had been acquired in hard schools—as a slave of the buccaneers and by dint of necessity in his island exile—and it is little less than a miracle that the once proud grandee, whose hands had never known toil nor stain nor callous, should have been able to produce anything by dint of his own labors.
But with the simple tools—with the surface of a rock for anvil; bits of iron from wreckage and a homemade bellows— the old don had managed to fashion a hilt for his Toledo blade. Why the sword had come to him without a hilt, no doubt would have formed a tale in itself, but it is no part of this story; for when our tale begins Don Ramon's had ended and the dead tell no tales. And so we cannot surmise as to the history of the blade or delve into the causes or the reasons for it being hilt-less, but must content ourselves with the facts as we find them when Pedro, about to set forth from his island home, made his last trip to the hut and stood for a space with the naked sword in his hands.
The hilt, as has been said, was most crudely fashioned, but though it lacked all trace of beauty, proportion or art, yet it was none the less serviceable. And though any one could have seen that it had been made by one who was not accustomed to the armorer's trade, yet any one also could have seen at a glance that it had been fashioned by one whose knowledge of swords and the needs of swordsmen was most profound. The grip, of hard native wood, was roughly whittled to shape and about it ran a guard of heavy iron, roughly, clumsily ornamented with little dents and notches cut into the unevenly hammered surface. Above this, at the base of the blade, was a huge, bell-shaped, or rather bowl-shaped guard, also showing the marks of Don Ramon's hammer, and decorated—almost pathetically—with rudely graved scrolls and lines. Below this was a truly massive bar with rounded knobs at either end, while at the very extremity of the hilt, was an immense, solid iron boss.
Grasping that rudely cut hilt of palm wood, one's hand was as safe from an opponent's blows as though encased in a gauntlet of steel. No sword, no, not even a battle-ax, could have sheared through that thick guard of bell and bar. And as Pedro held the weapon in his hand, and hefted it and tried its balance, he smiled.
"Per Dios," he muttered to himself, "I know not which end of the sword is the more dangerous. One might wield it either as blade or mace."
Then, slipping it into its rough scabbard of untanned cowhide, and buckling it around his waist, Pedro cast one final look about the hut. Stopping only to kneel beside the grassy mound under the palms and to breathe a prayer, he leaped aboard his piragua, pushed the craft from shore and, hoisting the great lateen sail, bade farewell to the island and to Don Ramon.

CHAPTER II.
Like the discoverers of old, Pedro was sailing into an unknown sea and bound for unknown lands. He had not the remotest idea of his destination, did not know what or where it was, or even if it were there, all of which may sound most contradictory and amazing, but is quite simple and perfectly true. Pedro was bound on a voyage of discovery— or at least he hoped for discoveries— as to his origin and people, and he was fully aware that he could not hope to discover anything in the sleepy little Spanish settlement on the mainland, which was the only town, the only spot, he had ever seen, aside from his island. Often he had been there, either alone or with Don Ramon, and he reasoned, with excellent logic, that had he been wafted from there Don Ramon would have known it years before. He felt quite sure that he had come from much farther away and the old Spaniard's words —that the boy might be British, or a victim of the buccaneers—had somehow impressed Pedro more than anything else.
The old don had held a lifelong racial hatred of all things English and, with good cause, of the buccaneers in particular. But Pedro had neither like nor dislike for the English—aside from what he had absorbed from Don Ramon —and, moreover, he had no idea who the English were nor what they were like. He rather imagined them as inhuman beings—possibly with horns, hoofs and forked tails, like the weird engravings of Satan in Don Ramon's book—and he was quite sure that the buccaneers at any rate must be terrifying monsters.
And not having learned the meaning of fear; having no particular hatred of any race or men, and being possessed of a great curiosity and a love of adventure, in addition to his desire to discover who he was, Pedro had made up his mind to search in the most likely fields first. As Don Ramon had pointed out, Pedro's ruddy complexion and red hair hinted of British or at least Anglo-Saxon ancestry, for while there were red-headed Spaniards they were the exceptions rather than the rule, and so Pedro deemed that the chances of his being British were better than otherwise. Moreover, had he not sworn to harass the buccaneers, and in particular to hunt down and punish Captain Starling—the most ruthless and infamous of them all? So what more natural than to head for British domains?
