University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Old Ballad.

When Cocklescraft and his crew had again doubled
the point of St. Inigoe's, on their retreat, the sail of the
yawl was spread before the breeze, and she skimmed
the waves like a bird of the sea. Blanche had yet
scarcely shown signs of animation, except in the
low and smothered moan that escaped from beneath
the folds of the cloak which, with an officious care,
the leader of the pirate gang had disposed for the
protection of her person from the cold. Beside her
crouched the housekeeper, sobbing and sighing and
uttering ejaculations of alarm—one moment for her
own fate—at the next, for the lot of her young
lady,—and at intervals shrieking with a causeless
terror, as the little bark, bending to the wind, dipped
the end of her sail into the wave.

The seamen, now released from the oars, were
called to the care of their bleeding comrades. Roche
del Carmine, the mate, was already dead, and the
other writhed in the torments of an unstaunched
wound. The band were too familiar with the accidents
of war to be much moved by the fate of their
companions, and accordingly, after applying a bandage
to the hurt of the living man, and merely disposing
the body of the dead one in a position least inconvenient
to themselves, they assumed that gleesome
indifference to the hazards of their condition, which
has ever been a characteristic trait of the hardened
and reckless temper engendered by the discipline of
the Buccaneer's life.

The beams of the sun had begun to bicker on the
face of the waters when the fugitives reached the
island of St. George's, the first of those few scattered
islands in the Potomac which passed under the general
name of the Heron Islands. During this brief
voyage, Cocklescraft had in vain endeavoured to
soothe the maiden with kind words and protestations
that no harm should befall her. He took her cold
hand and it quivered in his grasp; and when he released
it, it fell lifeless back upon her bosom: he laid
his palm upon her brow, and a clammy moisture bespoke
the agony that wrung it.

“Dame,” he said, addressing Mistress Coldcale;
“thou art better skilled than I, in these woman
qualms,—look to thy lady, and tell me of what she
may stand in need. Thou shalt take her presently
on board of the brigantine, and the whole vessel, if
she require it, shall be given up to her comfort.”

“She stands in need of her father's house,” replied
the dame, with more spirit than she might have
been thought, from her previous fright, to possess.
“She stands in need of friendly faces and kind hearts:
—her soul is bowed down by misery. She will never
open her eyes again, never, never—unless it be to
look upon the friends from whom you have stole her.
Oh, Master Cocklescraft—you have broken bread
under her father's roof and have sat in the warmth
of his fireside—his old eyes have looked kindly upon
you, and he has spoken words of welcome that have
gone to your heart with a blessing in the very sound
of them:—how can you heap torments on the head
of his child? In sorrow and wailing have you borne
her away, and she will quickly wither in your hand:
—you have stolen a flower that dies in the cropping.
And oh, her grey-haired father!—with a broken
heart, you have cast him down to the tomb.”

“By St. Mary, woman, but I honour, love and
cherish the maid!” returned Cocklescraft. “Have I
not loved her long, as never father loved her,—
thought of her on the wide waters of the ocean,
under every sun;—dreamed of her night after night,
in many a weary voyage;—borne her image before
me in storm and battle, in the chase and in the flight,
beneath the stars in the dead hour of midnight, and
at the feast at high noon? Have I not made honourable
petition for her, from her father—and been refused
with scorn and foul insult? And have I not
now, at last, entrapped her as gently as she doth the
winter bird that seeks a crumb upon her window
sill? By my faith, fairly have I won her, and proudly

will I wear her, dame! Her father!—I owe him
nothing for his kindly greeting and warm fireside,
and breaking of bread: he hath paid himself by his
disdain and mockery of my suit. Have I not there,”
he added, speaking with an angry vehemence and
pointing towards the bow of the boat—“given the
life-blood of two of my best and bravest comrades
to the old man's wrath,—and yet did I not myself turn
aside the blow that would have laid him upon the
floor of his own hall?”

“Better that he had so fallen,” replied the dame,
“than live to witness what his old eyes saw last
night. Better that he died outright, than live to lose
his child.”

