When Blackbeard's little fleet anchored in Topsail Inlet, Stede Bonnet, who had not been informed of the intentions of the pirate, was a good deal puzzled. Since joining Blackbeard's fleet in the vessel which came up from Belize, Bonnet had considered himself very shabbily treated, and his reasons for that opinion were not bad. During the engagements off Charles Town his services had not been required and his opinion had not been consulted, Blackbeard having no use for the one and no respect for the other. The pirate captain had taken a fancy to Ben Greenway, while his contempt for the Scotchman's master increased day by day; and it was for this reason that Greenway had been taken on board the flag-ship, while Bonnet remained on one of the smaller vessels.
Bonnet was in a discontented and somewhat sulky mood, but when Blackbeard's full plans were made known to him and he found that he might again resume command of his own vessel, the Revenge, if he chose to do so, his eyes began to sparkle once more.
Ben Greenway soon resumed his former position with Bonnet, for it did not take Blackbeard very long to settle up his affairs, and in a very short time he became tired of the work of conversion; or, to speak more correctly, of the bore of talking about it. Bonnet was glad to have the Scotchman back again, although he never ceased to declare his desire to get rid of this faithful friend and helper; for, when the Revenge again came into his hands, there were many things to be done, and few people to help him do it.
"It will be merchandise an' fair trade this time," said Ben, "an' ye'll find it no' so easy as your piracies, though safer. An' when ye're off to see the Governor an' hae got your pardon, it'll be a happy day, Master Bonnet, for ye an' for your daughter, an' for your brother-in-law an' everybody in Bridgetown wha either knew ye or respected ye."
"No more of that," cried Bonnet. "I did not say I was going to Bridgetown, or that I wanted anybody there to respect me. It is my purpose to fit out the Revenge as a privateer and get a commission to sail in her in the war between Spain and the Allies. This will be much more to my taste, Ben Greenway, than trading in sugar and hides."
Greenway was very grave.
"There is so little difference," said he, "between a privateer an' a pirate that it is a great strain on a common mind to keep them separate; but a commission from the king is better than a commission from the de'il, an' we'll hope there won't be much o' a war after all is said an' done."
There was not much intercourse between Blackbeard and Bonnet at Topsail Inlet. The pirate was on very good terms with the authorities at that place, who for their own sakes cared not much to interfere with him, and Bonnet had his own work in hand and industriously engaged in it. He went to Bath and got his pardon; he procured a clearance for St. Thomas, where he freely announced his intention to take out a commission as privateer, and he fitted out his vessel as best he could. Of men he had not many, but when he left the inlet he sailed down to an island on the coast, where Blackbeard, having had too many men on his return from Charles Town, had marooned a large number of the sailors belonging to his different crews, finding this the easiest way of getting rid of them. Bonnet took these men on board with the avowed intention of taking them to St. Thomas, and then he set sail upon the high seas as free and untrammelled as a fish-hawk sweeping over the surface of a harbour with clearance papers tied to his leg.
Stede Bonnet had changed very much since he last trod the quarter-deck of the Revenge as her captain. He was not so important to look at, and he put on fewer airs of authority, but he issued a great many more commands. In fact, he had learned much about a sailor's life, of navigation and the management of a vessel, and was far better able to command a ship than he had ever been before. He had had a long rest from the position of a pirate captain, and he had not failed to take advantage of the lessons which had been involuntarily given him by the veteran scoundrels who had held him in contempt. He was now, to a great extent, sailing-master as well as captain of the Revenge; but Ben Greenway, who was much given to that sort of thing, undertook to offer Bonnet some advice in regard to his course.
"I am no sailor," said he, "but I ken a chart when I see it, an' it is my opeenion that there is no need o' your sailin' so far to the east before ye turn about southward. There is naething much stickin' out from the coast between here an' St. Thomas."
Bonnet looked at the Scotchman with lofty contempt.
"Perhaps you can tell me," said he, "what there is stickin' out from the coast between here and Ocracoke Inlet, where you yourself told me that Blackbeard had gone with the one sloop he kept for himself?"
"Blackbeard!" shouted the Scotchman, "an' what in the de'il have ye got to do wi' Blackbeard?"
