University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE.

The body of Molyneaux committed to the deep, at the mouth
of that bold creek which is now called Hog-island channel, the
boat of our rover shot downward, skirting the mud-reef on which
“Castle Pinckney” now stands. Here it was run up close to the
reef, and the party went on shore. A narrow stretch of shells
and sand afforded them solid footing; and here, it seemed, Captain
Calvert proposed a temporary rest, with what object we shall
see hereafter.

The spot was a gloomy one enough. The moon was entering
a body of dark masses of clouds which were silently heaving up
from the west. The morning was close at hand. The tide was
at its ebb. The adjuncts of the immediate scene were well calculated
to increase the solemnity of the hour, the gloom of the
events which had just taken place, and the situation of the party.
A ruined habitation of logs, the refuge of some lonely fisherman,
was the only sign of life that the spot afforded, and that was of
life departed. A more imposing structure, ominous of death in
its most terrible aspect, stood at the very verge of the shelly part
of the reef, in that gallows whose cruel uses, pointed out to Zulieme
when she first approached the city, had called forth her expressions
of horror and disgust at the brute ferocity of the English
race. There it stood, in solitary significance, and a bit of
rope still hung dangling from the centre of the horizontal beam.
Calvert surveyed the engine with a stern composure; but, after a
moment, he said abruptly to his followers—

“Is there an axe in the boat?”

“There is, sir.”

“Bring it, and cut down this gallows! Let it no more disgrace
the approaches to a town which boasts of human ties and affections.
If the law requires human blood, let it not gloat over
mortal agonies; let it not ostentatiously mock humanity with the
show of the cruel engine on which it stretches humanity for
death!”

And he stood, sternly watching the proceeding, while one of
the sailors, with vigorous arm and active stroke, smote the uprights
until ready to fall; when, lending their united strength, the
party pushed the ominous fabric into the sea. It was a relief to
all when its skeleton frame no longer towered above their heads,
and they beheld it borne away by the billows, and whirling outward
to the great deeps.

Here, in solemn brooding, with a mind intensely exercised with
the numerous and conflicting cares which still rose before it, Calvert
sat silent, a protracted watch, which none of his followers
cared to disturb. Some of them strolled along the reef, and conversed
thoughtfully — for even the reckless sailor, in such an hour
and situation, can think deeply and sadly; while others went on
board the boat, and lay at length upon their oars.

Suddenly, the attention of the party was sharply awakened by
the deep bellowing of a gun from the town. Another and another
followed, in quick succession.

“It is the fort at Oyster Point, sir,” said Belcher to Calvert.

“Ay! the ship is coming round.”

“She will soon pass the fort, sir — wind and tide are both in
her favor.”

“Ay, they can scarcely give her more than a single round;
and, unless some unlucky shot should cripple her masts, she will
suffer nothing. To the boat! We must put off, and make the
signal.”

“All hands aboard!”

The boat was off, a few minutes after, and rowing due south.
Soon the tapering masts and broad sheets of the Happy-go-Lucky
were seen sweeping round from west to east — rounding the point
of shoal which, as “The Battery,” is now the favorite drive, “Carrousel,”
or “Alameda,” and promenade, of the present city. She
had escaped the shot of the fort with a mere rent in her rigging.

“Send up the signal, Belcher, that they may know where to
look for us,” said Calvert.

In an instant a light was struck, and a rocket of blue fires went
up from the dark bosom of the bay. It was soon answered by
another from the ship, which now shaped her course for the little
vessel. It was not long before Calvert, followed by the boat's
crew, ascended the sides of the Happy-go-Lucky, once more the
free rover — once more sole master of his little world; and, as he
strode the quarter-deck, he was conscious of security, and a certain
degree of elation at having escaped more perils than we have
thought proper to put on record.

Eccles, now first-lieutenant, had proved faithful. His former
rank was conferred on young Hazard, the loyal emissary on board
when Calvert was absent from the ship; a mere boy of nineteen,
but precocious, ardent, full of enthusiasm as courage, and too
happy to be doing, to desire to do wilfully or mischievously. Calvert
possessed a rare faculty in the knowledge of men. He took
no present heed of the seamen who had pledged themselves to
Molyneaux and Fowler. He well knew how they had been seduced
from duty; and, their ringleaders cut off, had no reason to
doubt that the mere followers would sink back to their ordinary
tasks, and do them especially well, if only to prevent suspicion, or
investigation of the past. Besides, he was aware that all of the
guilty parties were known to Hazard. His eye would be upon
them for the future.