“Be silent, woman,” exclaimed the Skipper, “if
thou canst not give me fairer speech. When this anger
is gone, and the maiden is more resigned, I will
speak to you—not now. To your oars, good fellows,”
he said in a calmer tone to the seamen, as
with the rising sun the breeze had fallen away and
the sail flapped loosely against the mast. “We must
pass through this narrow strait to the opposite side
of the islands:—we shall find the brigantine there at
anchor.”

A confined and crooked channel, scarce above a
pistol shot wide from shore to shore, divided the two
islands immediately across the mouth of St. Mary's
river, and afforded a passage for a light boat between.
These islands, thickly timbered to the water's
edge, effectually prevented, by their forest screen,
the voyager along the inner shore from discerning
the largest vessel which might be in the river beyond.

It was, therefore, with undoubting confidence in the
certainty of finding the Escalfador at her appointed
ground, that the leader of these rude Argonauts
commanded his men to labour at the oar whilst they
shot through the strait I have described.

When they emerged upon the open river, on the
outer side of the islands, the sun, looming through
the thick autumnal haze, shot his fiery beam over
the broad sheet of water, without disclosing to the
anxiously-searching eye of Cocklescraft trace of
brig or boat or sail of any kind. His vision, however,
was circumscribed within a narrow horizon;—
for the mist which, at this season, broods over the
landscape,—the forerunner of a genial day—scarce
brought within the compass of his observation the
nearer points of the mainland, and effectually shut
out all more distant objects;—a circumstance which,
however embarrassing to his present inspection, had
so far been favourable to his escape from the prying
eye of the sentinel on the look-out station of the Fort
of St. Mary's.

“Ha!—twice have I been fooled by that old dotard
of St. Jerome's,” he peevishly murmured, when,
after straining his sight in every direction, he became
aware that the brigantine was no where to be
seen; “he hath overslept himself, forsooth,—or must
stay to mumble a paternoster, or tell his beads.
Why did I trust a laggard with this enterprise! But
that I spoke somewhat hastily and with temper to
him last night, and would not have his displeasure,
I would have seen him gibbeted e'er I would have
given the brigantine into his charge. Yet he is

trusty,—and hath a devil's spice in him that fits him
somewhat for such an outcome, too. He will be here
anon;—the wind has left him,—and what he had was
in his teeth: the Escalfador makes not such way as
may keep pace with my longings. Patience for a
season,—and meantime we will land on the island,
comrades, and wait for our crippled admiral.”

With this intimation he steered directly upon the
beach. “John of Brasil,” he continued; “use your
time to scoop a grave for our comrade Roche, and
see him bestowed with such honour as belongs to a
Brother of the Coast. Joseph, thou and a messmate
will kindle a fire under yonder oak—these women
are frozen into a dead silence. Harry Skelton, get
to the lower end of the island, and there keep watch
upon the river, and report every thing that comes in
sight. Now, Mistress Bridget, thou and our lady
Blanche shall have sway over the whole island;—
the lady shall be an empress and thou her maid of
honour. See, how quickly preferment comes! You
have your liberty, pretty Rose of St. Mary's—so
cheer up, and make a fair use of it.”

To this ill-timed jocularity the maiden yielded no
reply; and the Skipper believing that, upon being
left alone with Mistress Coldcale, she would perhaps
relent into a more tractable tone of feeling, quitted
the boat with the seamen who had gone to execute
his several orders, and thus abandoned the two females
to themselves.

“Alack, alack!” sobbed Blanche, as she raised
her head and then dropped it on the lap of the housekeeper;

“dear Bridget, what will become of us? I
shall die, I shall die!—my poor father!”

“Poor indeed, mistress,” replied the dame. “If
we are not rescued, he will never hold up his head
after the loss of his child. Oh, if our townspeople
would but follow,—as I trust in the saints they will!”

“Is there a chance of it,” exclaimed Blanche,
“good Bridget, is there a chance of it?”

“Ay, truly, my dear young lady,—good and reasonable
hope that these villains have been watched
and will be followed. Be of good cheer, and trust
in Heaven. This bloodhound thought to find his
vessel at the island, but the saints have befriended
us, and the vessel has not yet come. All will go
well, mistress,—such wicked men shall not prevail
against the shield of innocence.”

