From the companion-way leading to the captain’s cabin there now appeared a pale young face.  It was that of Dickory Charter, who had been ordered by Blackbeard, before the two vessels came together, to shut himself in the cabin and to keep out of the broil, swearing that if he made himself unfit to present to Eliza he would toss his disfigured body into the sea.  Entirely unarmed and having no place in the fight, Dickory had obeyed, but the spirit of a young man which burned within him led him to behold the greater part of the conflict between Blackbeard and the English captain.  Being a young man, he had shut his eyes at the end of it, but when the pirate had left he came forth quietly.  The fight raged forward, and here he was alone with the fallen figure on the deck.

As Dickory stood gazing downward in awe—­in all his life he had never seen a corpse—­the man he had supposed dead opened his eyes for a moment and gazed with dull intelligence, and then he gasped for rum.  Dickory was quickly beside him with a tumbler of spirits and water, which, raising the fallen man’s head, he gave him.  In a few moments the eyes of Captain Vince opened wider, and he stared at the young man in naval uniform who stood above him.  “Who are you?” he said in a low voice, but distinct, “an English officer?”

“No,” said Dickory, “I am no officer and no pirate; I am forced to wear these clothes.”

And then, his natural and selfish instincts pushing themselves before anything else, Dickory went on:  “Oh, sir, if your men conquer these pirates will you take me—­” but as he spoke he saw that the wounded man was not listening to him; his half-closed eyes turned towards him and he whispered: 

“More spirits!”

[Illustration:  “Take that,” he feebly said, “and swear that it shall be delivered.”]

Dickory dashed into the cabin, half-filled a tumbler with rum and gave it to Vince.  Presently his eyes recovered something of their natural glow, and with contracted brow he fixed them upon the stream of blood which was running from him over the deck.

Suddenly he spoke sharply:  “Young fellow,” he said, “some paper and a pen, a pencil, anything.  Quick!”

Dickory looked at him in amazement for a moment and then he ran into the cabin, soon returning with a sheet of paper and an English pencil.

The eyes of Captain Vince were now very bright, and a nervous strength came into his body.  He raised himself upon his elbow, he clutched at the paper, and clapping it upon the deck began to write.  Quickly his pencil moved; already he was feeling that his rum-given strength was leaving him, but several pages he wrote, and then he signed his name.  Folding the sheet he stopped for a moment, feeling that he could do no more; but, gathering together his strength in one convulsive motion, he addressed the letter.

“Take that,” he feebly said, “and swear ... that it shall be ... delivered.”