# Kate Bonnet/Chapter 32

CHAPTER XXXII
THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER
THE sea was smooth and the wind light, and the transfer of provisions from the Black Swan to the pirate sloop, which two ships now lay as near each other as safety would permit, was accomplished quietly.
During the progress of the transfer Captain Ichabod's boat was rowed back to his ship, and its arrival was watched with great interest by everybody on board that pirate sloop. Kate and Dame Charter, as well as all the men who stood looking over the rail, were amazed to see a naval officer accompanying the captain and Mr. Delaplaine on their return. But that amazement was greatly increased when that officer, as soon as he set foot upon the deck, removed his hat and made directly for Dame Charter, who, with a scream loud enough to frighten the fishes, enfolded him in her arms and straightway fainted. It was like a son coming up out of the sea, sure enough, as she afterward stated. Kate, recognising Dickory, hurried to him with a scream of her own and both hands outstretched, but the young fellow, who seemed greatly distressed at the unconscious condition of his mother, did not greet Mistress Bonnet with the enthusiastic delight which might have been expected under the circumstances. He seemed troubled and embarrassed, which, perhaps, was not surprising, for never before had he seen his mother faint.
Kate was about to offer some assistance, but as the good Dame now showed signs of returning consciousness, she thought it would be better to leave the two together, and in a state of amazement she was hurrying to her uncle when Dickory rose from the side of his mother and stopped her.
"I have a letter for you," he said, in a husky voice.
"A letter?" she cried, "from my father?"
"No," said he, "from Captain Vince." And he handed her the blood-stained missive.
Kate turned pale and stared at him; here was horrible mystery. The thought flashed through the young girl's mind that the wicked captain had killed her father and had written to tell her so.
"Is my father dead?" she gasped.
"Not that I know of," said Dickory.
"Where is he?" she cried.
"I do not know," was the answer.
She stood, holding the letter, while Dickory returned to his mother. Mr. Delaplaine saw her standing thus, pale and shocked, but he did not hasten to her. He had sad things to say to her, for his practical mind told him that it would not be possible to continue the search for her father, he having put himself out of the reach of Captain Ichabod and his inefficient sloop. If Dickory had said anything about her father which had so cast her down, how much harder would it be for him when he had to tell her the whole truth.
But Kate did not wait for further speech from anybody. She gave a great start, and then rushed down the companion-way to her cabin. There, with her door shut, she opened the letter. This was the letter, written in lead pencil, in an irregular but bold hand, with some letters partly dimmed where the paper had been damp:
"At the very end of my life I write to you that you have escaped the fiercest love that ever a man had for a woman. I shall carry this love with me to hell, if it may be, but you have escaped it. This escape is a blessing, and now that I cannot help it I give it to you. Had I lived, I should have shed the blood of every one whom you loved to gain you and you would have cursed me. So love me now for dying.
          "Yours, anywhere and always,
             Christopher Vince."
Kate put down the letter and some colour came into her face; she bowed her head in thankful prayer.
"He is dead," she said, "and now he cannot harm my father." That was the only thought she had regarding this hot-brained and infatuated lover. He was dead, her father was safe from him. How he died, how Dickory came to bring the letter, how anything had happened that had happened except the death of Captain Vince, did not at this moment concern her. Not until now had she known how the fear of the vengeful captain of the Badger had constantly been with her.
Over and over again Dickory told his tale to his mother. She interrupted him so much with her embraces that he could not explain things clearly to her, but she did not care, she had him with her. He was with her, and she had fast hold of him, and she would never let him go again. What mattered it what sort of clothes he wore, or where he had escaped from—a family on a desert island or from a pirate crew? She had him, and her happiness knew no bounds. Dickory was perfectly willing to stay with her and to talk to her. He did not care to be with anybody else, not even with Mistress Kate, who had taken so much interest in him all the time he had been away; though, of course, not so much interest as his own dear mother.