“The fire blazes cheerily, Mistress Coldcale—I
pray thee intreat our lady to come ashore,” called
out Cocklescraft from a distance.

“Arouse thee, child, I shall be at thy side,” said
the dame; “it may be discreet not to provoke the
Skipper—he is a harsh man and may be rude, if we
be stubborn.”

“Mother of Grace, sustain me!” said Blanche, as
her frame shook from head to foot, and she grasped
the arm of her friendly attendant. “Even as thou
shalt advise, I walk, Bridget—I pray thee hold me,”
she added, as, raising herself on her feet, her loose
and disordered tresses fell over her wan cheek and
covered her breast and shoulders. “Oh, God, this
trial will craze my brain!”

“Do not sink, dear child—thou needest fire, and

this barbarous Captain hath provided it—pray thee,
be of stout heart, and trust in coming help.”

Encouraged by the support of her companion,
Blanche feebly tottered towards the bow of the boat,
and thence landed on the beach. Whilst she leaned
upon Mistress Coldcale's arm and advanced towards
the fire, Cocklescraft came forward to meet her; and
as he was about to address her in that tone of light
salutation in which he had heretofore spoken, he was
arrested in his first words, by the maiden finging
herself upon her knees, immediately at his feet, and
looking up in his face with her eyes bedimmed with
tears, as she cried out for mercy—

“Spare me!” she exclaimed—“Oh, spare a
wretched girl, who has never imagined thought,
nor spoken word of harm against you. Save me
from a broken heart and bewildered brain—from
misery, ruin and disgrace! If I, or any friend of
mine have ever given you offence, on my knees and
in the dust, I intreat forgiveness:—pardon,—pardon
a fault whereof I have ever been unconscious. If
one touch of pity dwell in your bosom, oh think of
the miserable being at your feet and send her back to
her home. Land me but on yonder shore, and I will,
morning and evening, remember you in prayers and
invoke blessings on your head!”

“This posture doth not become our queen,” said
Cocklescraft, stooping to raise the maiden to her
feet, who shrinking from his touch crouched still
lower to the earth. “This is but a foolish sorrow.
Do I not love thee, Blanche? Ay, by the virgin!
and mean to do well by thee. I have stuffs of price

on board the Escalfador, which shall trick thee out
as gloriously as a queen indeed:—our dame here,
shall ply her skill at the needle to set thee forth quickly.
And then that pretty robe of crimson and minever
which unthinkingly you did refuse, you shall
wear it yet, girl. I have chains of gold and jewels
rare, to make you gay as gaudiest flower of the field.
I will bear you to an enchanted island, where slaves
shall bend before you to do your bidding, and where
you shall have store of wealth to scatter with such
profusion as in dreams you have never even fancied.
We will abide in a sea-girt tower upon a sunny cliff,
and through your window shall the breeze from the
beautiful, blue Atlantic fan you to evening slumbers.
My gay bark shall be your servant, and ride, at your
command, upon the wave; whilst our merry men
shall take tribute from all the world, that thou mayst
go braver and more daintily. Cheer up, weeping
mistress; your mishap is not so absolute as at first
you feared. Thy hand, lass!”

Blanche sprang to her feet with a sudden energy,
and retreating a pace from her persecutor, cast upon
him a look of resolute and indignant pride:

“Base wretch,” she said, “I dare to spurn your
suit. Defenceless as I stand here, a weak and captive
maid,—if it be the last word I have to utter,—I
abhor you, and your loathsome offer.” Then relapsing
into that tone of grief from which this momentary
impulse had drawn her, she added, “Did you think—
did you think, Master Cocklescraft, when you stole
me from my father's house, that fair speech from you,
or promise of gold, could win me to be your wife?

Oh, sir, if, in that error, you have heaped the sin of
this deed upon your soul, quickly learn that not all
the gold of all the mines, nor longest wooing, nor
promise of a kingdom, if that were yours to give,
might persuade me,—though the speaking of the
word should lift me from abject misery or the pangs
of death,—to give a favourable word to your suit.
With holy faith and saddest reverence, I call my
guardian, the ever-blessed virgin Therese, to hear my
vow;—I never will be thine.”