Unfortunately, however, Pedro had no more idea of where the English were to be found than he had of their appearance, their ways or their characteristics. But he remembered on one occasion hearing a chance visitor to the island speaking with Don Ramon about the British islands in the north and so, as the island's shores grew dim and hazy in his wake, he trimmed sail, shifted helm and headed his swift piragua straight for the north.
How far he had to sail ere sighting land, what land he would find, who would be there, he cculd not even guess; but with the sublime confidence of youth and perfect faith in his ability to make port eventually, he sailed blithely on for hour after hour. All through the day the sea stretched unbroken to the horizon on every hand. Throughout the starlit night he sailed and dozed and saw no sign of land, and when day dawned the rim of the Caribbean still swept in a vast unbroken circle. Still Pedro was not troubled. He did not realize he was in any danger, the sea held no terrors for him, and he was not really surprised at not seeing land, for he had somehow assumed that the spot he wished to reach was an incalculable distance from his island.
Before noon, however, a dim cloudlike shape took form upon the horizon to the east, and heading toward it, Pedro rapidly drew near.
It was a lovely spot, far larger than the island where Pedro had lived; luxuriant, wooded and mountainous. But to Pedro's disappointment, there was no sign of either inhabitants or settlement. Perchance, he thought, there were men on some more distant part of the coast, and so, close inshore, he cruised along, searching the endless greenery for clearing or house, until, rounding a point of rock, a quiet bay was disclosed; a cove bordered by gleaming sand above which waved nodding palms. And under the palms—houses.
Whether the men whose boats were drawn upon the beach were Spanish, English, Dutch or French, Pedro could not know, and he cared little. That they were not Indians he was positive, and, running his piragua ashore, he moored her securely and turned toward the nearest house. Already, the inhabitants had seen him, and with suspicious glances and uncertain manner, had gathered in a little group. They were a rough-looking lot, half clad in patched and ragged garments, and several held heavy muskets ready for emergencies, while others grasped cutlasses or bush-knives in their hands.
Pedro smiled as he saw them, for there was humor in the situation—a dozen brawny men half fearful of a single youth. But the natives were taking no chances. Visitors to their island were few, and the arrival of a stranger, who bore a sword at his side and a pistol in his belt, might portend almost anything. The fear of the buccaneers was ever uppermost in their minds, and the red-headed, armed fellow who sprang ashore from a piragua might, for all they knew, be a buccaneer, while the fact that he appeared alone meant nothing. How could they be sure that a dozen more corsairs were not crouching out of sight in the craft?
As Pedro drew near, one of the group called to him, and instantly Pedro realized that the fellow was speaking in an unknown tongue. It was neither Spanish, French nor English, and so he reasoned it must be Dutch. But Don Ramon's accomplishments had not included a knowledge of that language and Pedro was at a loss.
Possibly, he thought, the men might know some language other than their own, and so he replied in Spanish which came the most readily to his tongue. Scowls of hatred and suspicion swept over the faces of the strangers, and, so Pedro thought, they grasped their weapons a bit more threateningly. But they made no reply, no sign that his words were understood, and so he repeated his greeting in French. This time a look of comprehension swept over the faces of the others, and a big, rawboned, tawny-headed fellow answered in broken French, asking Pedro whence he came, who he was and what he desired.
In a few words the youth explained that he had come from his island home, that he was seeking information of his parents and was searching for an English settlement.
At this the villagers seemed vastly relieved, and their spokesman, with something of cordiality in his tones, welcomed Pedro and informed him that the village was a Swedish settlement. The nearest English island, he added, was many miles distant, but within a day's sail was another island of Sweden where, no doubt, many Englishmen could be found.
Who, or what manner of men Swedes might be, was a mystery to Pedro. He had always thought the world peopled by only four races of white men, Spanish, French, English and Dutch, and yet here, at the very first spot he had reached he had found men who were none of these and who spoke a fifth language that he had never heard of.