"Do with that infernal dog?" cried Bonnet, "I have everything to do with him before I do aught with anybody or anything besides. He stole from me my possessions, he degraded me from my position, he made me a laughing-stock to my men, and he even made me blush and bow my head with shame before my daughter and my brother-in-law, two people in whose sight I would have stood up grander and bolder than before any others in the world. He took away from me my sword and he gave me instead a wretched pen; he made me nothing where I had been everything. He even ceased to consider me any more than if I had been the dirty deck under his feet. And then, when he had done with my property and could get no more good out of it, he cast it to me in charity as a man would toss a penny to a beggar. Before I sail anywhere else, Ben Greenway," continued Bonnet, "I sail for Ocracoke Inlet, and when I sight Blackbeard's miserable little sloop I shall pour broadside after broadside into her until I sink his wretched craft with his bedizened carcass on board of it."
"But wi' your men stand by ye?" cried Greenway. "Ye're neither a pirate nor a vessel o' war to enter into a business like that."
Bonnet swore one of his greatest oaths. "There is no business nor war for me, Ben Greenway," he cried, "until I have taught that insolent Blackbeard what manner of man I am."
Ben Greenway was very much disheartened. "If Blackbeard should sink the Revenge instead of Master Bonnet sinking him," he said to himself, "and would be kind enough to maroon my old master an' me, it might be the best for everybody after all. Master Bonnet is vera humble-minded an' complacent when bad fortune comes upon him, an' it is my opeenion that on a desert island I could weel manage him for the good o' his soul."
But there were no vessels sunk on that cruise. Blackbeard had gone, nobody knew where, and after a time Bonnet gave up the search for his old enemy and turned his bow southward. Now Ben Greenway's countenance gleamed once more.
"It'll be a glad day at Spanish Town when Mistress Kate shall get my letter."
"And what have you been writing to her?" cried Bonnet.
"I told her," said Ben Greenway, "how at last ye hae come to your right mind, an' how ye are a true servant o' the king, wi' your pardon in your pocket an' your commission waitin' for ye at St. Thomas, an' that, whatever else ye may do at sea, there'll be no more black flag floatin' over your head, nor a see-saw plank wobblin' under the feet o' onybody else. The days o' your piracies are over, an' ye're an honest mon once more."
"You wrote her that?" said Bonnet, with a frown.
"Ay," said Greenway, "an' I left it in the care o' a good mon, whose ship is weel on its way to Kingston by this day."
That afternoon Captain Bonnet called all his men together and addressed them.
He made a very good speech, a better one than that delivered when he first took real command of the Revenge after sailing out of the river at Bridgetown, and it was listened to with respectful and earnest interest. In brief manner he explained to all on board that he had thrown to the winds all idea of merchandising or privateering; that his pardon and his ship's clearance were of no value to him except he should happen to get into some uncomfortable predicament with the law; that he had no idea of sailing towards St. Thomas, but intended to proceed up the coast to burn and steal and rob and slay wherever he might find it convenient to do so; that he had brought the greater part of his crew from the desert island where Blackbeard had left them because he knew that they were stout and reckless fellows, just the sort of men he wanted for the piratical cruise he was about to begin; and that, in order to mislead any government authorities who by land or sea might seek to interfere with him, he had changed the name of the good old Revenge to the Royal James, while its captain, once Stede Bonnet, was now to be known on board and everywhere else as Captain Thomas, with nothing against him. He concluded by saying that all that had been done on that ship from the time she first hoisted the black flag until the present moment was nothing at all compared to the fire and the blood and the booty which should follow in the wake of that gallant vessel, the Royal James, commanded by Captain Thomas.
The men looked at each other, but did not say much. They were all pirates, although few of them had regularly started out on a piratical career, and there was nothing new to them in this sort of piratical dishonour. In the little cruise after Blackbeard their new captain had shown himself to be a good man, ready with his oaths and very certain about what he wanted done. So, whenever Stede Bonnet chose to run up the Jolly Roger, he might do it for all they cared.
Poor Ben Greenway sat apart, his head bowed upon his hands.
"You seem to be in a bad case, old Ben," said Bonnet, gazing down upon him, "but you throw yourself into needless trouble. As soon as I lay hold of some craft which I am willing shall go away with a sound hull, I will put you on board of her and let you go back to the farm. I will keep you no longer among these wicked people, Ben Greenway, and in this wicked place."
