VI
Within a week Levi West had pretty well established himself
among his old friends and acquaintances, though upon a different
footing from that of nine years before, for this was a very different
Levi from that other. Nevertheless, he was none the less popular
in the barroom of the tavern and at the country store, where he
was always the center of a group of loungers. His nine years seemed
to have been crowded full of the wildest of wild adventures and
happenings, as well by land as by sea, and, given an appreciative
audience, he would reel off his yarns by the hour, in a reckless,
devil-may-care fashion that set agape even old sea dogs who had
sailed the western ocean since boyhood. Then he seemed always
to have plenty of money, and he loved to spend it at the tavern tap-room, with a lavishness that was at once the wonder and admiration
of gossips.
At that time, as was said, Blueskin was the one engrossing topic
of talk, and it added not a little to Levi's prestige when it was
found that he had actually often seen that bloody, devilish pirate
with his own eyes. A great, heavy, burly fellow, Levi said he was,
with a beard as black as a hat—a devil with his sword and pistol
afloat, but not so black as he was painted when ashore. He told of
many adventures in which Blueskin figured and was then always
listened to with more than usual gaping interest.
As for Blueskin, the quiet way in which the pirates conducted
themselves at Indian River almost made the Lewes folk forget
what he could do when the occasion called. They almost ceased
to remember that poor shattered schooner that had crawled with
its ghastly dead and groaning wounded into the harbor a couple
of weeks since. But if for a while they forgot who or what
Blueskin was, it was not for long.
One day a bark from Bristol, bound for Cuba and laden
with a valuable cargo of cloth stuffs and silks, put into Lewes
harbor to take in water. The captain himself came ashore and was
at the tavern for two or three hours. It happened that Levi was
there and that the talk was of Blueskin. The English captain, a
grizzled old sea dog, listened to Levi's yarns with not a little
contempt. He had, he said, sailed in the China Sea and the Indian
Ocean too long to be afraid of any hog-eating Yankee pirate such
as this Blueskin. A junk full of coolies armed with stink-pots
was something to speak of, but who ever heard of the likes of
Blueskin falling afoul of anything more than a Spanish canoe or a
Yankee coaster?
Levi grinned. "All the same, my hearty,'' said he, "if I was
you I'd give Blueskin a wide berth. I hear that he's cleaned the
vessel that was careened awhile ago, and mebby he'll give you a
little trouble if you come too nigh him.''
To this the Englishman only answered that Blueskin might
be—, and that the next afternoon, wind and weather permitting,
he intended to heave anchor and run out to sea.
Levi laughed again. "I wish I might be here to see what 'll
happen,'' said he, "but I'm going up the river to-night to see a
gal and mebby won't be back again for three or four days.''
The next afternoon the English bark set sail as the captain
promised, and that night Lewes town was awake until almost
morning, gazing at a broad red glare that lighted up the sky away
toward the southeast. Two days afterward a negro oysterman
came up from Indian River with news that the pirates were lying
off the inlet, bringing ashore bales of goods from their larger vessel
and piling the same upon the beach under tarpaulins. He said
that it was known down at Indian River that Blueskin had fallen
afoul of an English bark, had burned her and had murdered the
captain and all but three of the crew, who had joined with the
pirates.
The excitement over this terrible happening had only begun
to subside when another occurred to cap it. One afternoon a
ship's boat, in which were five men and two women, came rowing
into Lewes harbor. It was the longboat of the Charleston packet,
bound for New York, and was commanded by the first mate. The
packet had been attacked and captured by the pirates about ten
leagues south by east of Cape Henlopen. The pirates had come
aboard of them at night and no resistance had been offered. Perhaps
it was that circumstance that saved the lives of all, for no murder
or violence had been done. Nevertheless, officers, passengers and
crew had been stripped of everything of value and set adrift in
the boats and the ship herself had been burned. The longboat
had become separated from the others during the night and had
sighted Henlopen a little after sunrise.
It may be here said that Squire Hall made out a report of
these two occurrences and sent it up to Philadelphia by the mate
of the packet. But for some reason it was nearly four weeks before
a sloop of war was sent around from New York. In the meanwhile,
the pirates had disposed of the booty stored under the
tarpaulins on the beach at Indian River inlet, shipping some of
it away in two small sloops and sending the rest by wagons somewhere
up the country.