The Happy-go-Lucky, with a fair wind, at once put out to sea.

But, whither? And will Calvert leave his work undone? Has
he left the colony to its fate? — left it to the savages to work out
their scheme of midnight murder? — left his wife to the tender
mercies of his enemies?

Hardly! We have known his character too long to suppose
that he will be unfaithful to any duties or any interests in behalf
of which he has given his pledges in his cares. And, as yet, we
know not what his policy may be: but we may rest assured that it is
one founded on thought, experience, and a knowledge of necessities
which have not yet become clear to us; in brief, of the best
human wisdom, in such a case as his, as it develops to his understanding.
Hitherto, he has proved himself equal to every emergency.

Leaving the rover to his own progress on the high-seas, let us
look to other parties in the infant city.

Governor Quarry is somewhat uneasy. He has a guest whose
presence is annoying. This is Morton, one of the “proprietary
council.” Other councillors are expected. Despatches have been
sent for Middleton and Berkeley. Morton has hurried down
from his country-seat, charged with the secret intelligence of Stillwater.
He tells Quarry that, under the exigency, he himself has
taken leave to send express to New York for all such ships-of-war
as his majesty may have in the waters of that colony. At his requisition,
Quarry has issued his proclamation against the pirate
Calvert. Florence O'Sullivan has been commissioned for his arrest,
with powers to call out the posse comitatus. It is positively
sworn by Stillwater, alias Sylvester, that Calvert is in Charleston.
Nay, more; there is an affidavit, by the same immaculate
patriot, that the pirate's mistress is in town, particeps criminis,
and vending contraband goods! Poor little Zulieme a contrabandista!
and a warrant has been issued for her arrest, even
while she foots it with the cavaliers.

We need not wonder that Quarry is disquieted. No wonder
that he paces his library, at two o'clock in the morning, very restlessly,
Morton present; uneasy, excited, yet compelled to appear
not only cool and determined, but especially loyal; with a
holy indignation against pirates, and Calvert in particular, as the
prince of them! He does not know what will be the upshot of
the business. The fact that Stillwater has travelled off to Morton,
argues for certain doubts, on the part of that worthy citizen,
as regards himself. His own conscience assures him that these
doubts are well founded. But how much is known? how much
suspected? He believes that Morton regards him with suspicion
also. Altogether, his position is a disquieting one; but he smiles,
is courteous, outwardly calm, and wonderfully loyal.

He has one little gleam of consolation. At twelve o'clock, just
one hour before Morton's arrival, he had received a little scrap of
paper, on which he reads—

“Have no fear, though events are ripening rapidly. I shall
make myself safe. There will be an uproar, but no discovery that
shall trouble you. Do your duty as an official. Be no laggard.
Do your utmost. Anticipate any and every demand of the council.

Show yourself as earnest as you please. Issue your proclamation
— your warrants. Seek no evasion. Be as hearty, in the
prosecution of the supposed public enemy, as my enemies desire.
Go beyond them in your endeavors. Nothing that you or they
can do will affect my safety. Do not let them affect yours. Be
the governor, in all respects; as much so as the most bigoted proprietaries
could require.”

The paper was not signed, but the handwriting was known.
Quarry read, and at once consumed it in the candle. He thanked
Calvert in his heart. It was the only assurance that he had. He
obeyed his counsels; and Morton, whom Sylvester had taught to
suspect the governor, was absolutely confounded at his ready loyalty,
and the eager earnestness with which he addressed his efforts
to the capture of the outlaws supposed to be in town.

The governor and his councilmen have done all that they could
do. They have sent forth their myrmidons, armed with the proper
warrants, and, as Sylvester supposed, with the adequate force to
carry them into effect. We have seen the issue of their stratagems.
It was somewhat later when the tidings reached Quarry
and Morton. Sylvester was the first to appear, his head broken
with a cudgel-stroke. He reported the facts, as far as he knew
them, and announced O'Sullivan, the chef-de-police, as slain outright.
But, hardly had he got through his narrative, when O'Sullivan
himself appeared, bloody at mouth and ears, but not materially
hurt. He could only report his failure. He had caught
the pirate-captain; but he was rescued by superior force, and the
city police had utterly failed him. The town must be put under
martial law. It was evidently full of pirates.

