gan to believe
that his league with Satan, of which he obscenely boasted, had made him
invulnerable. He was all that he had proclaimed himself to be, the
wickedest and most fearsome pirate of the Western Ocean. And all the
while, the slender, boyish Lieutenant Maynard, sailor and gentleman, had
one aim in mind, and that was to slay Captain Edward Teach with his own
hand. Nor was he at all content until he had cleared a path to where the
hairy pirate was playing havoc with his broadsword.

With a loud laugh in mockery, Blackbeard snatched a loaded pistol from
one of his men and fired at this foppish young officer who presumed to
single him out. The ball chipped Maynard's ear and he dodged the pistol
which was hurled at his head. It was curious to note a lull in the
general engagement, a little interval of suspense while men regained
their breath or tried to staunch their wounds. They were unconsciously
awaiting the verdict of this duel between their leaders. Jack Cockrell,
for instance, finding himself alone by some chance, leaned against a
stanchion and heard his own blood drip--drip--on the deck.

It was a fleeting respite. Blackbeard swung his sword, with the might of
those wide shoulders behind it. The lieutenant stepped aside like
lightning and the bright weapon whistled past his arm. Then they went at
each other like blacksmiths, sparks flying as steel bit steel. Dexterity
and a cool wit were a match for the pirate's untamable strength. Gory,
snarling, Blackbeard shortened his stroke to use the point. The
lieutenant dropped to one knee, thrust upward, and found a vital spot.

Blackbeard stood staring at him with wonder in his eyes. Then those
thick, bowed legs gave way and he toppled like a tree uprooted. He
passed out quietly enough, with no more cursing, and in this last moment
of sensibility his thoughts appeared to wander far to his youth as a
brisk merchant seaman out of Bristol port, for he was heard to mutter,
with a long sigh:

"A pretty babe as ever was, Mollie, and the mortal image of its mother."

To his waist the sable beard covered him like a pall and one corded arm
was flung across his breast and it showed the design of the skull and
cross-bones pricked in India ink. Then as if the dead leader had issued
the command, the surviving pirates began to fling down their weapons and
loudly cry for quarter. They need not have felt ashamed of the
resistance they had made up to this time, but now the deliri