Captain Skull: From the Memoirs of Sir Charles of Riley

He sailed to the edge of the world to forget her. Fate brought her right back to him.

To the crew of the legendary Captain Skull, he is Sir Charles of Riley-a daring pirate gentleman of the Caribbean and the Spanish Main. But before the lace, the plumes, and the flashing steel, he was just Charles: a young man who left his heart on the tropical island of Jamaica.

Falling in love with Lady Rebecca Armstrong was his first mistake; discovering she was wed to his greatest enemy was his undoing. Flight was his only option. But a life upon the open sea with a band of thieves cannot wash away the memories of an aristocratic beauty.

One year later, an accidental encounter in England changes everything. Caught in a web of his own lies and thievery, Charles is forced to confront the man he has become. Rebecca sees him now as a rogue and a bandit . . . But, as danger circles, Charles must find a way to earn her forgiveness or lose his soul to the black flag forever.

Dive into a rich, historical swashbuckler packed with:

• • Classic Swashbuckling Adventure: Perfect for fans of high-seas history and legendary buccaneers.

  • Exciting & Realistic Swordplay: Fast-paced duels fought with honor and edge-of-your-seat tension.

  • Breathtaking Romance & Drama: A deeply emotional story set against lush tropical locales and grand English estates.

  • Wit & Comedy: Packed with occasional lighthearted humor and sharp-witted characters.

Step aboard the Skull Ship today and immerse yourself in a timeless romantic adventure!

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TABLE OF CONTENTS:  (click on chapter title...)

Chapter 1: Meet Captain Skull

My name is Sir Charles of Riley, and I was a lad of only seven and a half years when I first remember hearing the infamous name of Captain Skull. "He is nothing more than a tyrant," I had heard, "an eight-foot-tall tyrant!" This is all I remember hearing about the captain from my youth: a tyrant. But later, I was to realize that none of the exaggerated statements about the captain were even true. He was certainly no tyrant; and, as far as his great height was concerned, he only reached that of six feet . . . And, how should I know this, one may curiously ask? I happen to have been in the great captain's service for nearly ten years, and I lacked only a few inches of reaching his presumed unreachable height. I am proud to recall, as I am reminiscing of those former glorious days, that I was not too far from the captain in rank. I would say first mate, but that would be an awkward statement, seeing as there was another who stood with the captain and me upon the main deck of our ship.

This other man, my near-ranking officer friend, who was by birth (and noticeably by his dignified manner) a full-blooded Frenchman, had a head full of blonde hair—of which he kept excellent care; he elegantly wore a light blonde moustache—that he carefully trimmed every morning; he had a slim figure—which maintained its agility by constant fencing exercises; and, he had a set of mysteriously deep blue eyes that could hold the darkest of secrets without fear of being revealed even to the keenest of observers. And, yet, this latter stated description (that is, the mentioning of his eyes), was the complete opposite of my own, which are a dark brown, and that could not hold a secret to save my life.

Not only are my eyes dark brown, but so also is my short hair, which I have always taken special care of, for I wore no periwig, as many of the noble lords of that day were doing. At the present time of this writing, I am clean-shaven (as are many of my fellow-Englishmen), but of the time of which I am relating, I did display a very, very small chin beard and light moustache—as much as my youth would allow me to grow. And, lastly, concerning my build, it was slightly more muscular, I do dare say, than that of my fine French friend.

But, alas, even though these aforementioned qualities, which I took special care to hold back some extreme details of, belonged to the proud natures that my French shipmate and I shared, they were not even comparable to those exceptional qualities of Captain Skull, of whom I carefully make mention of in this telling. For though he was a man full of mysteries, his outward appearance told many things without he having to even open his mouth. His eyes, as if he were the Frenchman's brother, were as blue crystals—which occasionally and brilliantly caught the glimmer of the sun; and, were always sparkling, as if the seven oceans were enclosed within. Their color could almost pass for aqua, though an occasional dullness would shoot through them (revealing a darker blue) whenever he had become angered; which, in all honesty, did not occur often enough to even be mentioned, for his was a nature that was the most patient and mild-mannered that ever I had seen the likes of. These deep blue eyes, as I have just described, could have had him pass for a fine Frenchman; though, his looks otherwise revealed an Irish or Scottish descent. However, his hair (being very long, straight, and black), could have had him either being a Latin-born nobleman, an American native, or even a Spaniard fresh from the New World. A much-asked question amongst the crew was always where he had come from. But, if there were any persons living during that time who had knowledge of his origins, they were silent to approach with any satisfactory answer. I myself, and on several occasions, had heard him speak French, Spanish, English (for, of course, English is my language—the only one I could speak, and still the only one I completely know), and even once did I hear him speak German. So, in short, he could have sprung from anywhere in the known world.

The captain always wore black, from his head to his foot; and, an occasional white or silver, placed here and about, added interest to his elaborate costumes—full of lace and plumes they were. He was a mighty man of valor, indeed, who never spoke much, and never even opened his lips unless a situation had commanded him to. Sometimes I would see days go by that he would not utter a word; then, on other occasions, he would speak nearly all afternoon. But, when his lips were not in motion—delivering, as if it were, words of gold—he would be in deep thought, and readily giving himself (what I considered) thorough, sound advice.

These silent days did not mean, however, that he was locked up tight in his cabin. To the contrary, he stood with us quite a bit upon the decks of our ship, nodding his head or shaking it to answer small questions. However, when he did speak, it was only about important matters, having no nonsense or jesting within the words; which was very much unlike myself—and, especially, my dandy French friend, who had always a ready, witty (and sometimes comical) comeback for any occasion that demanded a light, droll response.

The captain's presence secured intelligence, braveness, shrewdness, and outright strength. He was the greatest—I do here proclaim—the greatest of all pirates. For this was our trade; and, such a one that deserved honest respect . . . Honest respect? Piracy? Can that really be so? Verily; for, half the crew, as incredible as it may seem, were noblemen. Aye!—noblemen; who were banished from nearly every country in Europe. This, what I am saying, is no jest, and it had constituted from the strangest of events; for, these exiled lords and nobles (I know not for what crimes—for it was something that was not asked, neither was it told) made our Spanish galleon seem, as if it were, the grandest of any royal court to where nobles paid homage only to themselves. Quite unique, no doubt, but true. Captain Skull had made for himself a small (should I say) private reputation for being a gentleman tyrant. Always when he boarded a ship, he killed only those of whom he had a necessity to kill, and spared those who had pleaded for their lives; others (if they were of a robust nature) were even allowed to join our crew. Indeed, he needed deckhands, able bodies, to run his ship. Could it truly be imagined that these noblemen acted as mere sailors? That would have been a thought unworthy to even be mentioned onboard. Therefore, and to this result, seeing as Captain Skull was a somewhat respected practicing pirate, and because noblemen and courtly lords who had no other means of accumulating tons of gold unto their persons had readily grasped the idea of piracy, they joined Captain Skull on his quest for . . . for what? . . . for what would almost seem to be revenge. But the reason for this revenge, if such were even the case, was another one of those questions that had remained unanswered. But, my thoughts on the subject at the time were that he himself was a banished noble or lord who had taken on piracy for revenge on the corrupted and pampered nations that did not treat their nobles nor their citizenry appropriately. Perhaps the greatest reason for this adopted occupation of his (which had hit my mind, also) could have very well been the fact that he desired the acquiring of much wealth. Verily, and admittedly, he had a love for treasure.

Though many people's thoughts were very sketchyon this man's life during his notorious career, and even though I (as was justmentioned) had tried desperately to guess at his true nature, and of hismysterious background, it certainly does not mean that I never received theanswers to his origins—for, indeed, I had. But, I will ease them into my storyas I plod along with, not only my first encounter with he and his crew, butalso along with my own adventures with them, as well. Piracy is an easy trade,and it can make one rich almost overnight. So, therefore, in response to allthese happenings, half the crew were sailors, who kept the ship a-sail, and the other half were of highbred birth, whose work only came when duty called forthe use of their swords and military skills; which, I will admit, was a grand display in fencing, fighting, cannonading, and—as funny as it is to hear—robbery. 

Chapter 2: My Personal Adventure, And How I Got My Start

I can vividly remember those days when I first met the captain, back when I was yet a young lad, and was hastily looking forward to starting a life, and to begin an adventure. Back in England, however, that adventure was a far cry away, for I was working odd jobs here and about, sometimes living on the streets, being orphaned from birth, and I found it difficult to even keep pace with common life—whatever that had meant. Dreaming of nothing more than a grand life in some tropical region, I did somehow, in all that busy chaos, manage to pull enough coin together for a sea voyage to the New World, called the Americas. What an exciting day that was, and I had my mind all made up; for, I was going there never to return to England again. I was finished with the rough life on the English streets, and I wanted to get involved in the sugar cane industry in the West Indies—that new Garden of Eden.

I had thought that if I could only become an apprentice to some prosperous merchant there, who could teach me all the tricks of the trade, then I could build up enough money to start my own plantation someday. Oh, how many times I had heard the merchants and tradesmen discuss those kinds of ideas in the English taverns, where I would purposefully sit outside the windows just to overhear their own plans, which would in turn give me my own dreams of such a life.