Even while they conferred together, the heavy booming of the
cannon of the fort added new materials to the excitement.

“It is the fort! The pirate is evidently passing. Heaven
grant that they sink her!” said the patriotic governor.

“The fort,” replied O'Sullivan, “is a mere pepper-box. It will
be only a lucky accident if they do her any damage. Tide 's running
out like a mill-race, and the wind favors. Before they can
load up for a second shot, she will have passed them!”

“Who 's in command, captain?”

“Lieutenant Waring.”

“Does he know what 's to be done?”

“All that he can do, he will do!”

“Let us to the fort, Morton,” said Quarry, buckling on his
small-sword. He was monstrously relieved by the intelligence
which was brought him. It confirmed all the assurances made in
his anonymous despatch. He felt now comparatively safe.

They reached the fort, only to obtain distant glimpses of the
Happy-go-Lucky; her white sails spread for ocean, and already
six miles from the town; tide and wind sending her out at ten
knots an hour. The fort, of two guns, had succeeded in firing
three shots — quite an achievement: one shot had wounded the
ship's sails, and, it was thought, another her hull. In other words,
the fort was a—a—a—(in modern parlance) a humbug!

So Florence O'Sullivan delivered himself:—

“It 's just of no use here, your honors! It should be yonder,
on that island, covering the channel; and, if one is put here, it
should be on the east bank. Here, you can have but one fling at
an enemy, and there 's an end.”

It happened, not long afterward, whether from this event and
counsel or not, that, even as our chef-de-police suggested, the fort
was built on the island, and he himself put in command.

This was the original of Fort Sullivan, afterward Fort Moultrie
— which has a famous history of its own.

It was broad daylight before the party returned to the house
of Governor Quarry; and, with daylight, began the beating of
drums, and the array of the posse comitatus, and the gathering of
the militia. The town was put under martial law. There was a
monstrous hubbub.

But something had been saved. The bal masque of Mrs. Anderson
had been not simply a success, but a sensation! It was
the town-talk for long after!

It rather dashed and daunted the fair and fashionable hostess,
however, when, just as her company had departed, and while she
was chatting gayly with Zulieme over the events of the night, the
door was rudely assailed by thundering raps; and, as it opened,
the civil officers rushed in, laying rude hands on the fair Zulieme,
arresting her as a pirate's wife, and a contrabandista in her own
proper person.

Even as she was, caparisoned as Titania, mask in hand, the
dear, silly little creature was made to go, on foot, to the dwelling

of Governor Quarry, there to confront the said dignitary, with his
solemn proprietary council.

Mrs. Perkins Anderson was not the woman to abandon her
guest. Whatever her vices and weaknesses, the woman had a
soul! She accompanied Zulieme, resolved to share her fate if
necessary. After such a successful party, she felt no little of the
heroic in her; felt grateful, too, to her guest, for having helped
to make her experiment a success; felt outraged at the official
indignity put upon her, and was altogether in a condition of exaltation
to say eloquent things even to his sainted majesty himself.

When first arrested, poor little Zulieme was confounded. Never
was young sinner so completely taken by surprise. Was it her
quaint garments of the Fairy Queen that were guilty? What
was it?

“But, I 'm a woman, sir!” said she to the officer, as if women
had some special immunities for evil.

“Oh, to be sure! I know that! That 's what I 'rest you for —
'ca'se you 're a woman. Ef you was n't, would n't have nothin' to
say to you, nohow.”

And he chuckled with perhaps a notion of some fine official
humor in what he had said.

“What does it all mean, Charlotte?” she asked, in her simplicity.
There was no terror.

“It means that the governor is a fool, and his council are fools
together; that 's what it means!”

“Well, that 's comin' it big, I must say!” exclaimed the officer.
“But come along, miss, unless you wants me to pick you up and
carry you. You must go and see them same fools!”

“Must I go, Charlotte?”

“Yes, my dear, we must go. I will go along with you! It
amounts to nothing, I suppose. It is some nonsense of the governor
and his council, who had better be in their beds, as so many
old women, than arresting young women as pirates!”