Ben shook his head. "I started wi' ye an' I stay wi' ye," said he, "an' I'll follow ye to the vera gates o' hell, but farther than that, Master Bonnet, I willna go; at the gates o' hell I leave ye!"
For happiness with a flaw in it, it was a very fair happiness which now hung over the Delaplaine home near Spanish Town. Kate Bonnet's father was still a pirate, but there was no Captain Vince in hot pursuit of him, seeking his blood. Kate could sing with the birds and laugh with Dickory whenever she thought of the death of the wicked enemy. This was not, it may be thought, a proper joy for a young maiden's heart, but it came to Kate whether she would or not; the change was so great from the fear which had possessed her before.
The old home life began again, although it was a very quiet life. Dickory went into Mr. Delaplaine's counting-house, but it was hard for the young man to doff the naval uniform which had been bestowed upon him by Blackbeard, for he knew he looked very well in it, and everybody else thought so and told him so; but it could not be helped, and with all convenient speed he discarded his cocked hat and all the rest of it, and clothed himself in the simple garb of a merchant's clerk, although it might be said, that in all the West Indies, at that day, there was no clerk so good-looking as was Dickory. Dame Charter was so thankful that her boy had come safely through all his troubles, so proud of him, and so eminently well satisfied with his present position, that she asked nothing of her particular guardian angel but that Stede Bonnet might stay away. If, after tiring of piracy, that man came back, as his relatives wished him to do, the good dame was sure he would make mischief of some sort, and as like as not in the direction of her Dickory. If this evil family genius should be lost at sea or should disappear from the world in some equally painless and undisgraceful fashion, Dame Charter was sure that she could in a reasonable time quiet the grief of poor Kate; for what right-minded damsel could fail to mingle thankfulness with her sorrow that a kind death should relieve a parent from the sins and disgraces which in life always seemed to open up in front of him.
About this time there came a letter from Barbadoes, which was of great interest to everybody in the household. It was from Master Martin Newcombe, and of course was written to Kate, but she read many portions of it to the others. The first part of the epistle was not read aloud, but it was very pleasant for Kate to read it to herself. This man was a close lover and an ardent one. Whatever had happened to her fortunes, nothing had interfered with his affection; whatever he had said he still bravely stood by, and to whatever she had objected in the way of obstacles he had paid no attention whatever.
In the parts of the letter read to her uncle and the others, Master Newcombe told how, not having heard from them for so long, he had been beginning to be greatly troubled, but the arrival of the Black Swan, which, after touching at Kingston, had continued her course to Barbadoes, had given him new life and hope; and it was his intention, as soon as he could arrange his affairs, to come to Jamaica, and there say by word of mouth and do, in his own person, so much for which a letter was totally inadequate. The thought of seeing Kate again made him tremble as he walked through his fields. This was read inadvertently, and Dickory frowned. Dame Charter frowned too. She had never supposed that Master Newcombe would come to Spanish Town; she had always looked upon him as a very worthy young farmer; so worthy that he would not neglect his interest by travelling about to other islands than his own. She did not know exactly how her son felt about all this, nor did she like to ask him, but Dickory saved her the trouble.
"If that Newcombe comes here," he said, "I am going to fight him."
"What!" cried his mother. "You would not do that. That would be terrible; it would ruin everything."
"Ruin what?" he asked.
His mother answered diplomatically. "It would ruin all your fine opportunities in this family."
Dickory smiled with a certain sarcastic hardness. "I don't mean," said he, "that I am going to hack at him with a sword, because neither he nor I properly know how to use swords, and after the wonderful practice that I have seen, I would not want to prove myself a bungler even if the other man were a worse one. No, mother, I mean to fight with him by all fair means to gain the hand of my dear Kate. I love her, and I am far more worthy of her than he is. He is not a well-disposed man, being rough and inconsiderate in his speech." Dickory had never forgiven the interview by the river bank when he had gone to see Madam Bonnet. "And as to his being a stout lover, he is none of it. Had he been that, he would long ago have crossed the little sea between Barbadoes and here."