He was a bit amazed at his discovery, and had a curious sense of thrill. In short he felt very much like any other explorer or discoverer who finds a strange and unknown race of men, and he was greatly pleased to think that he had voyaged so far into the strange places of the world, that he should have reached an island where even the people were of a race which Don Ramon, with all his worldly wisdom and experience, had never mentioned, if, indeed, he had known of their existence. However, such sensations and thoughts made little impression upon Pedro at the time. The people, despite their race, were friendly. They spoke French and could thus converse, and he plied them with questions about the British and French islands. More, they even knew at first hand of the buccaneers, and as Pedro's quest was as much to find the freebooters and fulfill his pledge to Don Ramon as to search for his own people, he greedily absorbed all the information which the Swedes vouchsafed regarding the filibusters.
"They be of both French and British blood," his informant declared. "And nest together in many a spot. Perchance, at St. Barts, you may find them —though why you desire to, instead of striving to avoid the villains, is a mystery—for ofttimes they visit that isle in their wanderings."
"But do they not fall upon the denizens of that island you call St. Barts?" asked Pedro, who imagined the freebooters sworn enemies of all mankind.
"Nay," replied the other. "Rather are they welcomed, for they spend many a doubloon and countless pieces of eight in their roisterings ashore. But," he added, "you tell a strange tale, and to my mind, your chance of success is as great among the French as among the English. Aye, you may be of Dutch or even Swedish or yet of Danish blood."
Surprises were coming fast to Pedro. His new acquaintance was referring to still another race of white men. For aught he knew, there might be still others and for the first time he began to realize what a hopeless task he had before him. But the news that he was nearing the haunts of the buccaneers, and settlements where there were both English and French, encouraged him and having refreshed and rested himself he once more set sail, heading for St. Barts according to the directions of the Swedish settlers on the mountainous bit of land.
Without adventure, Pedro sailed onward until he saw the outlines of other islands rising from the sea before him, and heading for that which he deemed to be St. Barts, he presently distinguished the buildings of a town rising above the turquoise water and with a good-sized fleet of vessels anchored off the shore. But as he neared the land the wind fell, and the sun had sunk below the rim of the sea and night was falling before he gained the harbor. From the town, came the sounds of laughter, song and revelry. Lights twinkled and flickered here and there, and as Pedro moored his piragua and stepped ashore he felt that he must have reached a metropolis, for never had he seen so many houses, such large buildings nor so many craft at one time.
Just how he should proceed, now he had arrived at his destination, he did not know, for this was a matter he had not planned. There were plenty of men about still more were within the buildings he judged from the sounds of mirth that echoed through the quiet, ill-lit streets, and as Pedro now and then caught a word or phrase he realized they were speaking French. This rather surprised him for his Swedish friends had told him St. Barts was an island of their nation and he had expected to hear the Swedish tongue— though he had been told nearly all upon St. Barts spoke French.
So, dismissing the matter as of small importance and of passing interest, Pedro strolled along, attracting no particular attention in a town where men of every race and trade and station came and went and where every man bore weapons at his side. And as he walked along the roughly paved and narrow street, Pedro was cudgeling his brains as to his next step. At first he was minded to address the first man he met. But, he bethought himself, what should he say? To stop a stranger and inquire as to the direction of some definite spot, or to ask an ordinary question, was a simple matter, but how would it be to halt a passer-by and ask: "Who are my people?" or, "Am I of your race?"—or some similar query? Even with his slender knowledge of the world and of men Pedro decided this would never do. His mind told him it would appear ridiculous, that the man addressed would no doubt think him either crazy or drunk, and that he must find some better method of carrying out his search.
And he felt woefully out of place and lonesome. Though in a good-sized town full of his fellow men, yet Pedro was more alone than ever he had been upon his island, with only Don Ramon for company. All were strangers. None gave him more than a passing glance, and for the first time in his life he felt ill at ease and self-conscious of his rough, uncouth garments so different from the finery of passing gallants and swaggering loiterers he met. To be sure, near the water front, he had seen many more illy clad than himself— sailors, laborers and fishermen—but now, at some distance from the quay, few were visible who were not garbed in bright-hued clothes of silk or velvet and all looked askance at the shock-headed, loose-limbed, awkward lad in rusty leather and coarse cotton.
And as he became conscious of his personal appearance, so too he began to lose confidence in himself and unconsciously he slunk into the shadows and turned into less frequented byways, until without realizing or knowing it, he was in a district where the few pedestrians were almost as roughly garbed as himself. Suddenly from ahead a shout rang out, a crash, yells, curses and sharp cries.