“Ah! it is as a pirate that I am to go to the judge!” And, as
she spoke, the little creature rose into dignity and increase of
stature. She thought to herself:—

“Ah! they would seize Harry! He never thought they would
seize me. And why not seize me as well as Harry? I 'm Harry's

wife. I 'm as much pirate, I 'm sure, as he is! I 'll show
him! — I 'm not afraid!”

So the thought ran through her little brain, conferring upon it
a certain increase of consequence. She would show Harry she
was no such child as he supposed!

“Well, let us go, Charlotte!”

And she sank into silence, and passively submitted to the arrest.
Not so the fair hostess. She was eloquent with indignation
all the way!

Meanwhile, the whole town was astir. Everybody was abroad.
Everybody saw them in their state dresses. We really forget
what was the costume of Mrs. Anderson, but have a notion that
it was in the character of Zenobia that she did the honors that
night. We will assume that she then walked the street as
`Zenobia,' with the lovely little `Queen of the Fairies' by her
side.

The news came startlingly to the ears of our two cavaliers,
Keppel Craven and Cavendish. They were just about to disembarrass
themselves of their fine clothes.

“What, the señorita arrested? What nonsense!”

“And as the wife of the d—d pirate!”

“A contrabandista!”

The silver-mines of the one, the ten thousand pounds of the
other, would not suffer them to sleep at such an hour. It might,
it must be, all nonsense — some ridiculous mistake of the police!
At all events, they must do their devoirs as cavaliers. They
must be at hand, watchful and ready to assist the demoiselle with
whom they have flirted; pay proper homage to the hostess who
had entertained them so elegantly. So, changing the court for
mere city costume, they hurried off to the governor's dwelling.

When Zulieme and Mrs. Anderson reached the residence of
the governor, it was sunrise. Quarry and Morton were seated
in state, grave seigniors, in all the dignity of their official position,
ready for their reception. There was a crowd already collected.
Curiosity brought a goodly number. The police was
stronger in the governor's presence than they had shown themselves
in the field, and behaved themselves with much more dignity.
There was a cloud of witnesses, each prepared to testify to
as many falsehoods as facts; for, in such cases, men become so

enamored of their own conjectures, that the mind insists upon
them as facts, and the subservient memory will not discredit them.
There was the keen and restless Stillwater, alias Sylvester, prowling
about like a young shark hungering for his breakfast; and
there was Sproulls, whose bloody and bandaged head was a tragic
volume of evidence itself; and O'Sullivan was there, with a cheek
monstrously blue and green of hue, and one eye so black and
bunged, that you might read the whole history of the night in it;
and there were many others who had something to say or to
show.

The appearance of Zulieme made a decided impression on the
company. Her strange but appropriate costume; her petite but
symmetrical figure; her beauty; and the very childish, infantile
simplicity of her features, now lifted into unwonted character by
the new sense of importance in her position — were all calculated
to produce a sympathetic and friendly interest in her judges, who
regarded her with equal curiosity and satisfaction. The governor's
courtliness and pleasant smile were not wittheld; and the
grave, saturnine Morton, lifting his dark brow, gazed intently and
with a mild interest on the stranger, who seemed indeed a fairy,
fresh from the forests, whom the sun had lovingly kissed, and
with whose wanton hair every breeze of heaven had toyed with
tenderness.

“Be seated, ladies,” said the governor. “We are sorry to be
compelled to disquiet you; but we are obliged, by a painful sense
of duty, to require the attendance of one of you, at least, in oder
that we may ask you a few questions which concern the public
welfare.”

“Answer no questions, Zulieme,” said Mrs. Anderson, in a
whisper.

Our trader's wife might have done well as a lawyer at this day,
when women are about to assert their rights in the courts, as well
as in courtship.

“You, Mrs. —; ah, Mrs. —”

“Anderson, sir — Mrs. Perkins Anderson,” answered the lady
to whom the governor was addressing eyes and voice, while unable
apparently to recall her name. The lady was somewhat
piqued. Her name forgotten! But it is a common trick with
the British, when they affect the aristocratic, to forget the names

of comparatively obscure people. His excellency knew that of
our hostess very well. Had not his wife, indeed, visited her — at
least on one occasion? But it was not simply an affectation of
vanity that prompted the governor to forget. It was matter of
policy that he should know as little as possible of the lady with
whom Zulieme dwelt. But the fair Charlotte did not give him
credit for his policy; she ascribed it to official pride, and resented
it accordingly. She was wrong in this instance.