"Do you mean, you foolish boy," exclaimed Dame Charter, "to say that you presume to love our Mistress Kate?" And her eyes glowed upon him with all the warmth of a mother's pride, for this was the wish of her heart, and never absent from it.
"Ay, mother," said Dickory, "I shall fight for her; I shall show her that I am worthier than he is and that I love her better. I shall even strive for her if that mad pirate comes back and tries to overset everything."
"Oh, do it before that!" cried Dame Charter, anxiety in every wrinkle. "Do it before that!"
Mr. Delaplaine was a little troubled by the promised visit from Barbadoes. He had heard of Master Newcombe as being a most estimable young man, but the fault about him, in his opinion, was that he resided not in Jamaica. For a long time the good merchant had lived his own life, with no one to love him, and he now had with him his sister's child, whom he had come to look upon as a daughter, and he did not wish to give her up. It was true that it might be possible, under favourable pressure, to induce young Newcombe to come to Jamaica and settle there, but this was all very vague. Had he had his own way, he would have driven from Kate every thought of love or marriage until the time when his new clerk, Dickory Charter, had become a young merchant of good standing, worthy of such a wife. Then he might have been willing to give Kate to Dickory, and Dickory would have given her to him, and they might have all been happy. That is, if that hare-brained Bonnet did not come home.
The Delaplaine family did not go much into society at that time, for people had known about the pirate and his ship, the Revenge, and the pursuit upon which Captain Vince of the royal corvette Badger had been sent. They had all heard, too, of the death of Captain Vince, and some of them were not quite certain whether he had been killed by the pirate Bonnet or another desperado equally dangerous. Knowing all this, although if they had not known it they would scarcely have found it out from the speech of their neighbours, the Delaplaines kept much to themselves. And they were happy, and the keynote of their happiness was struck by Kate, whose thankful heart could never forget the death of Captain Vince.
Mr. Delaplaine made his proper visit to Spanish Town, to carry his thanks and to tell the Governor how things had happened to him; and the Governor still showed his interest in Mistress Kate Bonnet, and expressed his regret that she had not come with her uncle, which was a very natural wish indeed for a governor of good taste.
This is a chapter of happenings, and the next happening was a letter from that good man, Ben Greenway, and it told the most wonderful, splendid, and glorious news that had ever been told under the bright sun of the beautiful West Indies. It told that Captain Stede Bonnet was no longer a pirate, and that Kate was no longer a pirate's daughter. These happy people did not join hands and dance and sing over the great news, but Kate's joy was so great that she might have done all these things without knowing it, so thankful was she that once again she had a father. This rapture so far outshone her relief at the news of the death of Captain Vince that she almost forgot that that wicked man was safe and dead. Kate was in such a state of wild delight that she insisted that her uncle should make another visit to the Governor's house and take her with him, that she herself might carry the Governor the good news; and the Governor said such heart-warming things when he heard it that Kate kissed him in very joy. But as Dickory was not of the party, this incident was not entered as part of the proceedings.
Now society, both in Spanish Town and Kingston, opened its arms and insisted that the fair star of Barbadoes should enter them, and there were parties and dances and dinners, and it might have been supposed that everybody had been a father or a mother to a prodigal son, so genial and joyful were the festivities—Kate high above all others.
At some of these social functions Dickory Charter was present, but it is doubtful whether he was happier when he saw Kate surrounded by gay admirers or when he was at home imagining what was going on about her.
There was but one cloud in the midst of all this sunshine, and that was that Mr. Delaplaine, Dame Charter, and her son Dickory could not forget that it was now in the line of events that Stede Bonnet would soon be with them, and beyond that all was chaos.
And over the seas sailed the good ship the Royal James, Captain Thomas in command.
It was now September, and the weather was beautiful on the North Carolina coast. Captain Thomas (late Bonnet) of the Royal James (late Revenge) had always enjoyed cool nights and invigorating morning air, and therefore it was that he said to his faithful servitor, Ben Greenway, when first he stepped out upon the deck as his vessel lay comfortably anchored in a little cove in the Cape Fear River, that he did not remember ever having been in a more pleasant harbour. This well-tried pirate captain—Stede Bonnet, as we shall call him, notwithstanding his assumption of another name—was in a genial mood as he drank in the morning air.