Instantly all else was forgotten and Pedro's senses were on the qui vive. Something was amiss, there was trouble, a fight. The next instant a struggling, writhing mass of figures half stumbled from a doorway, surging back and forth, fighting, shouting, in a confused medley of uproar in the dark street.
Then Pedro caught the sound of words he understood.
"Help!" rang above the tumult in a hoarse, half-choking voice. Then: "Dogs! Scum! Cowards! Take ye that—and that! Think ye—"
Pedro waited to hear no more. The words were English and with a wave of hot blood surging through him, urged on without reason, without knowing why, but drawn by an irresistible impulse, Pedro dashed ahead, shouting encouragement and unconsciously drawing sword and pistol as he ran.
Who the combatants were, who was in the right or wrong, he neither knew nor cared. He had heard English words, he was in search of Englishmen, some one needed help, and though the words had been followed by resounding blows and groans—which to a more experienced man might have gone far to prove that he who had called for aid was still quite able to take care of himself—Pedro's one thought was to answer that cry for help.
At the sound of his clumping footsteps on the cobbles and his cries, the struggling men, or at least some of them, turned to see a long-limbed form speeding toward them, a shock of fiery red hair flowing over his shoulders, a naked sword waving in one hand and a pistol in the other. The apparition was as disconcerting as it was unexpected. Here were reinforcements from an unlooked-for quarter and though they were ten to one they were having their hands full with the one and a second of his ilk was more than they bargained for. Hoarse cries of dismay arose from their throats, several turned and scurried out of sight, but others were too slow or were too fully occupied in protecting themselves from their first combatant to break away in time. The next instant Pedro was upon them. Forgotten were all Don Ramon's masterly lessons in gentlemanly swordplay. The shimmering blade rose and fell more after the fashion of an ax than a sword, the useless pistol descended with sickening thuds. Heavy cowhide boots kicked right and left, and with shrieks of pain, groans of anguish and yells of terror those of the ruffians still able to use their legs fled for their lives, leaving Pedro panting and victorious amid a circle of prostrate dead and wounded men, while beside him stood the fellow whose cries had brought him into the melee.
"Sink me, but ye be handy with fightin'!" cried the latter as he gulped in deep breaths with heaving chest and the air whistled through his nostrils. "By the blood of Drake, ye boarded the scum right merrily, lad! Dogs that they be," here he kicked a huddled, limp form contemptuously. "A full dozen of the dogs fallin' afoul me hawse to slit me throat and steal the few pieces of eight of a honest seaman."
Pedro stared at the man in amazement. Never had he seen a more villainous-looking rascal and he vaguely wondered if, after all, he had not thrown his lot with the wrong side of the quarrel. Short and immensely broad, with long arms reaching almost to his knees and bulging with huge muscles, the man whom he had saved so opportunely showed evidence of gigantic strength. Upon his broad shoulders—for the neck was so short and stout it seemed to be lacking—sat a bullet-shaped head adorned with a countenance without a redeeming feature. The leathery cheeks were hidden under a coarse stubble of dark beard, the mouth was wide, and showed gaping holes where teeth had been, as the thin lips drew back in a leering grin. The eyes protruded and held a fishy stare; the nose was as curved and heavy as a parrot's beak and across one high cheek bone ran a livid scar marking some terrific blow which had severed the ear close to the head leaving a horrible purple patch of skin and a round black hole, half hidden under the greasy, unkempt, grizzled hair.
So fascinated by the fellow was Pedro that he had not spoken a word and the ugly rascal before him seemed to read his thoughts.
"No beauty, ye'll be sayin'," he cried good-naturedly and with a hoarse chuckle. "An' at that ye'll be thinkin' gospel truth—blow me if ye won't. Aye, but beauty's but skin deep, cap'n, an' ye can lay to that. An' thank ye kindly, lad, for heavin' to at the proper time an' a-layin' of them swabs aboard. Sink me, but 'One-eared Jake' would ha' been done for, if ye hadn't. But mayhap ye're not understandin' of my lingo. Be ye Frenchie or Dutch or mayhap English, lad?"
"That I cannot say," replied Pedro, shaking his head and finding voice at last. "But I speak English, and truly am I rejoiced that to help you I came upon this scene."