The exact location of the landing of my ship was to be at the colony town of Riley—an extremely small place on Jamaica, not too far from Port Royal, its capital. I honestly cannot remember the exact year of this voyage (for I was not keeping a log at that time, as I was later to do not too long afterward), but it was some years—sometime perhaps in the 1670s—before that terrible earthquake had hit Port Royal, sinking it into the sea, and causing the capital of Jamaica to immediately be moved to the town of Kingston.

Looking back to those glorious days of my voyage, to the time of exciting youth, being filled with many hopes and dreams, I can remember distinctively the events of my first days out to sea as if it were but yesterday. Before this, I had never been upon the ocean, and I was very surprised that I did not become ill at all on that entire journey, which would have been caused by seasickness. Again, I say the voyage was so exciting, so mysterious, and much fun as well, but my greatest memory of that voyage came at one certain late afternoon, when the sun could be seen largely from afar, getting ready to dip itself into the ocean within a few hours, as it was beginning to soften somewhat for the evening that was to come, causing the beauty of that entire painting before me to be extremely breathtaking . . . Yet, despite it all, it compared but little to the beauty that stood only a few feet away, who was also admiring the sun as much as I.

From the corner of my eye (for I had certainly begun to take in small glances of her as well), I could see that the young lady had brown, flowing, straight, beautiful hair, which delicately lay upon her shoulders as it draped lightly upon the lace of her collar. The occasional hard-hitting sea wind would flip it back away from her face every so often, revealing a lightly tanned, smooth face that it had at times softly caressed. Starting to get a bit braver in my new observations, whilst glancing more often into her direction, I also noticed that her lips were red and full; which, combined with the other details, told any man that a rare flower was in their presence. Of course, I have no need to mention that her body was as delicate as her facial features—but they were; and, alas, I noticed that, too.

I would find myself, as I now muse to say, slowly edging my way toward her. As young and ignorant as I was at that time in my life, which was when I was around eighteen years of age, I imagined that the young lady did not even notice my advancements toward her. That is, until I heard some laughter coming from her direction. At first, I refused to accept that she was laughing at me.

"If you edge your way any nearer," she finally ventured to say, but still looking out toward the sun, "then I would have to make you sit upon my lap; for, you are in danger of coming that close."

Upon that last sentence, she finally turned toward me, and I could fully see how stunning she was in that afternoon light. More beautiful full-faced than what I had realized at first. And her brown eyes, as I could now plainly see, were very soft ovals of loveliness.

"Excuse me?" I stupidly replied, embarrassed; and, having a most woeful expression upon my face—for she took me unawares.

Her only response was more laughter. At this, I perceived that her mirth was indeed directed toward me; and, so, I gladly yielded.

"And if I did come to sit upon your lap," I dared to suggest, with a gleeful smile upon my lips, "would that be a bad thing?"

As she was about to reply, some man had suddenly and unexpectedly approached.

"My dear," he said to the girl, acting as though I were invisible, "the afternoon dancing is almost over, and I have yet to dance with the prettiest girl!"

She looked at him with a smile, looked back at me with that same smile, then proceeded to walk away in the direction from which the man came. He started to follow her, so I sorrowfully returned to my view over the sea, being extremely disappointed. To my surprise, however, the man came back out, and walked right up to me. When he had stopped directly behind me, I turned to face him.

"And, as for you, sir," he said, in a most threatening and dignified tone, whilst his eyes darted with anger, "you will never speak to her again. Else, I shall be forced," he continued, as he grabbed the pommel of his sword, without unsheathing it, "to run you through! Do you understand?"

I said nothing—merely stared.

Upon my hesitation, I figured that he took it that I did understand, for he added: "Very good!" And, then, he walked back into where the dancing was being held.

I cannot even begin to explain how I felt at that very moment. Usually, when I had been insulted, I would immediately throw my fist into the offender's face. But, this was a different matter entirely, for I was not in a dirty London alley, nor at a quarrel with a common street lad. This man was a gentleman, and obviously a swordsman, as well. Being from the streets as I was, I naturally knew nothing about fencing, except for the two or three times I had seen a demonstration in my neighborhood by local noblemen's children, who were musing themselves for the benefit of the other children. Therefore, I could not challenge the wretch, or else he would, as he had said, run me through. So, what was I to do? Perhaps, forget the whole matter like a wise man would do? Sure, that would have been easy if I were not Charles. But, since I am Charles, I know, assuredly, that I am not a wise man. So, again, what was I to do? . . . My solution was a crazy one.

Walking up slowly toward the captain of the vessel, I casually struck up a conversation with him. An Irishman of some years, I could see that the man was very seaworthy, as an old favorite vessel might be. That is, very tried at the challenges of the ocean. A captain's hat, a patch over the left eye, and a pipe completed a costume that already screamed of the sea.

In my conversation with him, harboring other intentions, I made it seem that I wished to have just a friendly chat with the man, so I threw a few questions to him concerning his ship, of how long he had been at sea, his age, about his family . . . You know, everything that I really did not wish to know. So, after having him become very friendly toward me, considering that I was having him talk to me about his favorite subject—that is, himself—I was finally coming to my point:

"Tell me, captain," I continued, "are there wild natives on Jamaica?"

"Wild natives?" he repeated, whilst he knitted his brows into a frown, being a little surprised at the question. "I do not think so, me lad. They are, I believe, on the other islands."

"I see," was my seemingly sincere comment, while I knitted my brows, also, to imitate the old seaman. "But, what I mean is, are there things at our destination that one would have to defend themselves from?"

"Well, of course, lad," he said, placing his hands behind his back, as he held his head slightly in the air, and looking straight at me, "that is the way of life." Then added, as he raised his eyebrows: "You have to be able to defend yourself anywhere ye be in this world!"

"True," I admitted. "But, when I lived on the streets of London, all I had to know was how to make a good fist!" And, I demonstrated by shaking my fisted hand in the air.

"Yes, you have a point, my boy," he said, laughing a little at my flying arm.

"But, where we are going," I continued, coming closer to my point, and having already put my hand down, "that skill may be useless; do you not think, captain?"

"You perhaps may be right."

"I'd wager," I said, trying not to miss a single expression on his face, "that you are an excellent swordsman yourself!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say excellent," he said, continuing to smile, "but, I do have a fair hand at it."

"Oh, that's great!" I exclaimed. "Could you show me some basic moves on the blade?" I added, of a sudden. "I mean, just a few quick ones, where I can defend myself from any harm at Jamaica."

At this, the captain was speechless—he didn't even see it coming. His brows knitted more than they had done before; and, all the poor man could do was to stammer out a few words: "Well . . . I, ugh . . . I don't know . . . I, ugh..."

"Oh, I'm sure that it wouldn't take too long," I assured him. "Just a few basic moves."

"Well," he said, smiling once again, "what would be the harm?"

I really have no need to say that my intentions were less than honest, for I merely wanted to learn fencing so that I could kill that buffoon for his insolent remarks.

"Mark!" the old captain called out, motioning his first mate to come near him. Upon this, a young seaman, who was only a short distance away, came forward.

"Sir?" asked the man, whom I could see was a true man of the sea, who was wearing a blue, decorative sash about his waist, and had a blue kerchief, of the same material, around his head.

"Loan the lad yer sword," said the old man, while pointing me out. "He wishes for me to teach him a few moves on the blade."

At this, the first mate seemed to be a little taken aback, while glancing at me a little nervously. But, then, his nervous expression took on a more cheerful smile while observing me. "Why, sure," he quickly said, as he unsheathed his sword.

He then placed the blade within my hands.

As that wondrous sword was being handed over tome, a surge of unexplainable joy had quickly traveled through my body. What anexciting feeling that blade had produced; and, somehow, I knew that the swordwould play a unique role in my life.

Chapter 3: I Approach the Buffoon, But Then Something Happens

After about an hour of extreme basic lessons from the worn-out sea captain, I felt assured of my newfound talent. Yes, talent, as it would be assumed by the overzealous thinking of youth. Even though the captain did tell me to immediately find his first mate (who had gone about his business elsewhere on the ship) to return the sword to him, I did intentionally keep it a little longer, hoping to settle my differences with that lace-filled buffoon before doing so. Upon this idea, which I wholeheartedly entertained myself with—imagining with my every step toward him that I was running the insolent fellow through with the first mate's sword—I did quicken my pace in this much-needed search. Tucking the sword into my belt, so as to appear non-threatening to the other passengers, I then proceeded into the dining hall of the ship (the last place I had seen him enter), hoping that he would still be there.

Upon my entrance into this extremely small assembly room for the passengers, the first sight that I observed was a smoky, dimly lit room, with a few tables scattered about. At first, my scan of the room was fixed upon the couples who were dancing to the two or three instruments which were humming out a tune that all the courtiers were familiar with in London. But, my man was not there. So, my attention quickly moved to the tables. My observance here caught several cavaliers who were puffing their pipes and drinking their ale, whilst they wooed their ladies who were sitting and chatting happily with them. Amongst these table occupants I was very glad to see the object of my wrath—whom I saw was still wearing that same insolent smile he had displayed for me earlier, as it seemed to be permanently embedded upon his face. Oh, how I wanted to remove that sarcastic-looking grimace with my . . . I mean, with the first mate's sword.