From his point of view he had a right to be genial; he had a right to be pleased with the scenery and the air; he had a right to swear at the Scotchman, and to ask him why he did not put on a merrier visage on such a sparkling morning, for since he had first started out as Captain Thomas of the Royal James he had been a most successful pirate. He had sailed up the Virginia coast; he had burned, he had sunk, he had robbed, he had slain; he had gone up the Delaware Bay, and the people in ships and the people on the coasts trembled even when they heard that his black flag had been sighted.
No man could now say that the former captain of the Revenge was not an accomplished and seasoned desperado. Even the great Blackbeard would not have cared to give him nicknames, nor dared to play his blithesome tricks upon him; he was now no more Captain Nightcap to any man. His crew of hairy ruffians had learned to understand that he knew what he wanted, and, more than that, he knew how to order it done. They listened to his great oaths and they respected him. This powerful pirate now commanded a small fleet, for in the cove where lay his flag-ship also lay two good-sized sloops, manned by their own crews, which he had captured in Delaware Bay and had brought down with him to this quiet spot, a few miles up the Cape Fear River, where now he was repairing his own ship, which had had a hard time of it since she had again come into his hands.
For many a long day the sound of the hammer and the saw had mingled with the song of the birds, and Captain Bonnet felt that in a day or two he might again sail out upon the sea, conveying his two prizes to some convenient mart, while he, with his good ship, freshened and restored, would go in search of more victories, more booty, and more blood.
"Greenway, I tell you," said Bonnet, continuing his remarks, "you are too glum; you've got the only long face in all this, my fleet. Even those poor fellows who man my prizes are not so solemn, although they know not, when I have done with them, whether I shall maroon them to quietly starve or shall sink them in their own vessels."
"But I hae no such reason to be cheerful," said Ben. "I hae bound mysel' to stand by ye till ye hae gone to the de'il, an' I hae no chance o' freein' mysel' from my responsibeelities by perishin' on land or in the sea."
"If anything could make me glum, Ben Greenway, it would be you," said the other; "but I am getting used to you, and some of these days when I have captured a ship laden with Scotch liquors and Scotch plaids I believe that you will turn pirate yourself for the sake of your share of the prizes."
"Which is likely to be on the same mornin' that ye turn to be an honest mon," said Ben; "but I am no' in the way o' expectin' miracles."
On went the pounding and the sawing and the hammering and the swearing and the singing of birds, although the latter were a little farther away than they had been, and in the course of the day the pirate captain, erect, scrutinizing, and blasphemous, went over his ship, superintending the repairs. In a day or two everything would be finished, and then he and his two prizes could up sail and away. It was a beautiful harbour in which he lay, but he was getting tired of it.
There were great prospects before our pirate captain. Perhaps he might have the grand good fortune to fall in with that low-born devil, Blackbeard, who, when last he had been heard from, commanded but a small vessel, fearing no attack upon this coast. What a proud and glorious moment it would be when a broadside and another and another should be poured in upon his little craft from the long guns of the Royal James.
Bonnet was still standing, reflecting, with bright eyes, upon this dazzling future, and wondering what would be the best way of letting the dastardly Blackbeard know whose guns they were which had sunk his ship, when a boat was seen coming around the headland. This was one of his own boats, which had been posted as a sentinel, and which now brought the news that two vessels were coming in at the mouth of the river, but that as the distance was great and the night was coming on they could not decide what manner of craft they were.
This information made everybody jump, on board the Royal James, and the noise of the sawing and the hammering ceased as completely as had the songs of the birds. In a few minutes that quick and able mariner, Bonnet, had sent three armed boats down the river to reconnoitre. If the vessels entering the river were merchantmen, they should not be allowed to get away; but if they were enemies, although it was difficult to understand how enemies could make their appearance in these quiet waters, they must be attended to, either by fight or flight.
When the three boats came back, and it was late before they appeared, every man upon the Royal James was crowded along her side to hear the news, and even the people on the prizes knew that something had happened, and stood upon every point of vantage, hoping that in some way they could find out what it was.
The news brought by the boats was to the effect that two vessels, not sailing as merchantmen and well armed and manned, were now ashore on sand-bars, not very far above the mouth of the river. Now Bonnet swore bravely. If the work upon his vessels had been finished he would up anchor and away and sail past these two grounded ships, whatever they were and whatever they came for. He would sail past them and take with him his two prizes; he would glide out to sea with the tide, and he would laugh at them as he left them behind. But the Royal James was not ready to sail.