“A boat, a boat!” cried out the voice of the man
at the lower point of the island,—and instantly this
painful interview was at an end. The seamen had
since their landing been busy in depositing the body
of the mate in a shallow grave, and had just set up a
wooden cross, formed of the boughs of trees, to mark
the spot, when the alarm from the look-out reached
them. Cocklescraft repaired, with all haste, to the
end of the island, and was soon aware, not only of
the boat to which the seaman alluded, but also of a
second of the same description, dimly seen in the
haze, at no great distance behind the first. They
were both holding their course towards the mouth of
St. Mary's river, close on the eastern margin, as if
their purpose were to proceed down the Potomac.
St. George's Island lay abreast the opposite or western
shore, and it was therefore necessary for these
boats, if they were destined for the island, to take a
course nearly across the entire breadth of the river
at its mouth. As, at the moment when first descried,
they gave no indication of such a purpose, Cocklescraft,
(who did not doubt that these were parties in

pursuit of him) began to assure himself that his retreat
to the island was not discovered, and that his
pursuers were most probably bound to St. Jerome's.
Again he cast a troubled eye over the waters, in the
hope to perceive the brigantine, for which, at this
moment, he looked with increased solicitude, as he
had reason to apprehend that, on her voyage up the
Potomac, she must pass the boats that were apparently
on their voyage downward. For some time,
he gazed keenly abroad in silence, or muttering only
inaudible curses on the delay of Rob with the Escalfador,
and on his own folly in committing the vessel
to the Cripple's guidance. It was not long before the
boats had reached the Potomac. Here, instead of
shaping their further voyage, as the Skipper had
been led to expect, towards the Chesapeake, they
took the opposite course and stood directly for the
island. They were near enough to make it apparent
to Cocklescraft that each was filled with armed men,
and if any doubts of their hostile purpose had existed
before, it now became altogether unquestionable.
Hastening towards the spot where the yawl was
drawn up on the strand, the buccaneer ordered his
crew immediately to their posts. Blanche and Mistress
Bridget were forced to take their former seats,
and the boat being shoved off, was directed towards
the point of land opposite the western extremity of
the upper island,—then only known as a nameless
sandy flat, thinly covered with pines, but of late rendered
somewhat more familiar to public repute, by
the comfortable accommodation with which it has
been provided as a place of refuge against the heats
of summer, and for the luxury of its bathing.

“By St. Iago, we are hotly followed!” said the
retreating and anxious rover, as he now measured
the size of the barges with his eye, whilst they shot
out from behind the cover of the extreme eastern
point of the islands and disclosed themselves in
full pursuit; “and with swift craft, well manned.
The devil hath sent us a dead calm,—otherwise, with
this rag of canvass, I would show these lurchers the
trick of a sea-fight: as it is, we must give them a clean
pair of heels. Oh, that my good brigantine were
here! I would defy twenty barges, and sweep through
them all. Lustily, good fellows! slacken not:—halter
and harquebuss are on our track; we die by hemp or
leaden bullet if we are overtaken—so pull amain.
You have been in as great straits before and found
a lucky ending. We shall see Rob anon, when this
mist shall lift its curtain: and, once in sight of our
good bark, we shall fight our way to her side.
Courage, friends!”

In this strain of exhortation, Cocklescraft spoke at
intervals to his men, whilst anxiously looking to the
rear he watched the progress of his pursuers and
seemed to count every wave that broke against their
bows. Not even his experienced eye could tell which
of the struggling rivals in this race had the swiftest
keel. So intense became the competition that soon
all other cares were absorbed in the engrossing
thought of the escape. The boat's crew fell into
silence, and when the necessary orders were delivered
they were spoken in the low tone of familiar conversation,

as if the speakers were afraid they might
be overheard by the enemy in their wake. If the
concern of the leader and his crew in their present
condition was eager, still more did it awaken the
feelings of Blanche Warden and Mistress Bridget.
The maiden seemed to have forgotten her tears; occupied
with a more absorbing emotion than her grief,
she found herself renovated in strength, and by degrees
assuming an upright posture in the boat, whence,
with an ardent and unblenching gaze, she kept her
eye fixed upon the barges that came like angel-messengers
to her deliverance.

