CHAPTER XXIII
THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER
There was hard and ghastly work that day when the Revenge was clearedafter action, and there was lively and interesting work on board theBadger when Blackbeard and his officers went over the captured vessel todiscover what new possessions they had won.
At first Blackbeard had thought to establish himself upon the corvetteand abandon the Revenge. It would have been such a grand thing toscourge the seas in a British man-of-war with the Jolly Roger floatingover her. But this would have been too dangerous; the combined navalforce of England in American waters would have been united to put downsuch presumption. So the wary pirate curbed his ambition.
Everything portable and valuable was stripped from the Badger--her gunswould have been taken had it been practicable to ship them to theRevenge in a rising sea--and then she was scuttled, fired, and castoff, and with her dead on board she passed out of commission in theroyal navy.
During the turmoil, the horror and the bringing aboard of pillage,Dickory Charter had kept close below deck, his face in his hands and hisheart almost broken. It is so easy for young hearts to almost break.
When he had seen the British ship come sailing down upon them, hope hadsprung up brightly in his heart; now there was a chance of his escapingfrom this hell of the waves. When the Revenge should be taken he wouldrush to the British captain, or any one in authority, and tell his tale.It would be believed, he doubted not; even his uniform would help toprove he was no pirate; he would be taken away, he would reach Jamaica;he would see Kate; he would carry to her the great news of her father.After that his life could take care of itself.
But now the blackness of darkness was over everything. Those who were tohave been his friends had vanished, the ship which was to have given hima new life had disappeared forever. He was on board the pirate ship,bound for the shores of England--horrible shores to him--bound to theshores of England and to Blackbeard's Eliza!
He was not a fool, this Dickory; he had no unwarrantable and romanticfears that in these enlightened days one man could say to another, "Goyou, and marry the woman I have chosen for you." There was nothing sillyor cowardly about him, but he knew Blackbeard.
Not one ray of hope thrust itself through his hands into his brain. Hopehad gone, gone to the bottom, and he was on his storm-tossed way to thewaters of another continent.
But in the midst of his despair Dickory never thought of freeinghimself, by a sudden bound, of the world and his woes. So long as Kateshould live he must live, even if it were to prove to himself, and tohimself only, how faithful to her he could be.
It was dark when men came tumbling below, throwing themselves intohammocks and bunks, and Dickory prepared to turn in. If sleep shouldcome and without dreams, it would be greater gain than bags of gold. Ashe took off his coat, the letter of the English captain dropped from hisbreast. Until then he had forgotten it, but now he remembered it as asacred trust. The dull light of the lantern barely enabled him todiscern objects about him, but he stuck the letter into a crack in thewoodwork where in the morning he would see it and take proper care ofit.
Soon sleep came, but not without dreams. He dreamed that he was rowingKate on the river at Bridgetown, and that she told him in a low sweetvoice, with a smile on her lips and her eyes tenderly upturned, thatshe would like to row thus with him forever.
Early in the morning, through an open port-hole, the light of theeastern sun stole into this abode of darkness and sin and threw itselfupon the red-stained letter sticking in the crack of the woodwork.Presently Dickory opened his eyes, and the first thing they fell uponwas that letter. On the side of the folded sheet he could see thesuperscription, boldly but irregularly written: "Miss Kate Bonnet,Kingston, Ja."
Dickory sat upright, his eyes hard-fixed and burning. How long he sat heknew not. How long his brain burned inwardly, as his eyes burnedoutwardly, he knew not. The noise of the watch going on deck roused him,and in a moment he had the letter in his hands.
All that day Dickory Charter was worth nothing to anybody. Blackbeardswore at him and pushed him aside. The young fellow could not even countthe doubloons in a bag.
"Go to!" cried the pirate, blacker and more fantastically horrible thanever, for his bare left shoulder was bound with a scarf of silk and hisgreat arm was streaked and bedabbled with his blood, "you are the mostcursed coward I have met with in all my days at sea. So frightened outof your wits by a lively brush as that of yesterday! Too scared to countgold! Never saw I that before. One might be too scared to pray, but tocount gold! Ha! ha!" and the bold pirate laughed a merry roar. He wasin good spirits; he had captured and sunk an English man-of-war; sunkher with her English ensign floating above her. How it would haveoverjoyed him if all the ships, little and big, that plied the SpanishMain could have seen him sink that man-of-war. He was a merry man thatmorning, the great Blackbeard, triumphant in victory, glowing with theking's brandy, and with so little pain from that cut in his shoulderthat he could waste no thought upon it.
"But Eliza will like it well," continued the merry pirate; "she willlead you with a string, be you bold or craven, and the less you pull atit the easier it will be for my brave girl. Ah! she will dance with joywhen I tell her what a frightened rabbit of a husband it is that I giveher. Now get away somewhere, and let your face rid itself of itspaleness; and should you find a dead man lying where he has beenoverlooked, come and tell me and I will have him put aside. You must notbe frightened any more or Eliza may find that you have not left even thespirit of a rabbit."
All day Dickory sat silent, his misery pinned into the breast of hiscoat. "Miss Kate Bonnet, Kingston, Ja."--and this on a letter written inthe dying moments of an English captain, a high and mighty captain whomust have loved as few men love, to write that letter, his life's bloodrunning over the paper as he wrote. And could a man love thus if hewere not loved? That was the terrible question.
Sometimes his mind became quiet enough for him to think coherently, thenit was easy enough for him to understand everything. Kate had been along time in Jamaica; she had met many people; she had met this man,this noble, handsome man. Dickory had watched him with glowingadmiration as he stood up before Blackbeard, fighting like the championof all good against the hairy monster who struck his blows for all thatwas base and wicked.
How Dickory's young heart had gone out in sympathy and fellowshiptowards the brave English captain! How he had hoped that the next of hisquick, sharp lunges might slit the black heart of the pirate! How he hadalmost wept when the noble Englishman went down! And now it made himshudder to think his heart had stood side by side with the heart ofKate's lover! He had sworn to deliver the letter of that lover, and hewould do it. More cruel than the bloodiest pirate was the fate thatforced him thus to bear the death-warrant of his own young life.