The tide was now low; five hours afterward, when it should be high, those two ships, whatever they were, would float again, and the Royal James, whatever her course of action should be, would be cut off from the mouth of the river. This was a greater risk than even a pirate as bold as Bonnet would wish to run, and so there was no sleep that night on the Royal James. The blows of the hammers and the sounds of the saws made a greater noise than they had ever done before, so that the night birds were frightened and flew shrieking away. Every man worked with all the energy that was in him, for each hairy rascal had reason to believe that if the vessel they were on did not get out of the river before the two armed strangers should be afloat there might be hard times ahead for them. Even Ben Greenway was aroused. "The de'il shall not get him any sooner than can be helped," he said to himself, and he hammered and sawed with the rest of them.
On his stout and well-armed sloop the Henry, Mr. William Rhett, of Charles Town, South Carolina, paced anxiously all night. Frequently from the sand-bar on which his vessel was grounded he called over to his other sloop, also fast grounded, giving orders and asking questions. On both vessels everybody was at work, getting ready for action when the tide should rise.
Some weeks before the wails and complaints of a tortured sea-coast had come down from the Jersey shores to South Carolina, asking for help at the only place along that coast whence help could come. A pirate named Thomas was working his way southward, spreading terror before him and leaving misery behind. These appeals touched the hearts of the people of Charles Town, already sore from the injuries and insults inflicted upon them by Blackbeard in those days when Bonnet sat silently on the pirate ship, doing nothing and learning much.
There was no hesitancy; for their own sake and for the sake of their commerce, this new pirate must not come to Charles Town harbour, and an expedition of two vessels, heavily armed and well manned and commanded by Mr. William Rhett, was sent northward up the coast to look for the pirate named Thomas and to destroy him and his ship. Mr. Rhett was not a military man, nor did he belong to the navy. He was a citizen capable of commanding soldiers, and as such he went forth to destroy the pirate Thomas.
Mr. Rhett met people enough along the coast who told him where he might find the pirate, but he found no one to tell him how to navigate the dangerous waters of the Cape Fear River, and so it was that soon after entering that fine stream he and his consort found themselves aground.
Mr. Rhett was quite sure that he had discovered the lair of the big game he was looking for. Just before dark, three boats, well filled with men, had appeared from up the river, and they had looked so formidable that everything had been made ready to resist an attack from them. They retired, but every now and then during the night, when there was quiet for a few minutes, there would come down the river on the wind the sound of distant hammering and the noise of saws.
It was after midnight before the Henry and the Sea Nymph floated free, but they anchored where they were and waited for the morning. Whether they would sail up the river after the pirate or whether he would come down to them, daylight would show.
Mr. Rhett's vessels had been at anchor for five hours, and every man on board of them were watching and waiting, when daylight appeared and showed them a tall ship, under full sail, rounding the distant headland up the river. Now up came their anchors and their sails were set. The pirate was coming!
Whatever the Royal James intended to do, Mr. Rhett had but one plan, and that was to meet the enemy as soon as possible and fight him. So up sailed the Henry and up sailed the Sea Nymph, and they pressed ahead so steadily to meet the Royal James that the latter vessel, in carrying out what was now her obvious intention of getting out to sea, was forced shoreward, where she speedily ran upon a bar. Then, from the vessels of Charles Town there came great shouts of triumph, which ceased when first the Henry and then the Sea Nymph ran upon other bars and remained stationary.
Here was an unusual condition—three ships of war all aground and about to begin a battle, a battle which would probably last for five hours if one or more of the stationary vessels were not destroyed before that time. It was soon found, however, that there would only be two parties to the fight, for the Sea Nymph was too far away to use her guns. The Royal James had an advantage over her opponents, since, when she slightly careened, her decks were slanted away from the enemy, while the latter's were presented to her fire.
At it they went, hot and heavy. Bonnet and his men now knew that they were engaged with commissioned war vessels, and they fought for their lives. Mr. Rhett knew that he was fighting Thomas, the dreaded pirate of the coast, and he felt that he must destroy him before his vessel should float again. The cannon roared, muskets blazed away, and the combatants were near enough even to use pistols upon each other. Men died, blood flowed, and the fight grew fiercer and fiercer.