Then the good Dame Charter, being greatly recovered and so happy, began to talk of herself. Slipping in a disjointed way over her various experiences, she told her dear boy, in strictest confidence, that she was very much disappointed in the way pirates took ships. She thought it was going to be something very exciting that she would remember to the end of her days, and wake up in the middle of the night and scream when she thought of it, but it was nothing of the kind; not a shot was fired, not a drop of blood shed; there was not even a shout or a yell or a scream for mercy. It was all like going into the pantry to get the flour and the sugar. She was all the time waiting for something to happen, and nothing ever did. Dickory smiled, but it was like watered milk.
"I do not understand such piracy," he said, "but supposed, dear mother, that these pirates had taken that ship in the usual way, I being on board."
At this he was clasped so tightly to his mother's breast that he could say no more.
The boats plied steadily between the two vessels, and on one of the trips Mr. Delaplaine went over to the brig on business, and also glad to escape for a little the dreaded interview which must soon come between himself and his niece.
"Now, sir," said the merchant to the captain of the brig, "you will make a bill against me for the provisions which are being taken to that pirate, but I hope you have reserved a sufficient store of food for your own maintenance until you reach a port, and that of myself and two women who wish to sail with you, craving most earnestly that you will land us in Jamaica or in some place convenient of access to that island."
"Which I can do," said the captain, "for I am bound to Kingston; and as to subsistence, shall have plenty."
On the brig Mr. Delaplaine found Captain Ichabod, who had come over to superintend operations, and who was now talking to the pretty girl who had seized him by the arm when he was about to slay the naval officer.
"I would talk with you, captain," said the merchant, "on a matter of immediate import." And he led the pirate away from the pretty girl.
The matter to be discussed was, indeed, of deep import.
"I am loath to say it, sir," said Mr. Delaplaine, "when I think of the hospitality and most exceptional kindness with which you have treated me and my niece, and for which we shall feel grateful all our lives, but I think you will agree with me that it would be useless for us to pursue the search after that most reprehensible person, my brother-in-law, Bonnet. There can be no doubt, I believe, that he and Blackbeard have left the vicinity of Charles Town, and have gone, we know not where."
"No doubt of that, bedad," said Ichabod, knitting his brows as he spoke; "if Blackbeard had been outside the harbour, this brig would not have been here."
"And, therefore, sir," continued Mr. Delaplaine, "I have judged it to be wise, and indeed necessary, for us to part company with you, sir, and to take passage on this brig, which, by a most fortunate chance, is bound for Kingston. My niece, I know, will be greatly disappointed by this course of events, but we have no choice but to fall in with them."
"I don't like to agree with you," said the captain, "but, bedad, I am bound to do it. I am disappointed myself, sir, but I have been disappointed so often that I suppose I ought to be used to it. If I had caught up with Blackbeard I should have been all right, and after I had settled your affairs—and I know I could have done that—I think I would have joined him. But all I can do now is to hammer along at the business, take prizes in the usual way, and wait for Blackbeard to come south again, and then I'll either sell out or join him."
"It is a great pity, sir," said Mr. Delaplaine, "a great pity——"
"Yes, it is," interrupted Ichabod, "it's a very great pity, sir, a very great pity. If I had known more about ships when I bought the Restless I would have had a faster craft, and by this time I might have been a man of comfortable means. But that sloop over there, bedad, is so slow, that many a time, sir, I have seen a fat merchantman sail away from her and leave us, in spite of our guns, cursing and swearing, miles behind. I am sorry to have you leave me, sir, and with your ladies; but, as you say, here's your chance to get home, and I don't know when I could give you another."
Mr. Delaplaine replied courteously and gratefully, and by the next boat he went back to the Restless. Captain Ichabod, his brow still clouded by the approaching separation, walked over to Lucilla and continued his conversation with her about the island of Barbadoes, a subject of which he knew very little and she nothing.
When Kate returned to the deck she found Dickory alone, Dame Charter having gone to talk to the cook about the wonderful things which had happened, of which she knew very little and he nothing at all.
"Dickory," said Kate, "I want to talk to you, and that quickly. I have heard nothing of what has happened to you. How did you get possession of the letter you brought me, and what do you know of Captain Vince?"
"I can tell you nothing," he said, without looking at her, "until you tell me what I ought to know about Captain Vince." And as he said this he could not help wondering in his heart that there were no signs of grief about her.