Two miles or more yet lay between the parties in
the chase. Cocklescraft steered towards the upper
headland of Piney Point—to use its modern designation—and
reaching this, found a long sweep of the
river ahead of him, bounded by a smooth strand unmarked
by creek or inlet. At one moment he thought
of running for the Virginia shore, and there, by doubling
back upon his pursuers, aim to win the Capes of
Potomac, in the hope of meeting the Escalfador; but
he could not count sufficiently on the speed of his
boat to risk so dangerous a hazard.—

“If I can but keep my way till night, I shall baffle
these hounds upon my track;” he said, in pondering
over the emergency. “A weary day it is before
me, and a long run till night. Perchance, I may
meet some stouter craft upon the water, some up
river trader, whom I may easily master,—and once on
a broader deck, I will fight these landsmen with all
their odds against me. Or, at the worst, I shall run
ashore, if I am pressed, and take to the thicket,

where at least, till day be done, I may lie concealed,
and after find my way to the Chapel.”

In this perplexity and doubt he still pursued his
voyage. The point which he had passed momentarily
screened him from the view of his pursuers;
but in due time the barges were again seen across
the white sandy flat, apparently, by the effect of that
optical deception which may be observed on a low
shore, raised above the level of the land and looming
to twice their natural size.

“They come, they come—Heaven be praised,
they gain upon us!” involuntarily ejaculated Blanche,
as she rose from her seat and gazed across the extremity
of the point.

“Not so fast, my merry queen,” said Cocklescraft,
for the moment attracted by the lively utterance of
the maiden; “they do not gain upon us, mistress: you
forget that they must weather the point by that same
circuit which you may see traced by our wake.
Thou wilt be a better sailor anon. Steadily, good
lads! do not overwork yourselves; we are likely to
have a long run of it.”

Now, for some miles, the chase continued with
little diminution of the space between the parties.
At length it began to be perceptible that the barges
drew nearer to the object of their pursuit: the shortened
stroke of the oar denoted the flagging strength
of the labouring Buccaneer, whilst the unabated
vigour of the pursuers showed that the chase was
urged by men enured to the toil of rowing. Still,
there was the energy of desperate men in the force

with which the flying band held on their way, and
Cocklescraft did not yet abandon the hope of wearying
down the strength of those from whom he fled.
Another hour, and the barges still crept up nearer to
their chase. A death-like stillness prevailed on board
the latter, broken only by the monotonous dipping of
the oar and its dull jar upon the boat, as the seaman,
with unvarying time, turned it in the row-lock and
repeated his stroke. Still nearer came the barges
and nearer, with fearful certainty.

“They come within musket shot!” exclaimed
Cocklescraft. “To the land, boys! we must even
fight them on the land.”

“Back your oars!” cried out Dauntrees, from the
leading barge: “back, and lay to, or by St. Michael,
I fire!”

A scream from Bridget Coldcale was, for a moment,
the only answer that reached the ears of the
Captain.

“To your feet, mistress!” said Cocklescraft, as
seizing Blanche by the arm he placed her erect in
the boat. “Fire at your peril!” was the reply he
now gave to the accost of his enemy; “my crew
sail under the protection of the Rose of St. Mary's.
Have your weapons at hand!” he added, addressing
his men; “we must e'en leave our boat, and this
precious freight to these land-rats, and take to the
wood. You cannot call me cruel, pretty maiden,
—for I give you up, in pure courtesy, to your friends.
You will remember the Master of the Esealfador as
a gallant who would have made you mistress of as
pretty a dowry as ever won maiden's good will.

We have had a merry morning of it, lady—I would
it had been longer—but these churls behind forbid it:
so, without more ceremony in the leave-taking—for
thou seest I must needs be in haste—fare thee well,
girl! Even without asking this favour, I kiss thy
cheek. To the shore, lads!”

As he spoke, and made good his word by stooping
over the maiden and enforcing her submission to this
parting token of his gallantry, the boat struck the
sand, and, in an instant, leader and crew had sprung
into the shallow water and bounded to the shore,
leaving but their wounded comrade and the maiden
with her faithful companion on board of the boat.
A volley was discharged from the nearest barge at
the fugitives, but the result served to show that the
common deception of distance on the water had
misled the party who fired: the balls fell short of
their mark, and the persons aimed at were soon out
of sight in the forest that covered the shore.