Bonnet roared like an incarnate devil; he swore at his men, he swore at the enemy, he swore at his bad fortune, for had he not missed the channel the game would have been in his own hands.
So on they fought, and the tide kept steadily rising. The five hours must pass at last, and the vessel which first floated would win the day.
The five hours did pass, and the Henry floated, and Bonnet swore louder and more fiercely than before. He roared to his men to fire and to fight, no matter whether they were still aground or not, and with many oaths he vowed that if any one of them showed but a sign of weakening he would cut him down upon the spot. But the hairy scoundrels who made up the crew of the Royal James had no idea of lying there with their ship on its side, while two other ships—for the Sea Nymph was now afloat—should sail around them, rake their decks, and shatter them to pieces. So the crew consulted together, despite their captain's roars and oaths, and many of them counselled surrender. Their vessel was much farther inshore than the two others, and no matter what happened afterward they preferred to live longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.
But Bonnet quailed not before fate, before the enemy, or before his crew; if he heard another word of surrender he would fire the magazine and blow the ship to the sky with every man in it. Raising his cutlass in air, he was about to bring it down upon one of the cowards he berated, when suddenly he was seized by two powerful hands, which pinned his arms behind him. With a scream of rage, he turned his head and found that he was in the grasp of Ben Greenway.
"Let go your sword, Master Bonnet," said Ben; "it is o' no use to ye now, for ye canna get awa' from me. I'm nae older than ye are, though I look it, an' I've got the harder muscles. Ye may be makin' your way steadily an' surely to the gates o' hell an' it mayna be possible that I can prevent ye, but I'm not goin' to let ye tumble in by accident so long as I've got two arms left to me."
Pale, haggard, and writhing, Stede Bonnet was disarmed, and the Jolly Roger came down.
It was three days after this memorable combat—for the vessels engaged in it needed considerable repairs—when Mr. Rhett of Charles Town sailed down the Cape Fear River with his five vessels—the two with which he had entered it, the pirate Royal James, and the two prizes of the latter, which had waited quietly up the river to see how matters were going to turn out.
On the Henry sailed the pirate Thomas, now discovered to be the notorious Stede Bonnet, and a very quiet and respectful man he was. As has been seen before, Bonnet was a man able to adapt himself to circumstances. There never was a more demure counting-house clerk than was Bonnet at Belize; there never was an humbler dependent than the almost unnoticed Bonnet after he had joined Blackbeard's fleet before Charles Town, and there never was a more deferential and respectful prisoner than Stede Bonnet on board the Henry. It was really touching to see how this cursing and raging pirate deported himself as a meek and uncomplaining gentleman.
There was no prison-house in Charles Town, but Stede Bonnet's wicked crew, including Ben Greenway—for his captors were not making any distinctions in regard to common men taken on a pirate ship—were clapped into the watch-house—and a crowded and uncomfortable place it was—and put under a heavy and military guard. The authorities were, however, making distinctions where gentlemen of family and owners of landed estates were concerned, no matter if they did happen to be taken on a pirate ship, and Major Bonnet of Barbadoes was lodged in the provost marshal's house, in comfortable quarters, with only two sentinels outside to make him understand he was a prisoner.
The capture of this celebrated pirate created a sensation in Charles Town, and many of the citizens were not slow to pay the unfortunate prisoner the attentions due to his former position in society. He was very well satisfied with his treatment in Charles Town, which city he had never before had the pleasure of visiting.
The attentions paid to Ben Greenway were not pleasing; sometimes he was shoved into one corner and sometimes into another. He frequently had enough to eat and drink, but very often this was not the case. Bonnet never inquired after him. If he thought of him at all, he hoped that he had been killed in the fight, for if that were the case he would be rid of his eternal preachments.
Greenway made known the state of his own case whenever he had a chance to do so, but his complaints received no attention, and he might have remained with the crew of the Royal James as long as they were shut up in the watch-house had not some of the hairy cut-throats themselves taken pity upon him and assured the guards that this man was not one of them, and that they knew from what they had heard him say and seen him do that there was no more determined enemy of piracy in all the Western continent. So it happened, that after some weeks of confinement Greenway was let out of the watch-house and allowed to find quarters for himself.