“Ah! yes, Mrs. Anderson. How should I forget! But, Mrs.
Anderson, permit me to say that we have no requisition on you.”

“No, sir; but the Señorita Zulieme de Montano is my guest,
sir; and I certainly would not suffer her to leave my house, under
this most humiliating treatment, without giving her all the support
in my power.”

“Right, madam,” said Morton; “and there is no reason why
you should not be present at this examination, which I trust will
be found neither hurtful nor disagreeable. We only fancied that
an officer might have committed the mistake of doing more than
his warrant authorized.”

The lady bowed, somewhat mollified. The governor proceeded:—

“Your name is said to be Zulieme de Montano, young lady?”
Zulieme bowed.

“Pardon me, señorita, but you are a Floridian, I am told.”

“A Spaniard, sirs. My father and mother were both of Castile.”

“But you are from the Spanish province of Florida?”

“My father has an estate in Florida.”

“You are from thence?”

“Last! I was born, and lived long, on the mountains of the
isthmus.”

“Suffer me to ask, señorita, if you have always borne the name
which you now bear?”

Mrs. Perkins Anderson gave Zulieme a look. It was enough.
A flush passed over the dark cheeks of the young Spaniard; and
she rose quickly, but with subdued and quiet manner.

“Señores,” she said, approaching the governor and his councillor
— “señores, caballeros, you are gentlemen and lords. You
ask me questions which I do not want to answer. It may do me

hurt to answer them, and I will not lie. I do not know what you
wish to do with me. But if your laws require me to die, I can
die, though I am very young to die. But ask me no questions
to catch my tongue! If you think harm of me, tell me what is
the offence I have been doing. I have been dancing a great deal
since I have been here, and did not know — perhaps there is a
law against dancing? Some people, here, tell me it is a sin, and
against the laws of God. I did not know that. I do n't believe
it. Our people did not teach me so. But it may be against the
laws of your people; and I must die for it! I confess I have
danced a great deal. If there is anything else that I have done
against your laws, tell me, and I will answer. Do you speak to
me what you have heard against me, and what you think of me,
and what they tell you I have done. Tell me all, and I will answer
you if I can. But I will not tell you more than I can, for
there may be some snare — some danger to my soul!”

The simplicity of this speech, spoken in rather broken English,
had a wonderful effect. The governor himself smiled, very much
amused; several of the bystanders laughed outright. Morton
looked with a greater degree of interest and pity on the young
creature than before. His stern visage had grown sadly sweet.

“Die!” said the governor — “snare your soul, my dear young
woman? What could put such a notion into your head? As for
dancing, it is not yet a criminal offence by our laws; though, I
believe, there are some who fancy that eternal predition must follow
the shaking of symmetrical legs to the sound of lively music.
No! the charges brought against you — and there are charges —
are of very different character.”

He paused.

“Tell her what is charged, your excellency,” said Morton.
“There is no need of any art in dealing with such a child as
this.”

The governor proceeded with his counts:—

“It is charged, señorita, that you are concerned in a contraband
trade—”

“Contraband? What 's that?”

“That you bring goods into the town for sale, without first
paying to the government certain dues and duties, in violation of
our laws.”

“I bring goods for sale? Me! Oh, sir, I never sold anything
in my life. What I have brought here, I have brought to give
away.”

“I can prove that, your excellency,” said Mrs. Perkins Anderson.

“It is also charged, my young lady, that you are the wife, or
companion, of the notorious pirate, Harry or Henry Calvert, captain
of the cruiser called `The Happy-go-Lucky,' or `The Almeida,'
or the `St. George's Dragon' — for by all these names the
vessel is reported to sail.”

Then broke out the woman-soul:—

“Harry a pirate! You are a bad man, for saying it! Harry
is a fighting-man, like all you English—”

She was about to add “brutes,” for it had become a somewhat
familiar epithet with her; but a warning instinct arrested her in
the speech. But what she had said sufficed to effect an instant
change in all countenances. Mrs. Anderson clasped her hands
together in despair; Sylvester and his factotum, the express, Fairchild,
lifted fingers and eyebrows in exultation; the governor
looked aghast. In an instant, Zulieme saw these changes, and,
turning to Mrs. Anderson, she murmured —

“O Charlotte, what have I said?”