"Ought to know?" she repeated, regarding him earnestly. "Well, you and I have been always good friends, and I will tell you." And then she told him the story of the captain of the Badger; of his love-making and of his commission to sail upon the sea and destroy the pirate ship Revenge, and all on board of her.
"And now," she said, as she concluded, "I think it would be well for you to read this letter." And she handed him the missive he had carried so long and with such pain. He read the bold, uneven lines, and then he turned and looked upon her, his face shining like the morning sky.
"Then you have never loved him?" he gasped.
"Why should I?" said Kate.
In spite of the fact that there were a great many people on board that pirate sloop who might see him; in spite of the fact that there were people in boats plying upon the water who might notice his actions, Dickory fell upon his knees before Kate, and, seizing her hand, he pressed it to his lips.
"Why should I?" said Kate, quietly drawing her hand from him, "for I have a devoted lover already—Master Martin Newcombe, of Barbadoes."
Dickory, repulsed, rose to his feet, but his face did not lose its glow. He had heard so much about Martin Newcombe that he had ceased to mind him.
"To think of it!" he cried, "to think how I stood and watched him fight; how I admired and marvelled at his wonderful strength and skill, his fine figure, and his flashing eye! How my soul went out to him, how I longed that he might kill that scoundrel Blackbeard! And all the time he was your enemy, he was my enemy, he was a viler wretch than even the bloody pirate who killed him. Oh, Kate, Kate! if I had but known."
"Miss Kate, if you please," said the girl. "And it is well, Dickory, you did not know, for then you might have jumped upon him and stuck him in the back, and that would have been dishonourable."
"He thought," said Dickory, not in the least abashed by his reproof, "that the Revenge was commanded by your father, for he sprang upon the deck, shouting for the captain, and when he saw Blackbeard I heard him exclaim in surprise, 'A sugar-planter!'"
"And he would have killed my father?" said Kate, turning pale at the thought.
"Yes," replied Dickory, "he would have killed any man except the great Blackbeard. And to think of it! I stood there watching them, and wishing that vile Englishman the victory. Oh, Kate! you should have seen that wonderful pirate fight. No man could have stood before him." Then, with sparkling eyes and waving arms, he told her of the combat. When he had finished, the souls of these two young people were united in an overpowering admiration, almost reverence, for the prowess and strength of the wicked and bloody pirate who had slain the captain of the Badger.
When Mr. Delaplaine came on board, Kate, who had been waiting, took him aside.
"Uncle," she exclaimed, "I have great news. Captain Vince is dead. At last he came up with the Revenge, but instead of finding my father in command he found Blackbeard, who killed him. Now my father is safe!"
The good man scarcely knew what to say to this bright-faced girl, whose father's safety was all the world to her. If he had heard that his worthless and wicked brother-in-law had been killed, it would have been trouble and sorrow for the present, but it would have been peace for the future. But he was a Christian gentleman and a loving uncle, and he banished this thought from his heart. He listened to Kate as she rapidly went on talking, but he did not hear her; his mind was busy with the news he had to tell her—the news that she must give up her loving search and go back with him to Spanish Town.
"And now, uncle," said Kate, "there's another thing I want to say to you. Since this great grief has been lifted from my soul, since I know that no wrathful and vindictive captain of a man-of-war is scouring the seas, armed with authority to kill my father and savage for his life, I feel that it is not right for me to put other people who are so good to me to sad discomfort and great expense to try to follow my father into regions far away, and to us almost unknown.
"Some day he will come back into this part of the world, and I hope he may return disheartened and weary of his present mode of life, and then I may have a better chance of winning him back to the domestic life he used to love so much. But he is safe, uncle, and that is everything now, and so I came to say to you that I think it would be well for us to relieve this kind Captain Ichabod from the charges and labours he has taken upon himself for our sakes and, if it be possible, engage that ship yonder to take us back to Jamaica; she was sailing in that direction, and her captain might be induced to touch at Kingston. This is what I have been thinking about, dear uncle, and do you not agree with me?"
High rose the spirits of the good Mr. Delaplaine; banished was all the overhanging blackness of his dreaded interview with Kate. The sky was bright, her soul was singing songs of joy and thankfulness, and his soul might join her. He never appreciated better than now the blessings which might be shed upon humanity by the death of a bad man. His mind even gambolled a little in his relief.
