ede Bonnet comes on deck.
That Frenchman we sunk tonight, blast her bloody spars"--here the lank
pirate interrupted himself to curse his luck, and continued--"probably
loaded with sugar and Jamaica rum from Martinique and headed up for the
French provinces. Well, we'll never know--that's sure!" He paused, bit
off the end of a rope of black tobacco and meditatively surveyed the
boy. "I'm from New England myself," said he after a time. "Sailed honest
out of Providence Port when I was a bit bigger nor you. Then when I was
growed and an able seaman on a Virginia bark in the African trade, along
comes Cap'n Ben Hornygold, the great rover of those days and picks us
up. Twelve of the likeliest he takes on his ship, the rest he maroons
somewhere south of the Cubas, and sends our bark into Charles Town under
a prize crew. So I took to buccaneering, and I must own I've always
found it a fine occupation--not to say that it's made me rich--maybe it
might if I'd kept all my sharin's."

[Illustration: Job Howland]

This life-history, delivered almost in one breath, had caused Howland an
immense amount of trouble with his quid of tobacco, which nearly choked
him as he finished. Except for the sound of his vast expectorations, the
pair on the beach were quiet for what seemed to Jeremy a long while.
Then on the rocks above was heard the clatter of shoes and the bumping
of kegs. Job rose, grasping the hand of his charge, and they went to
meet the returning sailors.

To the young woodsman, utterly unused to the ways of the sea, the next
half-hour was a bewildering melee of hurrying, sweating toil, with
low-spoken orders and half-caught oaths and the glimmer of a dying fire
over all the scene. He was rowed to the sloop with the first boatload
and there Job Howland set him to work passing water-kegs into the hold.
He had had no rest in over twenty hours and his whole body ached as the
last barrel bumped through the hatch. All the crew were aboard and a
knot of swaying bodies turned the windlass to the rhythm of a muttered
chanty. The chain creaked and rattled over the bits till the dripping
anchor came out of water and was swung inboard. The mainsail and
foresail went up with a bang, as a dozen stalwart pirates manned the
halyards.

Dave Herriot stood at the helm, abaft the cabin companion, and his bull
voice roared the orders as he swung her head over and the breeze
steadied in the tall sails.

"Look alive there, mates!" he bellowed.