The other burst into a loud guffaw. "Blow me, but 'tis strange English ye do be speakin'," he cried. "An' ye cannot say who ye be! By the bones of Drake, 'tis a man of mystery ye be. But be ye Frenchie or Dutch or English 'tis all the same to me, gain ye wield sword an' pistol so handily. Aye, an' here's me hand on it."
As he spoke, he thrust out an immense, hairy paw, and Pedro, scarcely knowing why he did so, grasped it.
Then with a sudden change of tone, the other continued: "Sink me, but we cannot be abidin' here, lad. The Frenchies'll be on us. Come, cap'n, we'll steer a course for a safe harbor."
Leaping across the fallen men, the fellow hurried, with swinging gait, along the street with Pedro by his side, while from far behind them came shouts and the hurrying tramp of men.

CHAPTER III.
"None too soon," remarked the fellow, as the two caught the sounds of their pursuers. "But a stern chase is ever a long chase, ye know. But, blow me if I knows of spot to cast anchor where they'll not dig us out. A curse on all Frenchies, says I—they be too much the breed of the dons to suit me."
Pedro gasped. Evidently his companion had no liking for either Spaniard or Frenchman, and this came as something of a surprise, for it had never occurred to Pedro that the dons' hatred of the British was fully equaled by the latter's detestation of the dons. And what would the fellow say when he found that the youth who had saved his life bore a Spanish name and might be Spanish? And why should he so dislike the French when the French and English were supposedly friends? It was all a puzzle, but events had crowded thick and fast during the past few minutes, and Pedro had other and more important matters to occupy his mind than to solve riddles of racial hatred.
Although, as the seaman—for he was evidently such—had said, a stern chase is a long chase, still the sounds of oncoming forces were growing louder in the rear, and a refuge must be found. Pedro of course knew nothing of the city, and his companion had admitted that he, too, was at a loss.
They were now running, turning corners, darting through dim alleys, but ever drawing nearer the harbor, and an idea came to Pedro.
"Methinks I know a safe spot wherein we may abide," he panted.
"Blow me, but I knowed ye was one for to sign articles with," cried the other. "Set yer course, cap'n, an' I'll follow in yer wake. But where be ye bound for, may I ask?"
"The harbor," replied Pedro as he took the lead. "I have a boat there and in her we may push from the land."
"Bless us!" exclaimed the sailor, halting for an instant in surprise. "The lad has a boat! Ye be cap'n in truth. Blow me, but I be a lucky dog, tumbling from yon tavern door to tumble into a snug berth along of ye."
A moment later, they were in sight of the water and Pedro quickly led the way to the piragua. Leaping on board, they pushed off just as the mob of angry pursuers appeared around a corner of the street they had traversed.
"Howl, ye curs!" shouted the ill-favored seaman, shaking his huge fist. "An' much good may it do ye. Had I half a dozen good lads to hand I'd teach ye a merry lesson in manners."
Before the land breeze, and with Pedro pulling at a long oar, the piragua slipped rapidly into the darkness, and the shore and the baffled men became merely deeper shadows, while the shouts and curses came faintly across the tranquil water. There was no danger of further pursuit, and Pedro had no mind to put to sea. He had reached the island after a long and weary sail, he had not learned a single thing that he desired, and he did not propose to leave until he had at least made an effort to accomplish his dual purpose. So, a few hundred yards from shore, he dropped anchor and the piragua came to rest.
"A fine tidy craft ye have, cap'n," remarked the stranger as he lent a hand to make the craft snug. "A fine, handy bit of a ship in truth. An' where, might ye be headin' for, may I arsk an' it please ye?"
"I had but just arrived," replied Pedro. "I came hither to St. Barts in search of mine people and to seek tidings of the buccaneers—the thrice accursed, as Don Ramon was wont to call them—and of one Captain Starling more particularly."
The sailor was guffawing with merriment. "By the cross of St. George," he cried. "Ye came hither to St. Barts, did ye? Zounds, but 'tis a rare joke that! St. Barts in truth—faith, but ye be a rare navigator, cap'n! Blow me, but ye be all aback an' driftin', lad. This isle be not St. Barts—'tis St. Martins, cap'n—St. Martins of the blarsted Frenchies—curse 'em."