Upon the land side an enterprise was afoot of
almost equal excitement to that upon the water.
The party of horsemen that had crossed with Colonel
Talbot to the opposite shore of St. Mary's River,
submitting to the guidance of Arnold de la Grange
and his old Indian comrade, were conducted along
a path which threaded the thickets lying around the
head of an inlet, that now bears the name of St.
George's, and thence took a course down the peninsula
towards Piney Point. Whilst galloping upon
the further margin of the inlet by which the eastern
side of the peninsula was formed, and yet two miles
from the point, they perceived the yawl of Cockles

craft stretching across from the islands towards the
main. A halt was immediately called by the commander
of the party, and they were ordered to
screen themselves and their horses from observation
amongst the wild shrubbery of the spot.

“It is even as the Cripple of St. Jerome's told us,”
said Talbot. “This is the boat of the Olive Branch
with her thieving knaves. You may know the Skipper,
Master Verheyden, by his flat bonnet and scarlet
jacket. See, he looks sternward and waves his hand
to his rowers as if he would hasten their speed.”

“And I see the forms of cowering females at his
feet,” added Albert. “The boat makes for the point.
A blessing on the day!—these marauders design to
land. Oh, happy chance that we are here! let us
not delay to set upon them.”

“Hold, Master Secretary! be not too eager,” replied
the leader. “Think you they will land, if they
see us lying at lurch to attack them? No, no! our
honest friend of the Bowl hath stolen away their
brigantine, and the cheated felons, all agaze at their
mishap, are now seeking a hiding place where they
may abide till night, and then, perchance, repair their
misfortune by some other villany. We should mar
our best hope if they but catch a glimpse of us. So,
quiet, gentlemen; your impatience shall find action
soon enough e'er we get home again. Ah, good
luck, friends! see how bravely sets the wind of our
fortune; yonder comes old Jasper Dauntrees, like a
trusty comrade, hot in chance, with his barge trimmed
to the nicety of an arrow's feathering. He follows
close in the wake of the Freebooter—and at his

heels, by my faith, there opens now, from behind the
point of the island, his second party. Push for it, old
friend! The good powers cheer thee in thy race!”

“Master Cocklescraft,” said Arnold, “will not be
so fool-hardy as to land on that deep sand with two
helpless women to take care of, whilst he has a soldier
like Captain Dauntrees to track his march.”

“You are right, Arnold,” returned Talbot, after
watching the leading boat for a space; “the Skipper
steers wide of the beach, and means to make a run of
it up the river: he is already passing by the point.
Gentlemen, to horse again! we will get back towards
the highland and there keep even speed with the
chace, and, like well trained hawks, stoop upon our
quarry in the nick of time. Beware the open ground,
that the Skipper may not see us on the heights.”

In obedience to this command, the party set out
quickly, by a retrograde movement, towards the upland
which, although somewhat remote from the
river, gave them, at frequent intervals, where the
cleared forest allowed, an extensive range of river
view. Having gained this height, they traversed it
in a line parallel to the course of the shore, ever directing
their anxious eyes to the fierce contention
between the boats for mastery in the race. Occasionally,
in this progress, ravines were to be passed,
a piece of marshy land to be avoided, or an open
field, which might expose the party to the view of
the boatmen, to be shunned. In all such passages of
the journey, the services of Pamesack and of Arnold
de la Grange contributed greatly to the speed with

which this scouting company were enabled to keep
pace with the rapid flight of the boats. With deep
and intense speculation did the horsemen watch the
progress of the chace, and measure the distance between
the fugitives and their pursuers. Albert Verheyden,
almost counting the strokes of the Skipper's
oars as their wet blades flashed the sunbeams upon
his sight, rode, for some time in despairing silence.

