“A message from Kate!” shouted Bonnet, now in a state of wild excitement.  “Here you, Greenway, lift up the other arm, and we will take him to my cabin.  Quick, man!  Quick, man! he must have some spirits and dry clothes.  Make haste now!  A message from my daughter!”

“If that’s so,” said Greenway, as he and Bonnet hurried the young man aft, “ye’d better no’ be in too great haste to get his message out o’ him or ye’ll kill him wi’ pure recklessness.”

Bonnet took the advice, and before many minutes Dickory was in dry clothes and feeling the inspiriting influence of a glass of good old rum.  Now came Black Paul, wanting to know if he should sink the brig and be done with her, for they couldn’t lie by in such weather.

“Don’t you fire on that ship!” yelled Bonnet, “don’t you dare it!  For all I know, my daughter may be on board of her.”

At this Dickory shook his head.  “No,” said he, “she is not on board.”

“Then let her go,” cried Bonnet, “I have no time to fool with the beggarly hulk.  Let her go!  I have other business here.  And now, sir,” addressing Dickory, “what of my daughter?  You have got your breath now, tell me quickly!  What is your message from her?  When did you sail from Bridgetown?  Did she expect me to overhaul that brig?  How in the name of all the devils could she expect that?”

“Come, come now, Master Bonnet!” exclaimed the Scotchman, “ye are talkin’ o’ your daughter, the good an’ beautiful Mistress Kate, an’ no matter whether ye are a pirate or no, ye must keep a guard on your tongue.  An’ if ye think she knew where to find ye, ye must consider her an angel an’ no’ to be spoken o’ in the same breath as de’ils.”

“I didn’t sail from Bridgetown,” said Dickory, “and your daughter is not there.  I come from Jamaica, where she now is, and was bound to Bridgetown to seek news of you, hoping that you had returned there.”

“Which, if he had,” said Ben, who found it very difficult to keep quiet, “ye would hae been under the necessity o’ givin’ your message to his bones hangin’ in chains.”

Bonnet looked savagely at Ben, but he had no time even to curse.

“Jamaica!” he cried, “how did she get there?  Tell me quickly, sir—­tell me quickly!  Do you hear?”

Dickory was now quite recovered and he told his story, not too quickly, and with much attention to details.  Even the account of the unusual manner in which he and Kate had disembarked from the pirate vessel was given without curtailment, nor with any attention to the approving grunts of Ben Greenway.  When he came to speak of the letter which Mr. Newcombe had written her, and which had thrown her into such despair on account of its shortcomings, Captain Bonnet burst into a fury of execration.

“And she never got my letter?” he cried, “and knew not what had happened to me.  It is that wife of mine, that cruel wild-cat!  I sent the letter to my house, thinking, of course, it would find my daughter there.  For where else should she be?”