I took a step into the room, where I found myself making a quick stop, for I did not notice that sitting across from him at the table was that beautiful young lady, whom I had but briefly met a little over an hour before, and who had been gazing at the ocean just as I . . . Ah! What a rare gem she was. But, why was she sitting at table with that insolent man? Honestly, why would she even want to associate with him at all? Seeing as he was probably her brother, I might be able to see (out of family necessity, of course) that she would sit with him. If he were my brother, however, I do not know if I could stomach the man's presence, at all—even if the saying is true that blood is thicker than water. And, if the most dreadful outcome befell, that he might be courting her (perish the thought), then, certainly, her brains have departed her senses just as far as north is from south.

However, I must not keep thinking of her beauty at a time like this, when my honor was at stake! For, there was always a possibility that this lady, by that time, might have bethought me a coward; that is, of course, if that rotten gentleman had told her anything of what had transpired between him and me—and, that would just never do. So, at this conclusion, I continued my advancement toward my determined destination, gripping tightly, with my left hand, the pommel of the first mate's sword, as it remained securely tucked away in my belt. Surely, that buffoon would regret the day that he ever spoke to me in such a manner as he did—should that not be so?

As I approached their table, I stood directly beside the two of them; having, as I have said, one hand upon the grip of the sword, while my other fisted hand rested upon my right side. I opened my mouth, quickly preparing a fitting speech, ready to address it toward this loathsome sight, when suddenly, a passenger came running into the dining hall, screaming at the top of his lungs: "A ship has been spotted off the starboard bow! This could mean trouble!"

At this, everyone in the entire dining hall rushed out, heading toward the starboard bow, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sighted ship. Yes, everyone left, except me—I, who was still standing in that same ridiculous position that I had been standing for the past five seconds; which was, with one fisted hand still upon my hip, one hand still on the pommel of the sword; and, with my mouth still wide open, ready to speak to that rotten gentleman who was no longer there. And, not only he, but neither the beautiful girl, nor any of the other passengers who had been sitting or dancing in the room . . . In fact, it was so dead quiet in there, that even the creaking of the ship's boards could have been considered loud at that time. Neither of the two of them ever saw that I was there.

So, I took my ridiculous-looking self slowly out of the dining hall to join the others at the starboard bow, who were all anxiously gazing at the other ship with gripping anticipation of what she could be. Of course, I was so upset that I could have cared less of what was going on.

As I nonchalantly leaned upon the handrail, after squeezing through the thick crowd to get there, I began to look at nothing in particular—not even at the other ship. I was letting my gaze float from passenger to passenger, while I was set in deep thought about the events that had just passed for the last hour. But, suddenly I saw, staring directly at me, that beautiful girl, who had a delightful smile beaming from her face. I was so taken aback by that sweet gesture that I froze, not knowing how to respond. I was, however—with a bit of difficulty—able to break free from my spell, so I started to return her smile with one of my own. But, just as quickly as that sparkling grin had replaced my sullen look, it vanished and returned to its frowning state once more, because my view of that beautiful girl had just been obscured suddenly from sight by the leaning-forward form of her buffoon friend, who purposefully came in between our gaze. And then, all I could see (instead of that sweet, good-natured countenance) was a strong and hateful grimace, which was directed right at me from my most hated adversary.

But, before anything else could happen, I received a tap upon my shoulder. Jumping slightly, for the tap had given me a start, I quickly spun around to face a smiling first mate, who was laughing slightly because of my startled reaction.

"I need my sword back, please," said he to me.

"Oh, sure," I replied, as I quickly handed it back to him. It was very obvious that I was not going to need it at that time anyway, in that turmoil, to settle my fury with that terrible man.

It was nearing six or seven o'clock in the evening, and it was approaching dusk upon the ocean; only the form of the other ship could be seen in the far distance, being encircled by the setting sun. These things I finally began to observe, deciding to go ahead and avert my attention to the newest happenings—seeing as I could do nothing about the other. 

The events about the other ship approaching actually lasted the rest of the night, and on through to the early morning hours. Surely, she must be rather large, like a galleon, for it seemed to approach us with a very slow speed. Or, rather, she did not want to alarm us by coming in too fast; for, indeed, the ship was heading in our very direction.

As it neared about three in the morning, the watchman up in the top-castle, which was nestled just above two massive sheets of canvas (a part of our sails), kept hailing that the other ship's flag still could not be seen in the darkness through his looking-glass telescope, as it got closer to our vessel by each approaching wave. Because, and fortunately for the mate above, the moon was rather generous that night, for it was very large in the night sky, and did blanket both ships with incredible visibility. Throughout these slow hours I could hear a few passengers crying, saying that they were going to be killed by pirates, whilst others were busy in their duties of comforting, assuring them that such would not be the case. Now, as I have said, this whole scene continued through the entire morning hours, as more passengers awoke, joining the late-nighters upon the main deck, and who all hovered near the edge, trying their best to make out the ever-approaching vessel—for it, indeed, was coming closer and closer by every hour. As all that was going on, while trying to work through the hubbub that all this was causing onboard, the old sea captain was trying his best to give orders to his crewmen, just in case of an emergency.

As six in the morning approached, the nightly darkness was beginning to fade, and the sun was starting to make his appearance on the opposite side of the ocean. Leaning forward even more, the crewman up in the top-castle began to shout, heartily: "She flies the English colors!"

At this announcement, all onboard shouted a cry of relief; a cry which, no doubt, could have been heard by the occupants of the approaching ship. However, I was not in voice with the others; not because I was still mad, mind you—no—for, that had all but ceased within me by that time, but it was instead upon a suspicion; because, I had wondered if it may have been a trick from the other ship, as pirates were sometimes noted to do: that is, to hide their true colors until there could be no escape for any victims that they may run upon. But, I believe that the only other person onboard who slightly shared my feelings concerning this matter was the old sea captain, whom I could hear in the distance saying things to his crewmen, like: "It doesn't matter, you stay your post!" and, "Tend your duty, you are a member of this crew, so stay your ground!"

As the other ship came within cannon range, most of our crew were thinking that the Englishmen on the mysterious ship wanted to board us for some political reason, but some of our passengers noted that they merely wanted to greet us, which I thought would be a rather silly reason. My thoughts were quite the contrary to these; hearing of all types of sea battles in the past, I still felt that there may be something wrong.

The mood on our ship had drastically changed since the other ship was first sighted the night before. No longer were some of our passengers crying, and neither were there gloomy looks upon a lot of their faces. Instead, people were actually laughing, and having conversations concerning the English persons of the other ship, if they may actually know some of them. I, myself, kept looking at the crewman perched up high in the top-castle, for his gaze seemed unmovable since he first spotted the galleon earlier. I figured that by this time, since we came into cannon range, he would be describing the activity that was happening onboard the mysterious vessel. After all, there was enough light by then for him to be able to see something going on there; though not a word was being said by him, and his looking-glass seemed permanently fixed to his eye. Surely, something was really wrong, for he should have spoken of something by that time.

"Ho!" he had finally yelled. "I am beginning to see some activity onboard the other ship!"

At his words, all on our ship had stopped their talking and walking about to hear the latest news. Even the old sea captain stopped his activities with the crew to listen in.

"What's this I see?" he continued, high above, and in a slightly agitated voice. All of us strained our ears to hear.

Quickly pulling the glass away from his eye, his gaze then turned downward to find the captain below. "They are taking down their flag!" he yelled to him.

All onboard, including myself, ran back to the edge of our ship to have a look. Sure enough, the glorious English colors were being taken down, as could be seen in the not-too-far-off distance, and we all held our breath.

Suddenly, there arose cries and shrieks from ourship, as the unmistakable image of the black flag of skull and crossbonesdefiantly replaced the gentler sight of a much friendlier flag. And, as analmost eerie, calculated response to our cries and wailings that had filled themorning air around us, a warlike roar rose from the other ship, as the crewmenof the pirate vessel were now visible, and were raising their weapons so thatwe could see them, and fear.

Chapter 4: A Favor for a Favor

Just as soon as the harsh yells from the other ship had ceased, a loud explosion was then heard, for the pirates had just fired a cannon in our direction. No person on our ship moved a single muscle; neither did a single sound escape our lips; for, the explosion of the cannon did seem to freeze everyone onboard. And, just after the blast of the gun had sounded, a loud hissing was then heard, as the free-flying cannonball approached our helpless vessel. Nearer and nearer it came, until it finally arrived, smashing through a vulnerable part of our ship.

Again, a bloodcurdling cry from the pirate vessel vibrated into the air.

This time, the realization of what was happening had fully hit home. Scrambling and screaming, the entire ship's company was suddenly in utter chaos.

More cannonballs then came flying in from their ship, as the bandits approached us, nearer and nearer.

"Fire!" our captain yelled. Three cannon shots were then heard from below—three of the six cannons that our ship afforded. And, as if our crewmen were completely unskilled hands, all three balls missed the pirate vessel entirely. The pirates seemed to have enjoyed that, for much laughter was heard coming from their direction.

Through the madness I could see the captain handing out sabers to all able-bodied passengers who would help, and I wasted no time at all in running over to him.

