it, seeing that he
was not even born into the world at the time that his grandfather turned
pirate, and was only one year old when he so met his tragical end.
Nevertheless, the boys with whom he went to school never tired of
calling him "Pirate," and would sometimes sing for his benefit that
famous catchpenny song beginning thus:

Oh, my name was Captain Brand,
A-sailing,
And a-sailing;
Oh, my name was Captain Brand,
A-sailing free.
Oh, my name was Captain Brand,
And I sinned by sea and land,
For I broke God's just command,
A-sailing free.

'Twas a vile thing to sing at the grandson of so misfortunate a man, and
oftentimes little Barnaby True would double up his fists and would fight
his tormentors at great odds, and would sometimes go back home with a
bloody nose to have his poor mother cry over him and grieve for him.

Not that his days were all of teasing and torment, neither; for if his
comrades did treat him so, why, then, there were other times when he
and they were as great friends as could be, and would go in swimming
together where there was a bit of sandy strand along the East River
above Fort George, and that in the most amicable fashion. Or, maybe
the very next day after he had fought so with his fellows, he would go
a-rambling with them up the Bowerie Road, perhaps to help them steal
cherries from some old Dutch farmer, forgetting in such adventure what a
thief his own grandfather had been.

Well, when Barnaby True was between sixteen and seventeen years old he
was taken into employment in the countinghouse of Mr. Roger Hartright,
the well-known West India merchant, and Barnaby's own stepfather.

It was the kindness of this good man that not only found a place for
Barnaby in the countinghouse, but advanced him so fast that against our
hero was twenty-one years old he had made four voyages as supercargo to
the West Indies in Mr. Hartright's ship, the Belle Helen, and soon after
he was twenty-one undertook a fifth. Nor was it in any such subordinate
position as mere supercargo that he acted, but rather as the
confidential agent of Mr. Hartright, who, having no children of his
own, was very jealous to advance our hero into a position of trust and
responsibility in the countinghouse, as though he were indeed a son, so
that even the captain of the ship had scarcely more consideration aboard
than he, young as he was in years.

As for the agents and correspon