“He loses not an inch!” he breathed to himself, as
his thought ran upon the Freebooter's chance of
evading his enemies; “he has men at the oar used to
the sleight, and he will tire down his pursuers.”
Again he gazed, and with no better hope. But when,
after losing sight of the river for a long space whilst
the party galloped over a piece of wooded low ground,
he came again in view of the boats, joy beamed from
every feature of his face as he exclaimed to his companions,
“We advance upon his flight and shorten
the space between! The Skipper grows weary of his
labour:—thanks to the Captain and his noble comrades,
the day begins to brighten on our enterprise.”

“We will halt here,” said Talbot, reining up his
steed upon a summit which commanded a near view
of that region, recognised at the present day as Medley's
Neck; “the game is nearly run down—and presently
will come our time to speak a word of comfort
to this renegade spoiler. He strains for yonder
point, as if there he meant to land. By the body of
Saint Ignatius! it is a wise choice he has made. We
have him, if his folly be so bold as to touch that
strand—we have him in a trap. He comes—he
comes, driving headlong into our hands. Follow!”

Without waiting to marshal his troop, and even
without looking behind, Talbot spurred his horse to
a gallop, and plunged into the forest which covered
the lowland even down to the river brink.

As Cocklescraft and his band deserted their boat
and fled into the wood, Dauntrees with the barges
drove rapidly in upon the shore. A loud huzza from
his men announced the recapture of the maiden and
Mistress Bridget. The Captain himself, by the aid
of a boat-hook, made a spring from his barge with
an agility that would not have passed unapplauded
even at an earlier period of his life, and was the first
to board the Skipper's abandoned yawl.

“God bless thee, gentle damsel!” he exclaimed as
he eagerly seized Blanche by both hands and almost
lifted her into his arms, whilst the maiden, with
scarce less alacrity,—her eyes laughing through the
big drops that rolled down her cheeks,—threw her
head upon his breast, and sobbed with convulsive
joy—“God bless thee, dear Mistress Blanche! we
will make your father a happy man again. And you,
old sweetheart, Bridget, they would have stolen you
away! By my troth, that Trojan war and rape of
Helen the poets tell of, was but a scurvy adventure
compared with this!—Lieutenant,” he added, almost
in the same breath, “leave six files with our oarsmen
to guard the boats; and see that they draw off from
the shore into a fathom water, there to await our
signal when we return. The rest of the men will
push forward on the track of the runaways. Follow,
comrades; we have no time to lose.”

As the Captain spoke, he was already pushing his

way into the wood, on the footsteps of the retreating
pirates, at the head of some dozen files of musqueteers.
In another moment, the two females were left alone
with the boats and their appointed guard.

“Spread yourselves across the neck,” said Arnold
de la Grange, as with a small division of the horsemen
he had now reached a position not more than
half a mile from the Point. “Pamesack, creep down
on the shore of Britton's Bay, and report whatever
comes in sight. The first man who finds the enemy
will discharge his firelock. Scatter, gentlemen, scatter.”

This little party of scouts were at the next moment
extending their line across the extremity of Medley's
Neck, and cautiously drawing towards the Point.
Some distance in their rear was to be seen Talbot
and the rest of the horsemen moving at a walk, in a
compact body, upon the trail of the ranger's advance,
and silently awaiting the signal by which they
were to be guided to the quarter where their attack
was to be made. After a short period of suspense,
the report of a carbine, from the direction taken by
Pamesack, arrested the general attention, and, on the
instant, Albert, with three or four companions, set off
at high speed towards the spot. On reaching the
margin of the little bay which formed one confine of
the neck of land, he discovered, advancing at a quick
pace, though yet some distance off, the handful of
men whom the wild adventure of the Skipper had
brought into these desperate circumstances. They
were in close array, armed with pikes, and led forward
by their reckless captain. The confidence with

which they hurried upon their march seemed to indicate
an unconsciousness of any foe except the party
in their rear. This conviction was now instantly
changed, as they became aware of the presence of
Verheyden and his friends. Staggered by this unexpected
disclosure, they were observed to halt for a
moment, as if to receive some counsel from their
chief, and then to advance with a steadiness that indicated
prompt and desperate resolve. Their ranks
were formed with more precision; their pace gradually
quickened, as they came nearer to their enemy;
and having approached so near as to enable
either side to hear the commands of the other, Albert
could distinctly recognize the voice of Cocklescraft
exhorting them to the onset. In another moment, they
set up the war-cry which they had learned from the
Spaniards of the Gulf, and which had grown to be
their own, from the recollections of the bloody frays
with which it was associated—“A la savanna, perros!—to
the field, dogs!”—and thus shouting, anticipated
the attack of their enemies by themselves
striking the first blow.