"Let me have a blade, captain," I said, wide-eyed. "I want to help defend!"

A beam of joy shot through his face. He knew I could do no good, but at least my heart was in the right place.

"Protect me ship, laddie!" he said to me, with his huge smile, winking his right eye at me that was not covered by the patch, and pinching my cheek with his fingers. After this, a saber was quickly handed to me, and I immediately ran to the edge once again, ready for action.

It took only ten minutes more for the pirate ship to come into boarding range. And, sure enough, grappling hooks were being tossed over to us, gripping our ship, and the pirates pulled hard upon the ropes, until our ships met, completely side by side to each other. There was too much shock on our end to even think of cutting the ropes; and, though our captain had made mention of it to some of the crew, they remained frozen in their places, not able to move. Planks were then thrown down between the two ships for boarding purposes; and, just as soon as they were thrown, pirates came swarming over the gunwales and pouring over the rails. Not only were they running across the planks, but some were even swinging over on ropes that were rigged to their masts. And, as the bandits were sword-fighting our people, most of our passengers were either running around the ship trying in desperation to find an escape (even though there was none), or, they were desperately trying to hide behind barrels, or huddling up in corners . . . In short, our ship was in extreme turmoil.

For a moment, I simply stood my ground, eyeing carefully the battlefield, seeing where I should direct my steps, and where I might be most useful for our ship. But, to my utter surprise, the battle had suddenly ceased, after only several minutes of fighting—for the crowd on our side of the fight had, of a sudden, as if by design, ceased fighting altogether, and completely surrendered to the pirates, pleading for their lives. Honestly, our crewmen and passengers hardly even tried to do anything at all. And, at seeing them do this, our captain, totally disgusted, decided to stop fighting, also, seeing as he was the only one left to defend the ship. Stepping back majestically from his opponent, our captain then broke his sword over his knee, to keep from having to surrender it to the pirates.

At this gesture, the pirates started laughing again. That is, all except for the man with whom he had been fencing; and who, taking our captain seriously, had saluted him with his sword, having a look of respect in his eyes toward the old man, as well.

"Good show, sir," the swordsman said to our captain. "I perceive from your actions that you are this vessel's leader; seeing as the rest of your crew have no backbone."

"Captain Jack O'Donaughe," said the old man, "at your service. And, I can perceive," added the captain, "by your mannerism, that you are the leader of this rabble. Captain Skull, if I guess correctly."

"You are very observant, dear sir," said Captain Skull, smiling, while sheathing his sword. "How did you guess?"

"You are obviously a gentleman; the death toll is nil; and none of the women are treated in an ill-respected manner." Then our captain added, with an uneasy tone in his voice, and with a bit of sarcasm: "Not yet, nohow!"

More laughter came from the pirate's crewmen at this statement; who, having already collected the defenders' swords, were now nonchalantly listening in to the two captains' conversation.

"Have no fear, dear sir," inserted Captain Skull, "your women will be safe enough; and, as you have stated yourself, we have spared your men's lives."

"And, I do thank ye for that, sir," added the old man, half-enthusiastically.

Captain Skull then smiled even larger, while he said: "However, we will be glad to relieve you of your gold!"

Again, the pirates laughed heartily.

"Of course, you would," said the old man, gravely, while he nodded his head knowingly, while his facial features turned into an agitated grimace.

"Now," Captain Skull began, a bit loudly, while looking at all the passengers, and with a quick glance around our ship, "if you will all be so kind as to hand over your valuables, we will quickly be on our way!"

I had heard just about enough of this humiliation, and I was aggravated at our captain's easiness over the matter—I, not having even considered that he really had no choice . . . Stepping out of an unobserved spot, where I had been standing the while, I had suddenly, and to everyone's utter surprise—especially to my own surprise—begun shouting loudly, at the top of my lungs: "No!" And, I then, stupidly, ran straight toward Captain Skull himself, sword in hand, while still yelling as I ran: "You will not steal our goods!"

Right up next to him I came, and stopped only a few feet away, pointing the tip of my sword directly toward him. However, he stood his ground, not even moving a single muscle; but, he did have a most dumbfounded look upon his face—for, just who was this young idiot that had challenged him so?

At seeing my actions, of running up to their captain as I had done, the entire crew of pirates were stirred, and a good amount of them even ran up to me, swords in hand, ready to slash me into ribbons. Yet, not a sword had touched me, as I now happily reminisce. But, all did have their swords out, I say, save for Captain Skull, who still not only had his sword sheathed (despite my crazy actions toward him), but was, indeed, too busy looking extremely stupefied to have done anything further. A good many of those pirate blades, of his crew, were directed right at me, and were ready to go to work upon my poor skin at even the slightest movement.

Now, this entire scene did last for a good couple of moments, as I was still standing in an attacking position, keeping my sword pointed right at the pirate leader, while most of his men remained standing on all sides, with their threatening swords extended steadily out toward me. But, during these most unusual moments of silence, I happened to see, while still facing the pirate captain, a glimpse of that pretty girl, of whom I had fancied was actually looking right at me. But, seriously, I do not know who I thought I was jesting (myself, perhaps), because the entire occupants of the ship were really staring hard at me, for I had completely gained the attention of everyone onboard. And, after I had at first seen her through the corner of my eye, I actually caught myself looking over into her direction . . . Oh, how youth can be so easily distracted away from the matters at hand.

Sure enough, that girl was there, staring hard at me, just as I had thought. She was on her knees, and cuddling—to my extreme amazement—that rotten gentleman (my sworn enemy), who was rolled up into a frightened ball upon the ship's deck. The fears of these piratical events were just too much for him to bear; and the bright, low morning sun, now fully illuminating the deck, made the glaring cowardice of the gentleman appear all the more shameful in the clear daylight.

Of course, Captain Skull had followed my gaze in its direction; for, as I now understand, he was a very observant man. And, directly after he followed my look into that area, he immediately turned back to me, with a new smile upon his face.

"Would you like to impress that girl?" he asked me, in an undertone, that only a few of his own surrounding men could hear.

"What?" I asked, surprised at his question, and slightly moving my eyes back and forth from him to her.

"You know," he continued, still in a hushed whisper, "I could actually make you look good while we fence. So much so, that girl will be extremely impressed with you."

"Excuse me?" is all I could say, in disbelief at what I was hearing from this man.

"But, for me doing this favor for you," he added, without bothering to answer my babbling questions, "I would also ask a favor in return."

Still not knowing what all this meant, I hesitated for only a slight second more, as I took all this in; and, then, I whispered back, with extreme curiosity: "And, what favor is that?"

"I want you to join my crew," was his surprising response.

Up until that time in my life, I do not think that I could have been more shocked by any other statement than that. I was actually at a loss for words. And, seeing that I was at this loss, he continued, thus: "I like your spirit, young sir; and, I believe that you will be a fine credit to my crew. What say you to that?"

"Well, I . . . I don't know," I stammered back.

"Excuse me, captain," said a voice coming from my left. Both Captain Skull and I turned into that direction.

The man who was addressing the captain was that dandy Frenchman, of whom I had made careful mention at the beginning of my story. Monsieur Pierre de Beret, a name I was later to learn (an alias to hide the noble origin of his birth), had obviously guessed at what our whispered conversation was about; and, the grimace upon his face proved that he was actually annoyed at it.

"Would you like for me to quickly dispose of this rogue for you?" he asked, his brows frowning heavily from agitation.

Captain Skull turned to face me once again, as I did to him likewise, and I noticed that he had an even larger smile than what he just had, while he answered: "No, Monsieur Pierre. This gentleman has challenged me, and I intend to honor that."

I remained silent during this dialogue.

"Suit yourself, captain," Pierre de Beret added, in his thick French accent, while turning his steps away from us, shrugging his shoulders in an obviously disgusted manner.

"Well?" the captain asked me. "What is your decision?"

Now, this was one of those choices that would change the entire direction of one's life. Not that I had ever considered piracy as a career, mind you, but a life of adventure, on any scale, is enough to entice any young person—especially if the call of the sea had already pulled them in. Indeed, this was a decision that could take a good long while to think over; carefully considering every possible angle, and every consequence it would produce . . .

"Yes!" I anxiously answered, without even a second's hesitation.

At this, a satisfied look came over the captain's face, while he unsheathed his sword. "Very good," he said. "This will be a pleasure, young sir . . . Gentlemen," he added, as he addressed the men who were still surrounding, and who were still aiming their swords at me, "please give us some room."

With which command they quickly complied.

Immediately, our swords crossed, ready for action. And, after only a split second of waiting, the captain said: "Begin!"

Our swords were unleashed, in a very mechanical manner. I, with my basic self, was trying to keep up with the captain's skillful blade. He was so talented on the sword, that he could make anyone look good with whom he crossed blades. The pirates were clapping their hands and laughing with great anticipation, for the show was being enjoyed by every one of them. All, that is, except for dear Monsieur Pierre de Beret, who was watching with much disdain. As I was later to find out, Captain Skull recruited many of his men in this same way: he would look for spirited men, and would teach them the arts of war—his style. Pierre, as I now know, preferred warriors who were already skilled, figuring that training men was a complete waste of time.

