Let my young readers now sail with me to warmer and more hospitable
climes. Off the coast of Patagonia a long, low, black schooner proudly
rides the seas, that breaks softly upon the vine-clad shores of that
luxuriant land. Who is this that, wrapped in Persian rugs, and dressed
in the most expensive manner, calmly reclines on the quarter-deck of
the schooner, toying lightly ever and anon with the luscious fruits of
the vicinity, held in baskets of solid gold by Nubian slaves? or at
intervals, with daring grace, guides an ebony velocipede over the
polished black walnut decks, and in and out the intricacies of the
rigging. Who is it? well may be asked. What name is it that blanches
with terror the cheeks of the Patagonian navy? Who but the Pirate
Prodigy--the relentless Boy Scourer of Patagonian seas? Voyagers
slowly drifting by the Silurian beach, coasters along the Devonian
shore, still shudder at the name of Bromley Chitterlings--the Boy
Avenger, late of Hartford, Connecticut.
It has been often asked by the idly curious, Why Avenger, and of what?
Let us not seek to disclose the awful secret hidden under that youthful
jacket. Enough that there may have been that of bitterness in his past
life that he
"Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave,"
or "whose soul would heave above the sickening wave," did not
understand. Only one knew him, perhaps too well--a queen of the
Amazons, taken prisoner off Terra del Fuego a week previous. She loved
the Boy Avenger. But in vain; his youthful heart seemed obdurate.
"Hear me," at last he said, when she had for the seventh time wildly
proffered her hand and her kingdom in marriage, "and know once and
forever why I must decline your flattering proposal: I love another."
With a wild, despairing cry, she leaped into the sea, but was instantly
rescued by the Pirate Prodigy. Yet, even in that supreme moment, such
was his coolness that on his way to the surface he captured a mermaid,
and, placing her in charge of his steward, with directions to give her
a stateroom, with hot and cold water, calmly resumed his place by the
Amazon's side. When the cabin door closed on his faithful servant,
bringing champagne and ices to the interesting stranger, Chitterlings
resumed his narrative with a choking voice:--
"When I first fled from the roof of a tyrannical parent, I loved the
beautiful and accomplished Eliza J. Sniffen. Her father was president
of the Workingmen's Savings Bank, and it was perfectly understood that
in the course of time the entire deposits would be his. But, like a
vain fool, I wished to anticipate the future, and in a wild moment
persuaded Miss Sniffen to elope with me; and, with the entire cash
assets of the bank, we fled together." He paused, overcome with
emotion. "But fate decreed it otherwise. In my feverish haste, I had
forgotten to place among the stores of my pirate craft that peculiar
kind of chocolate caramel to which Eliza Jane was most partial. We
were obliged to put into New Rochelle on the second day out, to enable
Miss Sniffen to procure that delicacy at the nearest confectioner's,
and match some zephyr worsteds at the first fancy shop. Fatal mistake.
She went--she never returned!" In a moment he resumed in a choking
voice, "After a week's weary waiting, I was obliged to put to sea
again, bearing a broken heart and the broken bank of her father. I
have never seen her since."
"And you still love her?" asked the Amazon queen, excitedly.
"Aye, forever!"
"Noble youth. Here take the reward of thy fidelity, for know, Bromley
Chitterlings, that I am Eliza Jane. Wearied with waiting, I embarked
on a Peruvian guano ship--but it's a long story, dear."
"And altogether too thin," said the Boy Avenger, fiercely, releasing
himself from her encircling arms. "Eliza Jane's age, a year ago, was
only thirteen, and you are forty, if a day."
"True," she returned, sadly, "but I have suffered much, and time passes
rapidly, and I've grown. You would scarcely believe that this is my
own hair."
"I know not," he replied, in gloomy abstraction.
"Forgive my deceit," she returned. "If you are affianced to another,
let me at least be--a mother to you."
The Pirate Prodigy started, and tears came to his eyes. The scene was
affecting in the extreme. Several of the oldest seamen--men who had
gone through scenes of suffering with tearless eyes and unblanched
cheeks--now retired to the spirit-room to conceal their emotion. A few
went into caucus in the forecastle, and returned with the request that
the Amazonian queen should hereafter be known as the "Queen of the
Pirates' Isle."
"Mother!" gasped the Pirate Prodigy.
"My son!" screamed the Amazonian queen.
They embraced. At the same moment a loud flop was heard on the
quarter-deck. It was the forgotten mermaid, who, emerging from her
state-room and ascending the companion-way at that moment, had fainted
at the spectacle. The Pirate Prodigy rushed to her side with a bottle
of smelling-salts.
She recovered slowly. "Permit me," she said, rising with dignity, "to
leave the ship. I am unaccustomed to such conduct."
"Hear me--she is my mother!"
"She certainly is old enough to be," replied the mermaid; "and to speak
of that being her own hair!" she added with a scornful laugh, as she
rearranged her own luxuriant tresses with characteristic grace, a comb,
and a small hand-mirror.
"If I couldn't afford any other clothes, I might wear a switch, too!"
hissed the Amazonian queen. "I suppose you don't dye it on account of
the salt water. But perhaps you prefer green, dear?"
"A little salt water might improve your own complexion, love."
"Fishwoman!" screamed the Amazonian queen.
"Bloomerite!" shrieked the mermaid.
In another instant they had seized each other.
"Mutiny! Overboard with them!" cried the Pirate Prodigy, rising to the
occasion, and casting aside all human affection in the peril of the
moment.
A plank was brought and two women placed upon it.
"After you, dear," said the mermaid, significantly, to the Amazonian
queen; "you're the oldest."
"Thank you!" said the Amazonian queen, stepping back. "Fish is always
served first."
Stung by the insult, with a wild scream of rage, the mermaid grappled
her in her arms and leaped into the sea.
As the waters closed over them forever, the Pirate Prodigy sprang to
his feet. "Up with the black flag, and bear away for New London," he
shouted in trumpet-like tones. "Ha, ha! Once more the Rover is free!"
Indeed it was too true. In that fatal moment he had again loosed
himself from the trammels of human feeling, and was once more the Boy
Avenger.