The flags were at half mast when we sailed into Port Royal Harbor, with the pirate brig in our wake; and my dark foreboding was confirmed by the first news we had when we stepped ashore.  Admiral Benbow was dead.  Sturdy fighter as he was, he had contended gallantly for near a month against the fever that ensued upon the amputation of his leg, but ’twas not Heaven’s will that he should live for further service to his country.  In the presence of Death, the great leveler, all detraction is hushed, all enmities are extinguished; and even some who had thwarted and criticized the admiral sincerely deplored his loss.  He had won no great victories, done nothing to dazzle the eyes of men; but I make bold to say that, in the long roll of England’s worthies no name will ever shine more brilliantly to a seaman’s eyes than that of honest John Benbow.

Rear Admiral Whetstone, to whom the command of the West Indian squadron fell, was pleased to compliment me on my dealings with the buccaneers, and appointed me first lieutenant of the British frigate on which the officers under sentence of the court martial were to be conveyed to England.

When we sailed out of Port Royal (you may be sure I had Joe Punchard with me), we acted as convoy to a large merchant brig, richly laden with produce of the island, and with a freight more precious to me in the person of Mistress Lucy.  She had not waited for the completion of the business connected with the sale of her estate, having perfect confidence in the integrity of Mr. McTavish, who would remit the price to her in due course.  From a mercenary point of view the time was not well chosen for the disposal of her property, values always diminishing in time of war.  But the island was associated for her now with so many unpleasant incidents that she was glad to sever the last tie that bound her to it and return to her happy life with the Allardyces.

’Twas a bleak day in December when we sailed into Plymouth Sound.  As soon as we had spoken the port a boat put off hearing a paper sealed with the seal of Prince George, the Lord High Admiral.  And there fell to my captain a duty which sure no man could have performed without compunction.  I was truly thankful no such dreadful task was ever mine.  The prince ordered that the sentence of the court martial should be executed upon those two unhappy captains, Kirkby and Wade, on the deck of the vessel, with a full muster of the crew.  When they were drawn up in lines according to rank, the whole ship’s company, from the lieutenants and master’s mates down to the grommet and the boy; the captain, pale as death but in a firm voice, gave the word of command at which, with one volley of muskets, the souls of those two cravens and traitors were sped into eternity.  Their crimes were flagrant, the sentence was most just; but I hope and pray no Englishman will ever do the like again.