Pedro was gaping. "Then—then this isle is other than St. Barts?" he queried. "You say it is St. Martins— a French settlement?"
"Aye, none other," the seaman assured him, controlling his merriment. "An' most amazin' luck for One-eared Jake, that ye went astray an' made it, cap'n. An' so ye be searchin' for the buccaneers, eh? An' ye be damnin' of 'em an' speakin' of a don. Faith, ye may be right—I misdoubt not they be accursed—but 'tis a fine, handy craft ye have, swift an' stanch, I'd be sayin'."
"Yea, I think the piragua good," assented Pedro. " ‘Twas in my mind that I might sell her for a goodly sum. I have but little in the way of money for my purpose."
"Sell her!" cried the seaman in dismay. "Sink me, but ye be a rare queer fish, cap'n. An' ye need pieces of eight to jingle in your pockets, there be better ways of winnin' of 'em than sellin' the craft for a beggarly price to thievin' Frenchies. Why, cap'n, with a few handy lads of me choosin' ye could set sail a-rovin' an' take many a prize. Faith, yes—Pierre le Grande and many another won fortunes with worser ships than this be."
"You mean turn buccaneer?" queried Pedro, with a note of horror in his tones. "Nay, I be no pirate. I have set forth to wreak vengeance on the corsairs, not to join with them. I fear me you are no honest-minded fellow."
The sailor roared as though he thought Pedro's speech the greatest of jokes. "Blow me, but ye do be a queer un," he cried. "Aye, there be many who'd misdoubt One-eared Jake's honesty, but that's as it may be, cap'n. An' ye saved me life an' I be not one to forget a favor. Faith, I be bound to ye, cap'n—a life for a life, says I—an' 'tis all the same to me if ye go piratin' or after vengeance as ye call it. Sink me, cap'n, but' there be a fine yarn ye can spin, I'm thinkin'. Mayhap, an' ye tell it, we can be settin' of a clearer course."
And as Pedro told his tale the ugly seaman's pop eyes opened still wider, and he listened attentively, now and then nodding his shaggy head, but never interrupting.
"By the bones of Drake!" he cried, banging down his great fist as Pedro ended. "Don or not, yon foster father of yourn were a man—sink me if he weren't. An' so ye know not be ye don or Englishman, or even Dutch or Frenchie! 'Sblood, but 'tis a rare tale, an' ye a-settin' course for devil knows where, a-seekin' word of them as lost ye years agone! An' to think ye be a-searchin' for the buccaneers—them as did for the old don—and for Cap'n Starling! Blow me for a sojer, but that be a rare jest, cap'n. But ye saved me life, lad—that's certain, an' One-eared Jake's life be yourn. Aye, 'tis little difference to me if I be huntin' of prizes an' slittin' throats along of the Brethren or a-robbin' of them an' a-slittin' their gullets along of ye, cap'n. Aye, lad!" he cried with sudden excitement and leaping up. "I have it—ye have a fine, speedy craft. Give me the word and I'll find ye a crew and we'll go a-piratin' of the pirates! What say ye, cap'n? Bless us, but 'twill be a rare, merry cruise!"
Pedro was too amazed to speak for a space. His knowledge of English was none too good. The wild sailor spoke a dialect quite distinct from the precise language Don Ramon had taught, and matters had been moving so swiftly that he had had hard work to follow the seaman's rapid-fire conversation and understand his surprising proposition. But there were some things that he could grasp. The man he had saved had most evidently decided to attach himself to Pedro, regardless of the latter's ideas, and it was also most obvious that he was a rough-and-ready chap to whom any adventure was welcome and whose ideas of honesty, as usually accepted, were most rudimentary. Because Pedro had put in an appearance so opportunely, and had saved him from the French cutthroats, the fellow considered that his life was at the youth's disposal and while Pedro had not thought of acquiring a comrade or servitor and had never planned to seek aid on his adventures, still, he realized that the ill-favored sailor would, in some ways, be a most valuable acquisition.
His suggestion that they should turn buccaneers was unthinkable, but his other suggestion that they should sail forth in the piragua to prey upon the filibusters, rather appealed to Pedro. He had never thought very clearly upon how he was to carry out his promise to Don Ramon and wreak vengeance upon the corsairs. In fact, he had not formed any plan, beyond reaching some spot where there were English and there disposing of his boat and with the proceeds setting out to learn his identity and to avenge the old don's wrongs.