“A few words too many, my dear.”

“Have I done anything to hurt Harry?”

“Hardly; but something, perhaps, to hurt yourself.”

“Ah!” and she sighed as with a sense of relief.

The governor, remembering Calvert's private letter, put on a
triumphant air, and, turning to Morton, said —

“It is hardly necessary to ask her any more questions.”

“Hardly; though, with the fact of her identity established, we
gain nothing. I know no law which makes the wife of a pirate
liable for his offences.”

“Oh, no! surely not,” was the answer — the governor secretly
pleased to see that Morton's sympathies were with the woman.
“Still, sir, we should probe the matter as far as we can.”

The other nodded. “As you please.”

“It is very clear, my dear young lady, that the Harry of whom
you speak, and Harry Calvert of the Happy-go-Lucky, are the
same person.”

“I won't say any more! I am a foolish thing, and do n't know
what I say. But if there 's anything against Harry, I 'm ready
to answer it. If he 's a pirate, then hang me, for I won't deny it.
Harry 's my own, own husband. He 's been married to me a
year; and you may kill me for him! But he 's no pirate; but a
brave, fighting, good, brute Englishman — just as good and brave
as any of you here! There, now! you may kill me when you
like.”

Craven and Cavendish looked at each other, and groaned
aloud.

“Ten thousand gone!” muttered Cavendish.

“D—nation, yes! and my silver-mines! Let 's be off, Cav!
D—n all Spaniards, and pretty señoritas, for ever!”

And, following each other, as unostentatiously as possible, they
stole out of the apartment.

“We need inquire no further,” said Quarry.

“Of her — no! Call up your other witnesses.”

Sylvester, Sproulls, Gideon Fairchild, each gave his testimony
in turn. We know it pretty nearly as they delivered it, allowing
for certain natural exaggerations, in which they coupled with the
facts the usual modicum of conjecture. Zulieme listened to their
details without sign of interest or emotion. She did not see the
drift of much of it, and perhaps did not see the harm in any.
But when, on a sudden, Sylvia, the mullattress, who had been arrested,
was also brought in, manacled — for she had darted off at full
speed from the officer, and was with difficulty retaken — and made
to confront her mistress, the little Zulieme rose again, and, looking
sternly upon her judges, said:—

“This is my slave, my lords, caballeros, and gentlemen. What
has she done? Why is she chained up?”

“She 's one of the witnesses,” replied Fairchild.

“One of the best we have, too,” added Sylvester.

“That 's unfortunate,” observed Morton, “if she be a slave.”

“You a witness against me, Sylvia!” said Zulieme, with the
saddest reproach.

“Nebber, missus! Who say dat?”

“I say it,” answered Fairchild.

“Missus, do n't b'lieb dem buckrah! Dey lie fas' as squirrel
climb tree! Look yer, missus — dey catch and bring me yer,

I run; but dey catch me, and put dese heaby tings on my han'.
I no want for come. Dey make me come. Ef you say so, I
won't tell 'em not'ing.”

“There 's a way to make you,” said Sylvester.

Zulieme looked mournfully at the mullattress, who was now
fairly stifled in a sea of sobbing, but she remained silent. Some
effort was made to move Sylvia to renew her revelations, but
without effect. She was resolved that the proper virtue lay in
emulating her lady in taciturnity.

“It needs not,” said Morton; “her statement will be valueless
as evidence. Let Mr. Fairchild state what he knows, and even
what he has heard. This is a purely desultory examination.
Stripped of all unnecessary matter, there may be, nay, must be,
something which shall be evidence. He can report all the parties
to his own seizure and confinement in the pirate-ship; what he
saw there; and what he heard the pirates say of themselves. If
he includes in it what the slave has said, it will not much matter:
let it go for what it is worth.”

And Gideon Fairchild told his story. He was prolix in all his
details, with the exception of one class of them; he suppressed
all the tender passages between Sylvia and himself. He reported
only what she had told him of ship, crew, and cargo. She was
the one who taught him the true character of the cruiser; the
name of her captain; the fact that his wife was in town, and
where; in brief, all that she knew.

“O wretch!” cried Zulieme, with indignation.

