s that Prompted Me t

bed, his head and shoulders raised and supported by pillows, fo

said that what with cupping and applying leeches Master Blackwood had

ld seaman he was. I fancy his voice faltered when he spoke to me of Constance, but beyond that

mournful time is an affair for the minds of our own family; but just before midnight, at de

according to custom, an inquest, but by mutual consent Captain Jeremy's name was left out

I received a letter from my uncle, John Hammond, stating that, in accordance with arrangements made

ce that his understanding with my late parent would remain as before, and that he would, to use his own expression, "keep his weather e

e praised! left me unmarked. Master Blackwood, the chirurgeon, tended me with the

re I could get abroad once more, and during that time much h

West, leaving behind him a never-to-be-forgotten record of cruelty, infamy, and shame, while his brutal

y; yet I had learnt to look upon him as the one stanch friend in my solitude, and

nt. In vain I gave the call of the red deer, for no welcome reply came from the yawning pit; and when at length I descended b

, too, had vanished, and thus all chance of communicati

was sent by my uncle into Lymington to procure

e skin. However, I accomplished my errand, and laden with a heavy burden I trudged homewards, having also taken the opportunity of obtaining from a c

ran into the arms of Captain Jeremy, wh

t 'twas he, bold, jovial, and beaming with kindlines

shouted. "I've soug

imed apprehensively, "is it

t may. I've got a ship, lad! A. goodly vessel--as sweet a little craft as ever you'd clap eyes on betwixt Yarmouth and Bristol. Thanks once again to Sir William Soams, who threw himself into my plans, the Golden Hope has been chartered to seek the Madre treasure--and I'll warrant Sir William will receive a good per

h when you fled befo

, and I've fallen thrice on my way hither; yet 'tis strange what a man will do when he's put to it. But can you persuade your uncle to let you

y head so

I replied. "But, Captain Jeremy,

un you yarns times without number, but you've not heard of the dark side of a seaman's life. N

Captai

pe ere she leaves Poole Harbour. Well, well, the best of friends must say farewell, and so 'tis with us.

in Jeremy, and G

long the Christchurch Road, not daring to look round for fear of losing his seat. I watc

sation with that seafaring man who, with many strange oaths on his lips, hath troubled me with his presence? To your room, sir! Supperless you shall go; but before

omon for my peace of mind; and, smarting under the treatment I had endured, I