metto piling. The wide harbor and
the sea that flashed beyond the outer bar were ruffled by a piping
breeze out of the northeast. The only vessel at anchor was a heavily
sparred brig whose bulwarks were high enough to hide the rows of cannon
behind the closed ports.

The lad gazed at the shapely brig with a lively curiosity, as if here
was something really interesting. Presently a boat splashed into the
water and was tied alongside the vessel while a dozen of the crew
tumbled in to sprawl upon the thwarts and shove the oars into the
thole-pins. An erect, graceful man in a red coat and a great beaver hat
roared a command from the stern-sheets and the pinnace pulled in the
direction of the wharf.

"Pirates, to be sure!" said Jack Cockrell to himself, without a sign of
alarm. "'Tis Captain Stede Bonnet and his _Royal James_. I know the
ship. I saw her when she came in leaking last October and was careened
on the beach at Sullivan's Island. A rich voyage this time, for the brig
rides deep."

The coast of South Carolina swarmed with pirates two hundred years ago,
and they cared not a rap for the law. Indeed, some of these rascals
lived on friendly terms with the people of the small settlements and
swaggered ashore to squander the broad gold pieces and merchandise
stolen from honest trading vessels. You must not blame the South
Carolina colonists too harshly because they sometimes welcomed the
visiting pirates instead of clapping them in jail. Charles Town was a
village at the edge of a wilderness filled with hostile Indians. By sea
it stood in fear of attack by the Spaniards of Florida and Havana. There
were almost no crops for food and among the population were many
runaways from England, loafers and vagabonds who hated the sight of
work.

The pirates helped them fight their enemies and did a thriving trade in
goods that were sorely needed. Respectable citizens grumbled and one
high official was removed in disgrace because he encouraged the pirates
to make Charles Town their headquarters, but there was no general outcry
unless the sea-rovers happened to molest English ships outside the
harbor.

It was Captain Stede Bonnet himself who steered the pinnace and cursed
his sweating sailors in a deep voice which went echoing across the bay.
He made a brave figure in his scarlet coat, with the brass guard of his
naked cutlass winking in the sun. His boat's crew had been mustered from
many climes and races, several strapping