BAD WEATHER
When Dickory Charter sailed away from the island of Jamaica, his reason,
had it been called upon, would have told him that he had a good stout
brig under him on which there were people and ropes and sails and
something to eat and drink. But in those moments of paradise he did not
trouble his reason very much, and lived in an atmosphere of joy which he
did not attempt to analyze, but was content to breathe as if it had been
the common air about him. He was going away from every one he loved, and
yet never before had he been so happy in going to any one he loved. He
cared to talk to no one on board, but in company with his joy he stood
and gazed westward out over the sea.
He was but little younger than she was, and yet that difference, so
slight, had lifted him from things of earth and had placed him in that
paradise where he now dwelt.
So passed on the hours, so rolled the waves, and so moved the King and
Queen before the favouring breeze.
It was on the second day out that the breeze began to be less favouring,
and there were signs of a storm; and, in spite of his preoccupied
condition, Dickory was obliged to notice the hurried talk of the
officers about him, he occupying a point of vantage on the quarter-deck.
Presently he turned and asked of some one if there was likelihood of bad
weather. The mate, to whom he had spoken, said somewhat unpleasantly,
"Bad weather enough, I take it, as we may all soon know; but it is not
wind or rain. There is bad weather for you! Do you see that?"
Dickory looked, and saw far away, but still distinct, a vessel under
full sail with a little black spot floating high above it.
He turned to the man for explanation. "And what is that?" he said.
"It is a pirate ship," said the other, his face hardening as he spoke,
"and it will soon be firing at us to heave to."
At that moment there was a flash at the bow of the approaching vessel, a
little smoke, and then the report of a cannon came over the water.
Without further delay, the captain and crew of the King and Queen went
to work and hove to their brig.
Young Dickory Charter also hove to. He did not know exactly why, but his
dream stopped sailing over a sea of delight. They stood motionless,
their sails flapping in the wind.
"Pirates!" he thought to himself, cold shivers running through him, "is
this brig to be taken? Am I to be taken? Am I not to go to Barbadoes, to
Bridgetown, her home? Am I not to take her back the good news which will
make her happy? Are these things possible?"
He stared over the water, he saw the swiftly approaching vessel, he
could distinguish the skull and bones upon the black flag which flew
above her.
These things were possible, and his heart fell; but it was not with
fear. Dickory Charter was as bold a fellow as ever stood on the deck in
a sea fight, but his heart fell at the thought that he might not be
going to her old home, and that he might not sail back with good news to
her.
As the swift-sailing pirate ship sped on, Ben Greenway came aft to
Captain Bonnet, and a grievous grin was on the Scotchman's face.
"Good greetin's to ye, Master Bonnet," said he, "ye're truly good to
your old friends an' neebours an' pass them not by, even when your
pockets are burstin' wi' Spanish gold."
A minute before this Captain Stede Bonnet had been in a very pleasant
state of mind. It was only two days ago that he had captured a Spanish
ship, from which he got great gain, including considerable stores of
gold. Everything of value had been secured, the tall galleon had been
burned, and its crew had been marooned on a barren spot on the coast of
San Domingo. The spoils had been divided, at least every man knew what
his share was to be, and the officers and the crew of the Revenge were
in a well-contented state of mind. In fact, Captain Bonnet would not
have sailed after a little brig, certainly unsuited to carry costly
cargo, had it not been that his piratical principle made it appear to
him a point of conscience to prey upon all mercantile craft, little or
big, which might come in his way. Thus it was, that he was sailing
merrily after the King and Queen, when Ben Greenway came to him with his
disturbing words.
"What mean you?" cried Bonnet. "Know you that vessel?"
"Ay, weel," said Ben, "it is the King and Queen, bound, doubtless, for
Bridgetown. I tell ye, Master Bonnet, that it was a great deal o'
trouble an' expense ye put yersel' to when ye went into your present
line o' business on this ship. Ye could have stayed at hame, where she
is owned, an' wi' these fine fellows that ye have gathered thegither, ye
might have robbed your neebours right an' left wi'out the trouble o'
goin' to sea."
"Ben Greenway," roared the captain, "I will have no more of this. Is it
not enough for me to be annoyed and worried by these everlasting ships
of Bridgetown, which keep sailing across my bows, no matter in what
direction I go, without hearing your jeers and sneers regarding the
matter? I tell you, Ben Greenway, I will not have it. I will not suffer
these paltry vessels, filled, perhaps, with the grocers and cloth
dealers from my own town, to interfere thus with the bold career that I
have chosen. I tell you, Ben Greenway, I'll make an example of this one.
I am a pirate, and I will let them know it--these fellows in their
floating shops. It will be a fair and easy thing to sink this tub
without more ado. I'd rather meet three Spanish ships, even had they
naught aboard, than one of these righteous craft commanded by my most
respectable friends and neighbours."
Black Paul, the sailing-master, had approached and had heard the greater
part of these remarks.
"Better board her and see what she carries," said he, "before we sink
her. The men have been talking about her and, many of them, favour not
the trouble of marooning those on board of her. So, say most of us,
let's get what we can from her, and then quickly rid ourselves of her
one way or another."
"'Tis well!" cried Bonnet, "we can riddle her hull and sink her."
"Wi' the neebours on board?" asked Greenway.
Captain Bonnet scowled blackly.
"Ben Greenway," he shouted, "it would serve you right if I tied you
hand and foot and bundled you on board that brig, after we have stripped
her, if haply she have anything on board we care for."
"An' then sink her?" asked the Scotchman.
"Ay, sink her!" replied Bonnet. "Thus would I rid myself of a man who
vexes me every moment that I lay my eyes on him, and, moreover, it would
please you; for you would die in the midst of those friends and
neighbours you have such a high regard for. That would put an end to
your cackle, and there would be no gossip in the town about it."
The sailing-master now came aft. The vessel had been put about and was
slowly approaching the brig. "Shall we make fast?" asked Black Paul. "If
we do we shall have to be quick about it; the sea is rising, and that
clumsy hulk may do us damage."
For a moment Captain Bonnet hesitated, he was beginning to learn
something of the risks and dangers of a nautical life, and here was real
danger if the two vessels ran nearer each other. Suddenly he turned and
glared at Greenway. "Make fast!" he cried savagely, "make fast! if it be
only for a minute."
"Do ye think in your heart," asked the Scotchman grimly, "that ye're
pirate enough for that?"