The mullattress broke out with a cry:—

“O missus, de buckrah lie like book! I nebber tell 'em not'ing;
only I bin so want for see you and be wid you; and when he tell
me he will bring me to you, and den, when he promise for marry
me, and say he lub me so much —”

Here Gideon broke out:—

“It 's a most infamous, lyin' wench, your excellency! Me
marry a nigger! me! And here everybody knows I 've got an
angel-wife of my own, and three of the beautifullest children!
The nigger 's fool-mad, your excellency!”

Gideon was perplexed and perspiring. He looked about him
uneasily, lest Mrs. Gideon should be among the listeners. There
was a round laugh at his expense, especially when Zulieme, with

the prettiest expression of scorn in the world, said to the mulattress
—

“And would you marry such a creature as that?”

“Nebber, missus! I 'spise de poor buckrah; I 'spise 'em for
true. I only mek b'lieb I guine marry 'em, 'cause I want 'em to
bring me to yer, missus.”

There was another laugh.

“This looks serious, Fairchild,” said the governor, appearing
ludicrously grave. “The negress is your own witness! Do you
say, woman, that this man promised to marry you?”

“To be sure him promise, maussa.”

“It 's nigger evidence, your excellency,” responded Fairchild;
“she 's the lyin'est blackguard!”

“If we reject it on either score, Master Gideon, we must reject
all that we get from her. I am afraid we shall have to receive
it all. We shall have to turn you over to the tender mercies of
the churchwardens and — your wife!”

“Do n't say so, your excellency!”

“Whether the negress, per prochein ami, would have an action
against Gideon for breach of promise?”

The governor was disposed to amuse himself.

Morton frowned, and showed impatience.

“Let us proceed, your excellency.”

“We have got through — got evidence enough, certainly, for
commitment.”

“Commitment! The point is one to require a law-officer.
confess, even the identification of this woman, as the wife of the
criminal, does not seem to me to establish any offence on her part.
I do n't see how we can commit her.”

“Except, perhaps, as sailing under the pirate-flag — assisting,
abetting, aiding, counselling—”

“We have no proof of that fact! We do not find her sailing
under the pirate-flag. We find her in our municipality, and only
know not how she gets here. The statement of the woman Sylvia,
a slave, is not to be regarded.”

“But a fair and reasonable inference—”

“None, such as this, can be considered in capital cases.”

But we need not pursue the discussion, which was somewhat
protracted. While it was in full progress, Quarry affecting a

very earnest purpose of severity and extreme strictness, Sir Edward
Berkeley made his appearance.

As she beheld him, Zulieme started with extreme emotion, and
whispered —

“Charlotte, tell me, who 's he?”

“That 's Sir Edward Berkeley, one of the councillors.”

“He 's so like Harry! oh, so like! I see he 's not Harry —
but—”

“Certainly, a great likeness.” And the ladies whispered together.

The governor and his councillors retired to consult in another
apartment. Sir Edward Berkeley seemed as much interested in
the beautiful and artless little Spaniard as Morton had been; and
when the governor repeated the suggestion of commitment, he was
indignant.

“Commit such a creature as that — and to prison! Fie, sir —
fie!”

“Oh! not to prison, surely,” said the governor; “but to some
custody, in which, while treated well, she will be under watch.”

Berkeley shook his head.

“I see no use in it.”

“I do not well see how we should do it,” observed Morton —
“how we should be justified. There is positively nothing against
the woman. I have no doubt that she is Calvert's wife — perhaps
mistress — but there is no reasonable ground for supposing
her to be an active participant in his criminal proceedings. She
is a mere child; is evidently without tact or cunning; and with
just as little faculty for business of any sort. To employ her,
even in the petty practice of the contraband service, would be just
as likely as not to ruin all the profits of the trade.”

“Yet, you find,” said Quarry, “that, at the very time she appears
in town, the town becomes flooded with foreign goods of
strange fabric and fashion; while the West-India fruits, in great
abundance, are to be had — when, as we all know, no West-Indian
vessels have come into port.”