He was a keen-witted lad, however, and at his first discovery that the world was large and peopled by many kinds of men, and at his first sight of St. Martins, he had realized how greatly he had been mistaken in his ideas of the world and the magnitude of his undertaking. He had read "Don Quixote," and rather likened himself to that whimsical character; but here was a new aspect of the case to be considered. The seaman had seemed quite confident that, with the piragua and a crew of his own selection, they might turn successful pirates, and if so, then would it not be equally possible to prey upon the buccaneers? But Pedro was by no means a fool, despite the limitations of his knowledge and experience. He knew nothing of the pop-eyed sailor and he had a suspicion that, after the fellow had obtained a crew and had placed the men upon the piragua, they might decide that he, Pedro, was quite superfluous, and, after disposing of him, set forth on their own account as pirates.
Judging from appearances, such a procedure on the stranger's part was quite likely to occur, and, had Pedro known more of his new acquaintance, he would have had even greater misgivings regarding the matter. Still, one must take risks at times, and Pedro had supreme confidence in himself.
Moreover, he had a feeling that the one-eared sailor owed him a debt of gratitude and was really sincere. If he really had an intimate knowledge of the buccaneers and the ports of the world, then he would be an invaluable addition. But Pedro was still a bit skeptical as to the wisdom of acquiring additional companions.
"Think you we could not do much with the piragua by ourselves?" he asked. "I have no wealth with which to pay a crew. And men work not for nothing, unless they owe much to him who employs them."
The sailor slapped his thigh and guffawed. "Blood and bones!" he cried. "Ye do be queer, cap'n. Why, lad, think ye the buccaneers pay them as ships along with 'em? Faith, 'tis no prey no pay, an' 'twould be by the same kind of articles as them I'd choose would ship along of us. Leave it to One-eared Jake, cap'n. Say the word an' we'll have as rare as crew as'd make even L'Ollonais smile. Aye, trust me for that, lad. Blood an' powder, cap'n, methinks ye know not who ye be talk-in' with."
"Nay, I do not," admitted Pedro. "I judge ye to be a seaman and that you have some knowledge of the buccaneers and their haunts and ways."
"Some knowledge!" roared the other. "Aye, some knowledge in truth. Sink me, cap'n, but ye do come from afar if ye never heard of One-eared Jake, the buccaneer."
Pedro started and drew back slightly. The man was a buccaneer—one of the thrice-accursed villains whom he had sworn to destroy. His hand strayed toward the hilt of his sword and he was half minded to draw the blade and run the fellow through then and there, and thus wipe out a portion of the score he had to pay. The other had noted Pedro's look of surprise, and he did not miss the motion of Pedro's hand. But he made no hostile or defensive movement. Instead, he grinned wickedly and a chuckle rumbled in his hairy-throat.
"Aye, I be a bloody buccaneer," he declared. "One of the accursed pirates as the old don put it, lad. But ye have no need to fear me, cap'n. I have grudge as great as yourn 'gainst the Brethren. And thrice more for Cap'n Starling—curse his black soul! Nay, cap'n, say the word an' I'll jine ye with a fine rare crew an' we'll go cruisin' for prizes amongst the ships of the Brethren. Blow me, but 'twould be rare sport—boardin' of buccaneers an' a-slittin' of their throats, an' a-takin' of loot what they've robbed from the dons, sink me if it won't. An' it can be done, lad," he added, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. "Ever, after a raid, they be fair middlin' drunk an' careless-like. Why, blow me, at Porto Bello a dozen men could have took 'em all and made off with all the loot. An' 'twas the same at Panama an' Maracaibo. Aye, cap'n, an' 'tis as rare a deed as never's been done yet. Aye, 'twill fill our pockets with good gold an' wipe out scores at the same stroke. What say, cap'n, will ye give the word? 'Tis for ye to say, lad. The piragua's yourn an' I'm at your sarvice. I be no fine-spoken gentleman like yourself, an' no navigator nor cap'n. But I be a fightin' man an' can swing cutlass or fire pistol along of the best on 'em, an' ye can lay to that. Aye, ye'll no' find One-eared Jake wantin' in a fight nor in sarvice."
