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  THE LIFE OF A CELEBRATED BUCCANEER

  _A PAGE OF PAST HISTORY FOR THE USE OF THE CHILDREN OF TO-DAY_

  BY RICHARD CLYNTON

  LONDON SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. PATERNOSTER SQUARE.

  1889

  LIFE OF A CELEBRATED BUCCANEER.

  CHAPTER I.

  Once upon a time there lived on an island, separated from the main landof Europe by a silver streak of the ocean, a celebrated Buccaneer.

  There was a rugged grandeur about the rock-bound coast of this island,with its bluff, bold headlands and beetling cliffs, where the sea birdsloved to make their nests high up above the spray; mingling their crieswith the voice of the ocean as it rushed into its wide and deep throatedcaverns. The waves, too, worked ever, and for ever, a broad fretworkcollar round these rocky shores. Unlucky was the ship that found thisisland on her lee in a gale of wind. Many a child had been madefatherless there, and many a wife a widow. But to those who knew how tothread their way through the many channels, numerous bays, creeks, andrivers, offered a safe retreat either from the storm or from an enemy.

  This island was a fit home for one following the profession of aBuccaneer. Its natural advantages were extremely great; for not only wasit difficult of access, but its innumerable big throated caverns openedtheir wide jaws ready to receive anything that floated in from theocean. However, this bold pirate did such a good business, that in ashort time these caves became too small, so he had to build wharves andwarehouses to hold his plunder; for he lived in such an age, and wassurrounded by such unprincipled people, that he could not leave histhings lying about on the shore. Besides which, the climate was notgood, being frequently visited by fogs, gales of wind, and very heavyrains.

  Soon villages rose up; then towns, which in their turn grew into greatcities, the principal of which were generally planted by the side ofsome one of his many rivers. Soon the bays and rivers became crowdedwith ships, and the shores were busy scenes of industry. Cargoes werebeing landed. Sails were being made and repaired; ropes overhauled andrestranded, and the smell of the pitch caldrons rose up and mingled withthe salt air blown in fresh from the sea. Shipwrights' hammers resoundedalong the shores, and were echoed back by the beetling cliffs. While themen worked, the women sang, and the chubby-faced, fair-haired childrenplayed about on the beach.

  To those who ask how our bold Buccaneer acquired most of his property,it must be answered that it came to him in a manner usual in thosetimes. Everybody laid their hands upon what they could, and then devotedall their spare time and energy to the keeping of it. Title deeds werefor the most part written in blood, with a sharp-pointed one-nibbedsteel pen. When we live in Rome we must do as the Romans do, and we mustnot set up to be better than our neighbours, that is, if we wish toprosper, and when all the world is going in for universal plunder itdoes not pay to stand on one side, with hands idle, arms folded, andeyes upturned to heaven, saying that people are wicked. Needs must whenthe devil drives.

  It has been a time-honoured custom to rob and kill, so that riches maybe laid up; then it becomes the duty of all to watch lest the thiefbreaks through and steals. This primitive method of doing business isnow justly condemned, and all nations pay at least a tribute to virtue,by flinging a cloth over any shady action. But nations even now have tomaintain their dignity. Insults have to be resented, and ambitiousdesigns have to be frustrated. Battles are fought, and people areslaughtered, and some one, as the saying is, has to pay the piper.

  It would almost seem, by a contemplation of things in general, that manby nature is a robber, the action changing its colour according to theatmosphere that people have to live in. In barbarous ages the act ofplunder is done openly, and a fellow-creature is sent about hisbusiness, either with a broken head or with a spear through his body,and there is an end to him, and perhaps the world is not much thepoorer. That honesty is the best policy is, by experience, forced uponus; but even now, in our most enlightened age, the individual will attimes adulterate his liquor, sand his sugar, and sell short weight,though he may try to sanctify the deed by saying his prayers before andafter; thus adding somewhat to the general stock of humbugs, hypocrites,and Pharisees. But to our story.

  It was a noble sight to see this bold Buccaneer getting under weigh withhis fleet of ships. Clack, clack went the windlasses, and his brave ladscould be heard singing as they lifted their anchors a peak--

  Merrily round our capstans go As we heave in the slack of our chain, Into our sails the north winds blow As we bear away from the main. Yo ho, my lads, heave ho!

  Home went the sheets. Up went the yards, and the sails bellied out tothe wind. On the shores crowded the women and children. The little oneswith shock heads of curly hair, the sport of the breeze, crying aftertheir fathers, holding up their tearful little faces for the sea-breezeto kiss. The wives wishing their brave lads a prosperous voyage, and asafe return, with plenty of plunder. Silks and spices from the East, andgold and silver from the West, or wherever they could find it. Away wentthe ships, with their white canvas spread like the wings of a seagull.Soon the hulls were down, and the white specks, after lingering for awhile upon the far-off horizon, sank beneath and vanished. Then sendinga sigh after their mates on the wings of the north wind, the womenreturned to their homes and sang their young sea whelps to sleep, withlullabies tuned to the daring deeds of their fathers.