Talbot had delayed to follow Verheyden, only until
he could assure himself that the signal shot truly announced
the presence of Cocklescraft's party. This
was rendered certain by a messenger who rode back
to report the fact, and, without loss of time, the commander
of the troop repaired to the scene of the
assault. The pirates had already forced the little
party of horsemen to give ground, when Talbot
reached the spot.

“Upon them, gentlemen,” he cried aloud, without

halting to form his men; and, in an instant was seen,
opening his way through the pikes of the buccaneers
with his sword. Albert Verheyden, leading on the
little band of untrained cavalry, followed with impetuous
haste in the track of his commander. The
compact array of the pirates being broken, a confused
pell-mell fight ensued, with sword, pike and
pistol, which was marked by various success. Two
or three of the horsemen were thrown to the ground,
and as many of the seamen slain. Albert's horse was
killed by a pistol-shot, and the rider for a moment was
brought into imminent peril. Cocklescraft, animated
as much by revenge, as by a determination to sell
his life at a dear price, no sooner perceived the prostrate
Secretary than he sprang upon him, and would
have done the work of death, if Arnold de la Grange,
who had followed Albert's footsteps through the fray,
had not thrown himself from his horse and rushed to
his comrade's rescue. he arrived in time to avert
the stroke of the Skipper's sword, by interposing his
carbine, and, at the same moment, seized Cocklescraft
by the shoulder and dragged him backward to the
earth. The active seaman was, in an instant, again
upon his feet, but before he could renew the fight
with effect, he found himself overwhelmed by the
musqueteers, whose unobserved approach now put
an end to the struggle.

“Hands off!” exclaimed Cocklescraft, shaking from
him some two or three assailants, who had now crowded
upon him, as the blood of a recent wound over the
eye trickled down his cheek; “hemmed in and over-numbered,
I surrender:—you may do with me as you

will—I ask no favours at your hands.” And saying
this, he flung his sword, with a moody and sullen
anger, upon the ground. “A fairer field on land or
water, and by St. Iago! we would have disputed it
with you till set of sun. We came not prepared for
this fight—we have neither arms nor ammunition to
cope with an equal force, much less with the swarm
that you have brought on horse and foot against this
little boat's crew. Take your victory and make the
best of it!”

“Silence!” said Dauntrees with the habitual calmness
of an old soldier: “Call your men to the foot of
yonder tree, or I may prick them thither with a halbert.”

Under a chestnut hard by, the remnant of the buccaneers,
amounting to not more than seven men beside
their leader, were assembled. Some of them
bore the marks of the severity of the conflict in
wounds upon their persons. Three of the Skipper's
men were found dead upon the field. Their opponents
had escaped with better fortune. Two only
were found severely though, it was believed, not
mortally wounded;—a few others slightly. A guard
was detailed to conduct the prisoners to the boat;
the dead were hastily buried in the wood, and the
wounded borne on the shoulders of their comrades to
the point of embarcation.

It was already afternoon when victors and vanquished
were bestowed in due order in the boats.
The horsemen had by this time set forward on their
homeward journey, eager to report the good tidings
of the day. The captured yawl, manned with a proper

complement of rowers, was consigned to the
maiden and her faithful Bridget, attended by the Secretary
and Captain Dauntrees—the former of whom,
we may imagine, had many things to say to the
maiden, which, however agreeable to the narrator,
would make but dull entertainment on our pages.

All matters being now disposed for sailing, the
squadron of boats, led by the yawl, put off in order
from the shore, and, with moderate speed, bent their
course towards the anxious little city.

Before sundown the maiden was placed in her father's
longing arms on the little wharf of the Rose
Croft, and, in due time, the prisoners were marched
through a crowd of gaping townspeople into the Fort
of St. Mary's.