Pedro's mind was already made up. He was learning, acquiring a knowledge of the world, and an insight into human character, very rapidly. He could see that if the buccaneer really held a grudge against the other pirates, and against Starling in particular, then, with his aid, and with a crew of fellow villains in his swift piragua, he might do great damage to the buccaneers. But, on the other hand, there was his desire to learn of his own identity and which, somehow to his mind, seemed even of greater importance than fulfilling his oath to Don Ramon. The don was dead and his vengeance might wait, it would do him no good now, whereas Pedro was very much alive and was obsessed with a desire to know more of his ancestry and nationality, which was quite natural and exactly as any other youth with a mysterious past, would have felt.
Something of this he tried to explain to Jake, and the rascal listened attentively, now and then nodding his head in assent.
"Aye.” he remarked, as Pedro ended. "Aye, cap'n, I be no a-blamin' of ye for wishin' to know who ye be. But, think ye, can ye go cruisin' hither an' yon, arskin' tother an' which who ye be? Not without runnin' afoul of head winds an' bad weather, as ye might say. Why, blow me, ye'd be needin' of silver to travel about, an' for coverin' of yer-self with clothes an' fillin' yer belly with food. An' where, might I arsk, would ye be gettin' at? Ye have no trade, an', gain ye had an' stopped to one spot an' worked, how'd ye find aught ye wish for to know? Nay, money first, cap'n—that's me motter. Money's what makes life smooth an' easy, an' ye can lay to that lad. An' how know ye that ye mightn't find what ye seek, a-cruisin' after the buccaneers? Faith, ye said as how the don thought like as not ye was cast adrift from a prize taken by the Brethren. Mayhap then, an' we take a few of them an' tickle their toes with fire an' trice 'em up by the thumbs, or maybe rack 'em a bit, they'll be after tellin' ye some'at of who ye be. Sink me, but that's a fine, rare idea, cap'n."
This was something Pedro had not thought of. It was indeed possible, as Jake had said, that news of his own origin might be secured among the buccaneers. And no doubt, on their proposed expedition, he and Jake would visit many out-of-the-way spots. Wherever they landed questions could be asked. But, most important of all, was Jake's reminder that it required money to travel and prosecute the search, together with the fact that he knew no method of earning a livelihood. Convinced that the buccaneer's proposition was the only solution of his problems, he hesitated no longer.
"So be it, then," he said. "Get the men, Jake, and lose not overmuch time. But how shall we acquire arms and provender? I have but a few doubloons, and I fear you have not more for your own needs."
"Spoken like a man, cap'n," cried the other, leaping to his feet. "I knowed ye for a rare fine cap'n the minute I clapped eyes onto ye. Blood an' powder! 'twill be a red an' smokin' wake we'll be leavin' astern of us. An' as for arms an' suchlike, leave that to me, cap'n. Leave it to One-eared Jake."
TO BE CONTINUED.

Verrill Scientific Illustrations

Sent: Thursday, September 18, 2008 4:42 PM
To: Doug Frizzle
Subject: RE: Verrill Illustrations



Dear Doug,

As you probably know, Hyatt’s father, A. E. Verrill, was a famous invertebrate zoologist. One of his specialties was the deep water Octocorallia. He had produced a sizeable manuscript just before he died, consisting of 156 plates and many hand written pages. That was never published. But, my professor, Ted Bayer, accumulated a complete set of these plates and in 2004 published 50 copies in the form of a book, each costing him $100. This was a labor of love and personally financed. Most of those copies have been given to taxonomists in the field. Many of the 156 plates were hand drawn by Hyatt Verrill. They are exquisite, even by today’s standards. We still have good copies of most of the original plates, if you would like to borrow some and copy them to your liking. Apparent Ted visited Hyatt in the early 1950’s in Florida. I may be able to find a letter to that effect. Just after the publication of the plates, the text was discovered in the basement of the Yale Museum. Ted also has a picture of Hyatt’s daughter in bullfighting costume. Apparently she was one of the few female bull fighters. Ted passed away about a year ago and I sort of control his scientific legacy.



Sincerely,



Stephen D. Cairns

Research Scientist/Curator

Department of Invertebrate Zoology

Smithsonian Institution