Judging by my fencing style—which I had none—the pirates were able to see what the captain was up to, and that was the main reason they were enjoying their morning entertainment so much. Seeing as they were mostly courtly lords, as I have already mentioned, and who were all very skillful behind the blade in their own rights, it did not take them long at all to figure out this little trick of the Skull's upon the crew who were bound for the colony town of Riley.

After only about five minutes of this fake fencing, the captain stepped back away from me, holding his hand up high in the air, while he yelled, loud enough for everyone onboard to hear: "Enough, young sir! It is easy to see that we are the same at fencing. We could carry on all day like this, and our skills would remain equal! Plundering an entire vessel is not worth crossing blades with such a fine swordsman as yourself—and, I admire the noble touch behind your saber; and you, sir, are clearly one of the finest swordsmen that I have ever seen. Therefore, I and my men will spare this vessel from being plundered, for you have saved this ship!"

At this announcement, which in my opinion was a bit overdone (perhaps I thought so because I was really being embarrassed by it all), the occupants of our vessel suddenly became overjoyed at this news, for it seemed that they had bought the whole act; and, they started clapping and shouting huzzas in honor of me.

I suppose that made me their hero.

Pierre de Beret was really angered at having to miss all of our loot, but remained silent, nevertheless—but, his facial expressions said everything.

"Where are you headed?" asked Captain Skull of me, in yet another undertone.

"Jamaica," I answered, whispering as well. "The colony town of Riley."

"Riley?" he asked, a little confused. "Is there such a place at Jamaica?"

"Yes," I said. "It is only a quarter of a mile north of Port Royal."

"Very good," he concluded. "I will find it. Finish your business there, and I will come to get you in three months, and have you officially join my crew at that time."

"Very good," I said, nodding in consent, my heart pounding a bit fast.

The pirates then took their leave of us, unhooking their grappling hooks, and pushing out to sea.

Everyone on our ship took a breath of relief.

Chapter 5: Upon Reaching the Colony Town of Riley

The rest of the afternoon went by in silence, as everyone on board was still shaken by the day's events; and, it was not until late evening that some of the passengers were actually able to get some sleep, and were retiring to their berths and hammocks for the night. Or, if they were of the few of the noble class that were onboard, they were retiring into their personal small cabins. I had actually retired earlier than anyone else, seeing as my embarrassment continued as the entire company onboard did make over me with much fuss and praise. Again, it seemed that I was their hero.

Concerning the very strange events of the past day, I got no sleep at all, even though I needed some that night. Actually, and even though my body was somewhat tired, my mind was so swarmed with the earlier events that my alertness was at its highest point, for I could think of nothing more than having adventures with Captain Skull and crew. On and on we sailed, in my mind, to one adventure after another. Not to mention all the loot that we would all have and share. To think—I was going to be a pirate. I know that it may sound horrible to some readers of my tale, but please try to understand the alluring nature and thought of piracy, especially when it could make one rich overnight. Yes—piracy—with marvelous jewels around my neck, silken clothes around my body, a sash around my waist, and a magnificent sword at my side; and, not to mention a . . . but wait! Reality had struck me hard when I noticed my rags, that I called clothes, that were still wrapped loosely around me. Ha!—some pirate gentleman I am. With garb like this, I would make a fine cabin boy for those sea-wolves of the pirate crew. True, a fine cabin boy I would make; that is, if my name was not Charles. But, since it is Charles, a cabin boy I will not be. And, if a thief and pirate I will become, then a thief and pirate I am. Yet, not in rags; but, in silk, in lace, and in plumes.

With this new thought, I ran back on deck, spying out the scene. And, it was just as I had thought—all persons were trying to get some sleep at this time, for there were just a very few members of the crew strolling the decks close by. With this sight, I flew back down below, trying to turn my attention where I could spy out some goodly clothes to steal. As to not arouse suspicion from the rest of the people, I decided not to wear the new clothes that I would find until I had reached the colony town of Riley. Looking here and about, and being as quiet as I possibly could, I did happen to spot a nice-looking chest in one particular corner—a good enough corner that I could steal without being noticed. And, looking around very carefully at first, I then decided, after feeling confident that no one was noticing, to take a better look at the chest.

"Sir Guy of Wayne," I whispered, looking at the inscription with the small candle that I had brought with me. "Well," I continued, talking to myself, "sounds rich enough!"

And, much to my surprise, the chest was not even locked. Quickly shuffling my hand through the clothing inside, I came upon a very nice white silken shirt that fit my fancy, along with a pair of brown breeches that were made from the same material. I also noticed a black shirt, with a matching pair of black breeches—both of which were made of silk as well. Surely, this Sir Guy of Wayne fancied only one kind of thread to adorn his body. But, all were of quality craftsmanship, nonetheless, which made me happy to obtain them; and, best of all, they looked to be close to my size. Quickly taking these, I also found a pair of black leather boots, and a small bag of coins. Closing the chest, I noticed something beside it that I did not notice at first—it was five finely crafted rapiers, all having similar appearances and design. Taking one of these, along with a brown shoulder belt, I thought that I then had all that I needed. But now, to sneak them back to my pack—which honestly should not be a hard thing to do, considering that just about everyone onboard was asleep. Finding my way back to my hammock, I quickly crammed all my newfound loot into the cloth pack. Thankfully, the pack was long enough to even accommodate my new sword.

So, all was well; and, no sleeping eyes were awake to see me.

It took only two days for us to reach Jamaica, and I was glad to make it there so quickly, for, even though it would be three months before Captain Skull would arrive, in my eighteen-year-old mind, reaching my destination quicker meant a shorter stay.

I noticed that everyone getting off the ship did seem a bit mechanical in their movements, considering they were probably still shaken by the events of just a few days before when the pirates boarded our ship. Not only was this activity going on, but the crewmen were very busy in their preparations to set sail on the morrow.

I was about to get off the ship myself, when I felt a hand seize me quite firmly. "Uh-oh!" I had thought; perhaps someone had seen me stealing.

I turned to see Captain Jack O'Donaughe, our old and worthy sea captain, looking right at me.

"Lad," he said to me, with a deep frown upon his face, leaving his hand upon my shoulder.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, politely, yet nervously.

"I'm not really a-sure what ye did the other day."

"Really?" I said, ready to run quickly if the stolen goods were mentioned; or, run if he wanted to check my pack that was now hanging down my back. "And what exactly is that?" I inquired, my eyes widening.

"Now, lad," he began, looking at me hard through his one free eye, "let's be honest with each other. Ye and I both know that ye know nothing of swordplay."

I felt relieved that the subject of thievery had not come up. But, all the same, I was very nervous to talk to him about that event, too. I should have known that the captain would not be fooled by such a crazy show.

"Yes, captain," I calmly replied.

"Aye, lad," he continued, with much seriousness. "I'm not really a-sure what kind of game that the pirate and ye were trying to play, but my guess on the matter is that he did that to try and get ye to join his crew."

I made no answer to that statement, so he continued.

"You don't have to say a thing, lad; and, I know that I'm not yer father. I just wanted to give you some advice that ye probably will not use—in hopes that it may come back to ye some day for good."

"Please do so, captain," I said, all smiles.

"I know that what you had seen may have appeared glamorous to ye, with their flashing swords and all; but, I tell you honestly that piracy is a very bad occupation; and, one which will only get ye hung! That entire crew of the Skull is on their way to the gallows, mind ye, and follow them you will if'n ye continue to entertain the thoughts of joining. Of course, it doesn't a-help none seeing as yer not too far from Port Royal as it is. In case ye haven't heard, that town is nothing more than a den of thieves, pirates, harlots—and all the such—that God will judge worthy of destruction one day! Why, this entire island is being governed by one of the bloodthirstiest buccaneers of our time, Henry Morgan. And, why our good King Charles knighted him, and had given him this trust in such a task, God only knows!

"But look ye now," he continued, "if ye wish to learn the ways of the sea, just come with me, and I will teach ye all that I know. But, if ye only want to learn of killing and thievery, then go ahead and follow the Skull."

I threw an even wider and peaceful smile out toward the captain, and merely replied: "Thank you for that great advice, captain. But, I'm afraid that neither one of you win. I am at my destination, and I will be working with sugar cane here in this new Garden of Eden. Is that not the English dream?"

"Aye," he said, nodding his head in consent, yet with an unconvinced look in his eye, "it is one of the English dreams. Well, in that case, good luck to ye then, lad."

"Thanks, good captain," I said, shaking the man's hand.

After I descended from the ship, I immediately began to view the few ill-constructed shops that surrounded me in the port. Here were local townspeople trying their best to sell me their meager goods; but, I ignored them all, and began walking toward the colony town of Riley, which was only a quarter of a mile from the coast.

Upon entrance into the main part of the town, I was a bit taken aback by the simpleness of my surroundings. Being used to the busy fray of the London streets, I found this a far cry from what I had been used to. But at the same time, I did fancy the sight of the place: simple—it was true—but, very peaceful. All along the way, I saw a limited number of wooden buildings within the town—not like the stone and brick monuments of England; I saw the mud and dirt of the roadways—not like the stone and brick paved streets of London. And, in these streets—well—that was also entirely new, for there were Indians, such as Christopher Columbus had described; and, there were Africans; and, a few other races as well, who walked the length of the town, right alongside the European citizens of Riley. Yes, this was quite different than what I had ever seen before.