"But, Kate," he said, "if we leave that kind Captain Ichabod, and he be not restrained by our presence, then, my dear, he will return to his former evil ways, and his next captures will not be like this one, but like ordinary piracies, sinful in every way."
"Uncle," said Kate, looking up into his face, "it is too much to ask of one young girl to undertake the responsibilities of two pirates; I hope some day to be of benefit to my poor father, but when it comes to Captain Ichabod, kind as he has been, I am afraid I will have to let him go and manage the affairs of his soul for himself."
Her uncle smiled upon her. Now that he was to go back to his home and take this dear girl with him, he was ready to smile at almost anything. That he thought one pirate much better worth saving than the other, and that his choice did not agree with that of his niece, was not for him even to think about at such a happy moment. It was not long after this conversation that the largest boat belonging to the Restless was rowed over to the brig, and in it sat, not only Kate, Dame Charter, and Dickory, but Captain Ichabod, who would accompany his guests to take proper leave of them. The crew of the pirate sloop crowded themselves along her sides, and even mounted into her shrouds, waving their hats and shouting as the boat moved away. The cook was the loudest shouter, and his ragged hat waved highest. And, as Dame Charter shook her handkerchief above her head and gazed back at her savage friend, there was a moisture in her eyes. Up to this moment she never would have believed that she would have grieved to depart from a pirate vessel and to leave behind a pirate cook.
Lucilla watched carefully the newcomers as they ascended to the deck of the Black Swan. "That is the girl," she said to herself, "and I am not surprised."
A little later she remarked to Captain Ichabod, who sat by her: "Are they mother and daughter, those two?"
"Oh, no," said he. "Mistress Bonnet is too fine a lady and too beautiful to be daughter to that old woman, who is her attendant and the mother of the young fellow in the cocked hat."
"Too fine and beautiful!" repeated Lucilla.
"I greatly grieve to leave you all," continued the young pirate captain, "although some of you I have known so short a time. It will be very lonely when I sail away with none to speak to save the bloody dogs I command, who may yet throttle me. And it is to Barbadoes you go to settle with your family?"
"That is our destination," said Lucilla, "but I know not if we shall find the money to settle there; we were taken by pirates and lost everything."
Now the captain of the brig came up to Ichabod and informed him that the goods he demanded had been delivered on board his vessel, and that the brig was ready to sail. It was the time for leave-taking, but Ichabod was tardy. Presently he approached Kate, and drew her to one side.
"Dear lady," he said, and his voice was hesitating, while a slight flush of embarrassment appeared on his face, "you may have thought, dear lady," he repeated, "you may have thought that so fair a being as yourself should have attracted during the days we have sailed together—may have attracted, bedad, I mean—the declared admiration even of a fellow like myself, we being so much together; but I had heard your story, fair lady, and of the courtship paid you by Captain Vince of the corvette Badger—whose family I knew in England—and, acknowledging his superior claims, I constantly refrained, though not without great effort (I must say that much for myself, fair lady), from—from——"
"Addressing me, I suppose you mean," said Kate. "What you say, kind captain, redounds to your honour, and I thank you for your noble consideration, but I feel bound to tell you that there was never anything between me and Captain Vince, and he is now dead."
The young pirate stepped back suddenly and opened wide his eyes. "What!" he exclaimed, "and all the time you were——"
"Not free," she interrupted with a smile, "for I have a lover on the island of Barbadoes."
"Barbadoes," repeated Captain Ichabod, and he bade Kate a most courteous farewell.
All the good-byes had been said and good wishes had been wished, when, just as he was about to descend to his boat, Captain Ichabod turned to Lucilla. "And it is truly to Barbadoes you go?" he asked.
"Yes," said she, "I think we shall certainly do that."
Now his face flushed. "And do you care for that fellow in the cocked hat?"
Here was a cruel situation for poor Lucilla. She must lie or lose two men. She might lose them anyway, but she would not do it of her own free will, and so she lied.
"Not a whit!" said Lucilla.
The eyes of Ichabod brightened as he went down the side of the brig.