“I half suspect,” rejoined Morton, “that, in the greater number
of cases, these make their way in, just as this pirate has done, and
lie perdu high up Cooper and Ashley rivers. This pirate evidently
knew his ground — the soundings, the channel, and the

proper places of concealment. We can build nothing against the
woman on this sort of evidence. Nay, more; how idle to talk of
this woman being the agent and emissary, when your own chief
of police and all his officers tell you of the town being full of pirates!
Your own proclamation of martial law is grounded upon
the necessity derived from this very evidence. And they tell us,
moreover, of boats arriving nightly — this is the evidence of both
Sylvester and Sproulls — both of whom, by-the-way, seem, in the
course of their practice, to have known rather more of these contraband
cruisers than becomes honest men.”

“Ay, set a thief to catch a thief! But that reminds me to say
to you, gentlemen, that the warrant issued for the arrest of the
old sailor, Franks, has been returned `non est.' He is off, and
all his chattels. His house, which was a sort of curiosity-shop, is
regularly gutted. He has probably transferred himself, bag and
baggage, to the pirate.”

“We must not be surprised,” said Berkeley, “that there should
be so many in the town who sympathize with these pirates. It is
a new thing, indeed, among us, to call them pirates. Hitherto,
they have been — however in conflict with the laws of nations —
the enemies of our enemies only, and sailing their craft under absolute
commissions from the crown-officers. The public sympathies,
in all the colonies, have been really and warmly with this
fellow Calvert, for his famous fight with the `Maria del Occidente'
— that very affair which the Spanish influence at the English
court has succeeded in making an act of piracy, bringing forth the
proclamation which we have just published. We must take for
granted that there are many here who sympathize with these
cruisers. There is no doubt that the town has been full of them;
and, with their boats here nightly — their sailors, their agents, in
town — it is not necessary that we should suspect this strangely-beautiful
little creature of any part in the business of the cruiser.
She is, no doubt, as she alleges, the wife of the captain, who has
presumed upon the sympathies of the citizens to bring her here,
that she might enjoy herself, while he and his men carried on
their unlawful operations by night.”

“I fully agree with Sir Edward in these opinions,” said Morton.
“Still, the question occurs, `What are we to do with this
woman?' There is something in the idea of his excellency, that

we should keep her in some sort of custody, for awhile at least;
in order, by this means, to obtain some control of her husband.
He will, no doubt, be coming to look after her. She is too pretty
a prize to be abandoned by a man of taste.”

“But where to keep her? Our prison—”

“Oh! do n't mention that, your excellency,” interrupted Morton.
“We must not talk of prison for this young creature.”

“I 'll take charge of her,” said Berkeley, with a sudden impulse.
“I 'll be her custodian, at my poor forest barony. It will
not be easy, on the part of the pirate, to seek her there; and if
he does, I have a good stout force of laborers, all of whom I have
armed, and he will not find smooth sailing to make his approaches.
She shall be treated with tenderness and care, but closely watched.
I confess, keeping her here in town, I should almost fear that this
pirate, who is bold enough for anything, would have her out of
your prison, or out of any private custody, if he had to bombard
the place for it.”

“And we have seen with what scorn his vessel has passed our
fort, and of what small defence the fort is capable,” responded
Morton.

“Really,” said the governor to Berkeley, “your offer relieves
us from a dilemma; for, though clear that she should be kept in
custody — for awhile at least — I should be unwilling to send her
to prison, and should not find it easy to provide for her a proper
custodian.”

“Well, you are agreed to accept my offer?” replied Berkeley.
“I am glad of it! I have somehow conceived a sympathy for
this strange little creature, and I should never consent to any
harsh means being employed. We must reconcile her to my
guardianship. Leave that to me, gentlemen, if you please; and
I trust that she will be persuaded to accept my protection.”

The council adjourned to the hall where the ladies and the
crowd had been left, impatient of the long delay.

Our cassique of Kiawah immediately joined the two ladies.

When Zulieme heard him out, she said to Mrs. Anderson —

“I am to be a prisoner, Charlotte, for Harry? Is that it?”

“Yes, my dear; not exactly a prisoner, if I understand Sir
Edward, but—”

“No, my dear young lady, not exactly a prisoner; but an inmate

of my family, until the trouble of this affair shall blow
over.”

“Zulieme looked up, simply, and said—

“I will go with you, señor.”

To Mrs. Anderson she added, sotto voce:—

“I would not have gone with any other! They should have
carried me! But I like his looks, Charlotte. He is so good —
so sweet! And he looks so like Harry!”