The first thing that I needed to do was to find lodgings for myself; then, I needed to . . . but, wait a moment! I had to be there three months before Captain Skull would arrive. Therefore, I began to wonder if I had enough money for that long of a wait—especially since I was not going to look into working with sugar cane. So, what was I to do for money in the meantime? At that new thought, I quickly grabbed my purse to see how much loot I had stolen . . . I mean, to see how much money I had.

"Only a purse of small coin?" I nearly yelled out, upset that I was such a lousy thief. Not a single piece of eight amongst them. Now what was I going to do? How could I afford a room for three months on this small coin? Not to mention, I was about out of my original money from London, for I spent most of it on the sea voyage to get there.

"I hate to say it," I said sadly to myself, after this horrible discovery, "but, I may very well need to find employment to sustain me until the captain arrives! But first, I do need a room to sleep in. I can at least afford that until I can think of something to do. Not only this, but I will also need to take some fencing lessons before I start my new life. What kind of pirate would I be if I knew nothing of the blade before joining a motley crew?"

With these new thoughts, I made my way to a tavern. It was really small, but affordable . . . for the time being, anyway. The following morning, after getting myself settled in my new room, I pulled out my new clothing (the white shirt and brown breeches, in particular), along with the black leather boots. I also pulled out the rapier—which was the first time I was able to get a good look at it. After sheathing it into its scabbard, I then pulled the shoulder belt over my head, and placed the blade at its destined location at my left side. Walking over to the small looking-glass, which hung on one of the walls (which was near the window, overlooking the main street of Riley), I could see that I, indeed, cut a pretty good figure with my newfound clothes . . . Oh, no! But, what about a hat? I mean, I got the shirt, the breeches, the sword, the shoulder belt, and the boots . . . but, no hat. So, at this realization, I made my way downstairs, out the front door, and into the direction of several shops on my new quest to equip my head. And, sure enough, it did not take me long to find a desirable-looking coverage; and, it dripped pleasantly of different colored plumes.

Now, the costume was complete.

And, just as soon as I had placed the gallant hat upon my head; just as soon as I was satisfied in the held-up mirror by the salesman; I mean to say, just as soon as I paid for my newfound purchase; and, just as soon as I had turned on my heel to leave, I was suddenly stopped short, and was completely dumbfounded by whom I just turned around to. Sure enough, approaching me was none other than that beautiful girl, and her buffoon of an escort. Oh, how I truly did not want to see them that day . . . But, wait! Now that I am a better figure to behold, then maybe—just maybe—that girl might pay better attention to me. After all, Captain Skull did make me look pretty good in her eyes . . . At least, I think that I looked good in her eyes.

"Why, it is you!" shouted the man, who had approached me with a large grin, that extended from one ear to the other. "Ah! It truly is you!" he said again, addressing me with much enthusiasm. "I hardly recognized you in such fine clothing. I know they are of good quality, for I own some similar myself. They were made in Paris, were they not? I cannot tell you enough, sir, of how grateful we are for what you have done for the entire crew. I mean, you saved all of our lives!"

I merely smiled, not really knowing how to respond.

"I know, I know," he continued, waving a hand about dramatically in the air, "you have heard nothing but this for the past couple of days onboard the ship. But, well deserved, and well played, young sir! Do you not agree, my dear?" he added, turning to his side, as he addressed the young lady beside him.

"Oh, yes. I do agree," said the young girl, who was also grinning very widely at me.

But, I still remained silent, as I continued to smile . . . Honestly, and as I had just said, I did not know what to say.

"I can see by your clothing that you are a gentleman," continued the man. "But, I could tell that you were by the way you handled that evil Captain Skull with your flashing sword. And, what a grand weapon it is," he mentioned, motioning at my sword. "I own several of the same kind myself."

My smile seemed embedded upon my face by this time, but I attempted to make it even wider and larger.

"I'm also noticing," he added, "that on the voyage over here, you preserved your nice apparel by wearing rags onboard, so as not to damage your goodly clothing with the elements of the open sea. Very clever!"

I nodded my head, acting as if this really was the reason he saw me in rags.

"Oh, how silly of me," he giggled, while waving the same hand at me, which was delicately holding his perfumed kerchief. "We haven't properly introduced ourselves: I am Sir Guy of Wayne."

Guy of Wayne . . . Guy of Wayne . . . Now, why does that name sound familiar to me?

"And, this lovely lady," he continued his introductions, "is my wife, Lady Rebecca Armstrong."

Alright, that was the blow. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that this dear lovely lady could possibly be married to this terrible buffoon . . . Now, I have failed to tell my readers that, up until that time, of how much I had been thinking about her becoming my own—especially after she had seen me dueling with Captain Skull; so, that news from Sir Guy of Wayne had totally crushed me, and all my hopes with the lady as well. Again, for the past several days, I had planned how I was going to make her mine within those three months of waiting, so that she could run off with me on my newfound life of adventure . . . But, now! . . . Now, my dreams were destroyed. And, as far as my embedded smile was concerned, I had finally lost it.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," said the lady, holding out her hand toward me, while still smiling.

Breaking slightly from my spell, I took the lady's hand, and kissed it respectfully, copying the manners that I had observed the nobles use in London.

"And, what is your name, sir?" anxiously asked Sir Guy.

I was taken aback once again. Do I tell them that I am little Charles from the dirty streets of London? Think quickly, man! "Sir Charles . . . Ugh, Sir Charles of Riley."

"Of Riley?" asked Sir Guy, as his eyes widened. "Do you hear that, my dear?" he asked, turning toward his wife again. "The dear fellow was actually born here . . . Well, sir," he said, turning back to me, and taking off his plumed hat, while bowing elegantly, "I salute a native."

After straightening himself back up, and putting his hat back onto his head, he prepared to make his leave. "Well, we must go, my dear," he told his wife. Then to me: "Do come to our home anytime, Sir Charles, for supper. We would love to have you."

"Alright," I stammered out, emotionless.

"Since I haven't seen you here before, I take it that you have been away from your homeland for quite a while; so, you may not know where our abode is. Ask any of the other locals, and they should be able to tell you where the home of Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca lies."

At this, they walked away from me. I stoodimmovable for a few moments, thinking all the conversation over in my mind;when, suddenly, I was struck with an idea—Sir Guy of Wayne! My memoryhad returned. That was the name on the chest from which I had stolen thoseitems. No wonder he said that he owned clothes similar to mine; no wonder hesaid he owned swords similar to mine—they were his.

Chapter 6: Servant at the Grey Goose Inn

In my first attempt at finding employment, fortune had favored me, for a servant was dearly needed at the Grey Goose Inn—a quaint, medium-sized tavern in the midst of the colony town. In fact, it was one of the two inns that this small town produced; and, I happened to have been temporarily abiding within the other. But, and as I had found, that if one were to desire a better inn for the evening, then one would have to travel on toward Port Royal, which was not too far away from Riley. However, for the two inns that this town had, the Grey Goose was the better of the two choices . . . Now, that was not really saying much, seeing as this place probably would pass as a peasant's haunt in London; but, to be perfectly fair, it did have its good qualities, too; they were just well hidden. You really could not tell about those good qualities by observing the tables and chairs, though, which were awkwardly placed here and about in the tavern; neither could you tell with the ill-placed bar that stretched across the place like a stage set in the midst of a London playhouse; and, neither could you tell it by the innkeeper, who acted as his own servant. But, as for the food—well—the food there was great. All meats were freshly caught, cooked, and served. This was unlike the London taverns, where no wild or fresh game was to be had within the entire city; and where the game (if any were to be obtained freshly) had to be sought for elsewhere in the country, and brought to the taverns immediately to be sold for a large profit. Therefore, all meats in London tended to turn out a bit tough in their texture when served. But, here? You can well imagine the game that was available on this island—and well did the innkeeper keep his cellar full of good, freshly hunted meat—which he sold out every single day. In fact, the innkeeper had his own hired hunter, who was really quite good at the task, and who had kept the innkeeper supplied with a goodly variety to offer customers. Unfortunately for the competing inn, their game hunter was not even half as good as the Grey Goose's, and the loss had shown in the depletion of their customers, who surely did decide to come to the better spot. And, it was also for this reason (in their desperate attempt to attract more business) that I had found such a bargain on my room rent at the lesser of the two inns.

So, the Grey Goose was the inn and tavern that I had determined to tender my services; for, as I have already specified, a job was well needed whilst I waited upon Captain Skull . . . On the day that I decided to apply, it just happened to be a very busy hour when I advanced into the overcrowded dining room. And there, amidst the stressful hubbub of lunchtime, was the weary host—miserably serving tables like a hired hand. I could tell right away how much my help was needed . . . Not that I was specifically jumping for joy over the idea of having to work, mind you, but at least I was happy to know that it was going to be rather easy to find employment here. So, upon this realized golden opportunity at guaranteed employment, I took advantage of the first available moment to discuss the matter with the nearly exhausted owner. I do not think the poor man could have been happier at my offer, even if I had produced a huge bag of coins as a present for him. The idea of having help was delightful; and, as I was later to learn, was an idea that he had previously dismissed for the greediness of not wanting to lose any money toward another employee. But, the stress was really getting to be too much for him.