The first day the Scotchman was free he went to the provost-marshal's house and petitioned an interview with his old master, Bonnet.
"Heigho!" cried the latter, who was comfortably seated in a chair reading a letter. "And where do you come from, Ben Greenway? I had thought you were dead and buried in the Cape Fear River."
"Ye did not think I was dead," replied Ben, "when I seized ye an' held ye an' kept ye from buryin' yoursel' in that same river."
Bonnet waved his hand. "No more of that," said he; "I was unfortunate, but that is over now and things have turned out better than any man could have expected."
"Better!" exclaimed Ben. "I vow I know not what that means."
Bonnet laughed. He was looking very well; he was shaved, and wore a neat suit of clothes.
"Ben Greenway," said he, "you are now looking upon a man of high distinction. At this moment I am the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. Yes, Greenway, the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. I have a letter here, which was received by the provost-marshal and which he gave me to read, which tells that Blackbeard, the first pirate of his age, is dead. Therefore, Ben Greenway, I take his place, and there is no living pirate greater than I am."
"An' ye pride yoursel' on that, an' at this moment?" asked Ben, truly amazed.
"That do I," said Bonnet. "And think of it, Ben Greenway, that presumptuous, overbearing Blackbeard was killed, and his head brought away sticking up on the bow of a vessel. What a rare sight that must have been, Ben! Think of his long beard, all tied up with ribbons, stuck up on the bow of a ship!"
"An' ye are now the head de'il on earth?" said Ben.
"You can put it that way, if you like," said Bonnet, "but I am not so looked upon in this town. I am an honoured person. I doubt very much if any prisoner in this country was ever treated with the distinction that is shown me, but I don't wonder at it; I have the reputation of two great pirates joined in one—the pirate Bonnet, of the dreaded ship Revenge, and the terrible Thomas of the Royal James. My man, there are people in this town who have been to me and who have said that a man so famous should not even be imprisoned. I have good reason to believe that it will not be long before pardon papers are made out for me, and that I may go my way."
"An' your men?" asked Greenway. "Will they go free or will they be hung like common pirates?"
Bonnet frowned impatiently. "I don't want to hear anything about the men," he said; "of course they will be hung. What could be done with them if they were not hung? But it is entirely different with me. I am a most respectable person, and, now that I am willing to resign my piratical career, having won in it all the glory that can come to one man, that respectability must be considered."
"Weel, weel," said the Scotchman; "an' when it comes that respectabeelity is better for a man's soul an' body than righteousness, then I am no fit counsellor for ye, Master Bonnet," and he took his leave.
The next morning, when Ben Greenway left his lodging he found the town in an uproar. The pirate Bonnet had bribed his sentinels and, with some others, had escaped. Ben stood still and stamped his foot. Such infamy, such perfidy to the authorities who had treated him so well, the Scotchman could not at first imagine, but when the truth became plain to him, his face glowed, his eye burned; this vile conduct of his old master was a triumph to Ben's principles. Wickedness was wickedness, and could not be washed away by respectability.
The days passed on; Bonnet was recaptured, more securely imprisoned, put upon trial, found guilty, and, in spite of the efforts of the advocates of respectability, was condemned to be hung on the same spot where nearly all the members of his pirate crew had been executed.
During all this time Ben Greenway kept away from his old master; he had borne ill-treatment of every kind, but the deception practised upon him when, at his latest interview, Bonnet talked to him of his respectability, having already planned an escape and return to his evil ways, was too much for the honest Scotchman. He had done with this man, faithless to friend and foe, to his own blood, and even to his own bad reputation.
But not quite done. It was but half an hour before the time fixed for the pirate's execution that Ben Greenway gained access to him.
"What!" cried Bonnet, raising his head from his hands. "You here? I thought I had done with you!"
"Ay, I am here," said Ben Greenway. "I hae stood by ye in good fortune an' in bad fortune, an' I hae never left ye, no matter what happened; an' I told ye I would follow ye to the gates o' hell, but I could go no farther. I hae kept my word an' here I stop. Fareweel!"
"The only comfortable thing about this business," said Bonnet, "is to know that at last I am rid of that fellow!"