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"I cruised with the best of 'em," boasted the last of the storied race of true buccaneers of the Spanish Main, "and now I be in this cheap trade of piratin'. The fortunes I gamed away, and the plate ships I boarded! Take warnin', boy, and salt your treasure down." "This Trimble Rogers will talk you deaf," said Bill Saxby, "but there's pith in his old bones and wisdom under yon hoary thatch.
Master Cockrell had fallen into almighty bad company but the friends he had made displayed fidelity and readiness to serve him. "How far will the chase lead us?" he inquired. "Did you men come down this same creek in the pirogue?" "Aye, in this very same mess o' pea soup and jungle," answered Bill Saxby.
Bill Saxby raised himself for a moment and ducked swiftly as he whispered: "He is not lookin' about but motions 'em to row on up the stream." "Then our canoe is not what he's after?" murmured Jack. "'Tis some queer game. Were he hunting us, he'd fetch along more hands than them two. Hush! Let him pass." The little boat came steadily on, the tide helping the oars.
Aunt Martha says I am to be her heiress if I please her which means but, oh, you do not know what "pleasing" Aunt Martha means. Aunt is a determined and inveterate man-hater. She has no particular love for women, indeed, and trusts nobody but Mrs. Saxby, her maid. I rather like Mrs. Saxby. She is not quite so far gone in petrifaction as Aunt, although she gets a little stonier every year.
There was a certain COLONEL SAXBY of the army, once a great supporter of Oliver's but now turned against him, who was a grievous trouble to him through all this part of his career; and who came and went between the discontented in England and Spain, and Charles who put himself in alliance with Spain on being thrown off by France.
Owing to an outbreak of dumb madness in the Rosehill kennels, a very large number of its occupants either died or had to be destroyed, and this no doubt accounted for the extreme scarcity of the breed when several enthusiasts began to revive it about the year 1870. Mr. Saxby and Mr.
Saxby were at a safe distance, I began my message: "All discovered. Aunt is very angry. We go home today." Then I snatched my glass. His face expressed the direst consternation and dismay. He signalled: "I must see you before you go." "Impossible. Aunt will never forgive me. Good-bye." I saw a look of desperate determination cross his face.
July Tenth. This sort of life is decidedly dull. The program of every day is the same. I go to the sandshore with Aunt Martha and Mrs. Saxby in the morning, read to Aunt in the afternoons, and mope around by my disconsolate self in the evenings. Mrs. Blake has lent me, for shore use, a very fine spyglass which she owns. She says her "man" brought it home from "furrin' parts" before he died.
Nimble as they were, however, they failed to overtake him. This was because he was familiar with this landscape of bog and hummock and pine knoll. Jack Cockrell fell into a hidden quagmire and had to be fished out by main strength. Bill Saxby was caught amidst the tenacious vines, like a bull by the horns, and old Trimble came a cropper in a patch of saw-tooth palmetto.
One of the seamen is drowned, rest his soul, and we could not save the poor wretch. But the other fellow was stabbed and lies in the grass near the stream. For all we know, there may be life in him." "Heartless? 'Tis monstrous of us," cried Bill Saxby. "This greed for pirates' gold is like a poison." They hastened to retrace their steps.
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