Not only did he agree to let me help him, but he wished for me to start immediately serving the tables of patrons, and to take their orders. To me, this was a strange task, seeing as I knew nothing at the time of the items which were being offered at the Grey Goose; so, I just blundered through it, and merely asked the hungry customers what they wanted. The guests were so used to the supply of the tavern, that they did not hesitate to tell me what they desired, and I found that the ordered items were certainly available in mine host's kitchen.

The first time that I ran into the kitchen, though, to demand an order of the cook, the poor man, who was in his mid-forties in age, looked at me very strangely, seeing as he did not know me; for, he suddenly, and with his wide eyes, burst out with: "Who are you?"

"Never mind that, now," I quickly answered, "I'm here to help. And, I have some orders for you to fill."

"Well," he said, a bit more calmly, "let's have them, then."

And, just before I was about to reply, an elderly lady walked into the kitchen, as well, and began looking at me strangely, too.

"I'm sorry, lady," I told her, a bit sharply, "but, you are going to have to wait out in the dining hall with all of the rest of the customers; and, I'll feed you soon enough!"

Her and the cook exchanged a surprised look.

"Did you not hear me?" I demanded of her, even more stressfully, while starting to push the woman out the door, and back into the dining hall. "You need to leave this kitchen, now!"

The poor lady never said a word, for she was completely speechless. And, when she was gone, I walked back over to the cook once again, starting to tell him the orders.

"Why did you do that?" the cook asked of me, interrupting.

"Why did I do what?" I asked him, confusedly.

"Why did you throw her out of the kitchen?"

"Listen, friend," I told him, frankly, "we don't have time to talk about customer's places; and besides, I have some hungry people out there!"

"As you wish," he said, mechanically, but in a bit of shock—an expression I did not understand in the slightest.

But, before I got a chance to begin saying the orders again, the innkeeper, along with the elderly lady, whom I had so rudely ejected a moment ago, came into the kitchen.

"That's the man who turned me out of my own kitchen!" she was saying to him.

"Your kitchen?" I asked, perplexed.

"Young man," the innkeeper said to me, calmly, "this woman is my wife, and she runs this kitchen; and, you can't go throwing her out of it."

"Oh . . . well," I said, also calmly, but extremely embarrassed, "in that case, you don't have to leave. I'll just give the cook my orders, and go take some more."

"That's a good idea," agreed the host. "And, clean some tables while you're at it."

For the next few days, things went extremely well for me at the inn; I was performing my duties excellently. In fact, I got so fast at my duties of serving and cleaning tables, that the host had no need to help me at all, and he could go about his own business of managing and taking care of customers' needs in other ways. All was going well, I say, until that fateful day when Sir Guy of Wayne and Lady Rebecca Armstrong decided to visit for an afternoon's meal.

At first, I didn't even notice their advancement into the inn, for it was around noon, and the place was already filling with many persons, and it was abuzz with varied conversations. But, when I turned on my heel to take their order (for, I saw some movement out the corner of my eye at the table that they sat at), I quickly, upon finally recognizing them, spun back around, and ran immediately into the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" the cook asked of me, at seeing the stressful look upon my face.

"Nothing," I merely replied. "But, where is the host?"

"I don't know. Why do you need him?"

"I need a little time to sit and rest my spirits."

"At lunchtime?" he yelled. "Are you crazy?"

"Trust me," I said, "I really need a rest!"

Just at that time, the innkeeper and his wife came into the kitchen.

"Why aren't you out there taking orders?" the man asked of me.

"I need a little time to sit and rest my spirits," I answered, repeating what I had just said to the cook.

"What, now?" the host asked, bewildered. "Are you crazy?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy," I continued, "but, I cannot go out there right now."

"And, why not?" asked the host.

"Because," I said, as I stammered a bit, "there are a couple of people out there who cannot see me as a servant."

"And, what's wrong with being a servant?" asked the confused host. "It's honest service. And, that's more than a lot of people have."

"That's true," I agreed. "But, for some reason," I added, with a small bit of laughter, "they think that I am a gentleman, and I would hate to disappoint them."

"A gentleman?" screamed the host. "What, you? You're no more a gentleman than I!"

"Well, you know that, and I know that; but, they don't know that! And, I would like to keep it that way."

"Are you quite through with this madness?" roared the innkeeper, in great anger. "Go serve the tables!"

"I really can't!" I screamed back.

"If you don't, you're no servant of mine!"

"And, if you get rid of me, then who would serve the tables?"

"Well, I suppose that I would have to."

"Well, then, if you are willing to do so when I am gone, can you not just serve tables for just a little while, and I will then return to my regular duties soon enough?"

"I will most certainly not!" declared he, majestically. "You either serve the tables now, or you can leave my inn immediately!"

Heaving a great sigh, I gave in: "Alright, mine host, you win—I quit!"

"Quit?" he screamed. "But, you can't! I need your help."

"You need my help, and I needed yours; but, it looks as if we could not come to terms. So, goodbye!" I added, as I saluted the man with a slight wave of my hand, and headed out by the back door.

And thus ended my employment at the Grey Goose Inn.

Chapter 7: The Dark Bandit

Not too long after that event at the Grey Goose Inn, a jolly, plump man was making his way by carriage through thick tropical jungle brush upon a man-made, muddy paved road, only two miles outside the town of Riley. This roadway, of course, was very bumpy, rocky, and as I have said, filled with mud and pockets of water. Because of this rough roadway, the carriage was slowly making its way from the direction of Port Royal toward the town of Riley with extreme caution, as the carriage driver was careful not to let the single horse pull too hard, nor too fast, as that event would certainly cause damage to the already worn vehicle.

While whistling a tune of non-concern, and even of contentment, the jolly carriage driver was paying only half-attention to the drive from one town to the next, as he seemed to have all day to do this one, simple thing. Only an occasional bug or two would distress the man in the slightest, as they buzzed around his head and arms; and, he would either shoo them away, or smack at them quickly with his hands. Other than this, though, there seemed to be nothing in the world that could distress him at all as he went along whistling and humming his favorite tunes from the European operas which he had heard in his youth.

The clothing which clung tightly around his large body seemed not only ill-suited to his frame, but demanded the observer to notice that he was the servant to a nobleman of some consequence. Even though the clothing items were of a good quality, the tight fit, and even the slight faded wear of the material would suggest that they were not only well-used clothing, but also that they were, perhaps, purchased at a discounted price—giving the illusion that the nobleman master in question was either stressed on finances, or was a skinflint and stingy miser who was close-fisted.

As the carriage bounced slowly along the rough pathway, on this hot and sunny tropical afternoon, it suddenly stopped quickly in its advancements, for there was something standing upon the roadway, which was barring its path.

It was a dark figure; that is, the figure of a man, all dressed in black, from his head to his foot, who was holding a pistol threateningly toward the carriage and upon the now frightened carriage driver. The dark form seemed to be a statue, for neither did it move a single muscle, nor did it say a word. So, for a slight moment, the driver wondered if it was even human at all. However, his curiosity was soon satisfied by the dark figure forming a speech of words:

"Good afternoon," it gravely said, in a masculine, male voice.

"Good . . . good afternoon," stammered out the poor driver, almost choked from grief.

"I assure you," continued the unknown, "that this pistol is loaded."

"I . . . I believe you!"

"Good," it simply replied. "Then, I suppose there will be no resistance from you."

"You can be assured of that!" was the answer, as the large fellow swallowed very hard, forming more sweat on his brow than what had previously been there—if that were even possible on this very hot day.

Starting to shift from where he was, the dark form finally began to move slowly toward the carriage. This move only caused more grief to befall the poor carriage driver—especially considering that he had noticed the unknown wearing a mask which covered his entire head. The mask was made from a large, black kerchief—similar to the headwear of pirates; and it covered (it was lowered) over the top portion of the face, ending just below the nose; also, the mask-kerchief was tied into a tail at the back of the head. But, there was no hat, only the kerchief.

"No harm will befall you if you do as I say," assured the dark form, after seeing the distress that was very obvious upon the driver's face.

"Thank you, sir," was the reply.

"And, I'm sure you know what I am here for."

"I . . . I think that I do."

"Good! Then, hand it over, if you please," he said, putting out his empty gloved hand toward him.

Nervously twitching, the driver slowly pulled out a money bag from a hidden place upon the carriage, and then placed it into the man's hand.

"Thank you, my good man," the unknown replied, with a smile upon his face.

"You're welcome," was the grieved reply.

"And now," he said, backing away from the carriage, "you may leave."

"But, wait!" said the carriage driver, suddenly. "If I but dare, may I ask your name?"

"My name?" asked the masked man, a bit taken aback.

Thinking that he had angered him, the driver quickly took back his request: "But, only if you want to, good sir!"

"It's no problem, my friend," the man replied, while smiling once again. "I am 'The Dark Bandit'!"

"The Dark Thief?" he asked, curiously, and a bit bewildered.

"The Dark Bandit," he corrected.

"But, I've never heard of you."

