only that the old man had an Indian princess aboard he was
takin' in to Calicut for ransom. That was where Sol Brig got his broad
gold--kidnappin'. Twenty times we worked it--a dash in an' a fight out,
quick an' bloody--then to sea in the old red sloop, all her sails fair
pullin' the sticks out of her, an' maybe a man-o'-war blazin' away at
our quarter. Weeks after, we'd slip into some port bold as brass an'
there, sure enough, Brig would set the prisoner ashore an' load maybe a
hundred weight of little canvas bags or a stack of pig-silver half a
man's height. The very name of him made him safe. I'd take oath he could
have stole the Lord Mayor o' London and then put in for his ransom at
Execution Dock.

"We got good lays, us before the mast, but there never was a fair
sharin' aboard that ship. One night I crawled aft an' looked in the
stern-port. 'Twas just after we'd got our lays for kidnappin' the
Governor o' Santiago--a rich town as you know. In the cabin sat ol'
Brig, a bare cutlass acrost his lap, countin' piles o' moidores that
filled the whole table. When a rope creaked the old fox saw me an' let
drive with his hanger. Where I was I couldn't dodge quick, an' the
blade took me here, acrost the face. Why he never knifed me, after, I
don't know."

The scarred man stopped with the same abruptness that had marked his
beginning. His fierce, light eyes, like those of a sea-hawk, swept
slowly around the audience and lit on Jeremy. He reached forward,
clutched the boy's shirt, and with an ugly laugh jerked him to his feet.
"'Twas havin' boys aboard as killed Sol Brig," he rasped.

[Illustration: Pharaoh Daggs]

"They hear too much! Look at this young lubber"--giving him a
shake--"pale as a mouldy biscuit! No use aboard here an' poverty-poor in
the bargain! Why Stede don't walk him over the side, I don't see. Here,
get out, you swab!" and he emphasized the name with a stiff cuff on the
ear. Job Howland interposed his long Yankee body. His lean face bent
with a scowl to the level of the other's eyes. "Pharaoh Daggs," he
drawled evenly, "next time you touch that lad, there'll be steel between
your short ribs. Remember!"

He turned to Jeremy who, poor boy, was utterly and forlornly seasick.
"Here, young 'un," he said kindly, "--the _lee_ rail!"

CHAPTER VII

Bright summer weather hovered over the Atlantic as the _Revenge_
ploughed smartly southward. Jeremy grew more accustomed to his new
manner of life from d