"You haven't?" The Dark Bandit asked, seemingly upset by the news. "Why, I am celebrated back in England. Notorious and feared, I dare say!"

"I'm sorry that I haven't heard of you; please don't be angry!"

"Bah!" he said, nonchalantly, whilst waving his free hand about, while still gripping the pistol with the other. "You're far from England, so I forgive you . . . Now, be off!"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Dark Bandit."

And, after the robber watched the carriage disappear into the brush, on its way toward Riley, he quickly opened the loot bag only to discover a small fortune in coin held within—for every bit of coin was pure gold. The man gasped at what he saw.

"Could that carriage driver really have been that rich?" he asked himself.

Just as soon as the carriage had pulled into Riley, and just as soon as it was cleared of the brakes (that is, the jungle), it quickened its pace, and headed immediately toward its destination, which was a medium-sized house near the outskirts of town. Being a lot larger than any of the other small homes in and around Riley, this impressive building, within this primitive setting, even had a porch which extended across the entire front. The roof, even though under-based with wooden planks, was covered with thick, dried brush from the island—giving it a very tropical appearance. White in color, it was easy to tell that the home, with its impressive trimmings, truly belonged to a noble official of the town.

And, into this building flew the hurried carriage driver, as if he knew the place quite well; and, all the servants ignored his hurried presence, as if they were used to such rushings from the man. Bursting into a certain room unannounced where the master of the home was presently dwelling (which appeared to be an office of some sort), the poor, exhausted, large carriage driver immediately began to address the official, who was quietly sitting at a desk, writing.

"Sir!" he began saying, quite out of breath. "Sir!"

"What is it, Thomas?" asked the master, without bothering to look up from his ledgers.

"Oh, sir . . . sir!" was all the poor man could say.

Finally, the master of the home stopped his pursuit upon the paper with his pen, and began to look at Thomas, whom he now noticed was in great agitation. "What is it, man?" he demanded of Thomas the carriage driver.

"The gold coins, which I personally received from the hands of the Governor, have just been . . . stolen!"

Springing up from his chair suddenly, as if a snake had just bitten him, the house master was immediately upon his feet in a flash. "What!" he screamed.

"It's true, sir. I was held up at gunpoint!"

"Who would dare?" muttered the house master, as he frowned his brows heavily, looking away in thought.

"He said that his name was The Dark Bandit!"

"The dark, who?" asked the man, confusedly.

"The Dark Bandit! And, he said that he was very famous in England, and seemed quite upset that I had never heard of him."

"Thomas, there is no Dark Thief in England; I would know, I've just returned from there only a month ago."

"Well, sir," said Thomas, in a bit of correction, "he's not there because he is here! And, his name is the Dark Bandit, not Thief."

"Oh—that doesn't matter!" the man said gruffly, as he walked away from his desk and began to pace the office floor. Then, he said to himself, yet aloud: "What is Sir Guy going to think about this affair, I wonder?"

Nervously following the pacing of the house master with his eyes, Thomas added: "I do not think he will be overly pleased!"

"No doubt!" he agreed, while he stopped his pacing, and started looking at Thomas once again. "Well, my friend, I fancy that I will find out tonight . . . you know that I'm supposed to have supper with Sir Guy and his wife this evening . . . But, they are also expecting me to bring their money when I come!"

Chapter 8: An Evening at Sir Guy's Home

Jamaica was a very interesting island during the governorship of Sir Henry Morgan. As King Charles the Second amply put it: "It takes a pirate to capture a pirate!" So, he quickly put that into practice by knighting the once feared buccaneer Morgan, giving him the governorship of Jamaica (the very heart of pirate activity), and by commissioning him to clean the Caribbean of all the sea rats who were bent upon open sea robbery, and who were not taking their ships into peaceful trade. It was high time to not only stop looting fellow Englishmen's cargo ships, but King Charles also wanted to try and keep peace with Spain to a certain point, and by safeguarding the famed Spanish galleons from being ill-treated also. This is where Morgan came in—brushing the seas clean, as I have said, of motleys, and by helping King Charles to gain his political means. But, that did not sway Morgan from still being bent on treacherous deeds on the side, though—just as the former Governor of Jamaica, Sir Thomas Lynch (who was replaced by Morgan), also coined a phrase, which quoted: "Once a pirate, always a pirate!" So, Port Royal (the capital where Morgan made his home on the island) remained a wicked city. In fact, it was more so with Morgan in charge—but, clean the seas he did; at least of those whom he truly did not like, and of those who were not in his employ.

Captain Skull was an exception to this rule, however, for neither notorious leader had yet crossed the other in a quarrelsome manner; but, there always remained open respect for the other, if not an unsigned article of agreement between them. Basically, they stayed out of each other's way, and let the other do what they wished. Both were too powerful to cross the other, so they remained silent friends, who were of no acquaintance. Besides, two more opposite people in personality could never be found. Morgan was a gentleman scoundrel, whilst the Skull remained a gentleman nobleman.

While Morgan remained in charge, the city of Port Royal, as I have mentioned, remained an extremely sinful one. So much so, that there were religious men, who claimed to be prophets, who were prophesying that the city would fall into the ocean in God's judgment. Those men, however, were laughed to scorn. But, you can well imagine the silence over these men's words when a great part of the city slid into the ocean, and a terrible tsunami drowned the rest; and, what was even more devastating, a pestilence of yellow fever soon broke out from the floating corpses and crowded rescue ships, sweeping away thousands more who had survived the initial shaking. So, many lives were lost and destroyed over that terrible, fearful event, which may or may not have been God's hand. I personally knew of several persons who had fallen victim to the following disease, for they had loved that city so much that they knew not when to run when they should have.

So, knowing the evil deeds which that city produced, and also knowing that by having the reputation that it did, Sir Edward White, Councilman of His Majesty King Charles the Second to Governor Sir Henry Morgan, and proprietor of the colony town of Riley, was in great hopes of establishing a good name for Jamaica so that future generations of English families could live in a peaceful, tropical location where their varied dreams away from regular, chaotic civilization could actually come true. Therefore, he was completely bent upon the idea of having Riley become the new capital of Jamaica, and also to clean the island of all filth and rubbish . . . that is, if he were to become Governor someday.

In pursuit of this grand idea, and without letting them know the full extent of his personal future desires, he had recently convinced both Sir Henry Morgan and Sir Guy of Wayne that the colony town of Riley needed to become steadier and more prosperous for the well-being of the whole island—since Mr. White was in great hopes that it had the possibility of becoming the fastest-growing town on the island for establishing sugar plantations. Which also meant more wealth for all involved parties.

Not wanting to wait for Morgan to decide to give him enough money to accomplish this plan (lest the Governor might have felt that the idea would be too risky for too much investment), Sir Edward White finally obtained the bright idea about borrowing some money from Sir Guy of Wayne first so that Morgan could see how fast Riley was growing larger over the other few cities on the island, which might cause Morgan to see the great potential, and to start piling the money in. With this ingenious plan, that could not possibly fail, Mr. White was also in hopes of gaining an even larger sum of money from Morgan than originally spoken about to help Riley to grow (and by broadening the borders of Riley as he did so), and so become the richest town in all of Jamaica—even more so than Port Royal—if that were even possible. And, by this means, if his plans should work (which he was completely confident that they would), he'd not only be able to pay back Sir Guy with interest (which was the very reason Sir Guy agreed in the first place), but he would even have enough to pocket a great amount for himself, and so become rich in the process.

But, alas, as with many things in this world, plans do have a tendency to go wrong. And, as we have seen, the first pursuit of this wonderful plan by Mr. White had come to a complete halt by the intrusion from The Dark Bandit—who was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and who had stolen Sir Henry Morgan's first payment toward Riley's grand future. Of course, most of this money was to go toward Sir Guy for his first investment, which he had contributed just about a year ago . . . And, that stolen purse certainly included his promised profit as well. But—again, I say alas—thanks to the Dark Bandit, all this was about to change. Mr. White knew not how, but it was certainly going to change. Indeed, what was Sir Guy going to think of this unfortunate affair about his gold coins? Mr. White did not have the funds to replace what was stolen, and he dared not include Henry Morgan into this, lest there be no future hope for Riley at all. The only thing left to do was to find and capture the Dark Bandit—but, how to go about that was another matter entirely.

Sir Edward White needed more time to think about this tragedy, so he decided to walk (at a very slow pace) toward Sir Guy's home when evening was upon the island. So—think, he did—all the way toward his destination. The walk, which allowed an extra half-hour of contemplation, would perhaps yield some fruitful thoughts over the matter. Therefore, Mr. Thomas' carriage service was not needed that evening, so the poor servant took advantage of his time off over at the Grey Goose Inn so that he could drown his nerves in a few cups of rum. Normally, Thomas drove his master everywhere on the island, even if it were from one end of Riley's town limits to the other (though it were not a large enough area to really do so), but drive him he always did. And, when Thomas was not on carriage duty for his master, then Thomas would always be soliciting his carriage-driving service to the locals so that he could earn a few extra coins for himself.

After about a half-hour's stroll into the heart of some thick tropical brush, which had been plowed through by a lonely, winding pathway (representing a man-made roadway), Sir Edward finally reached his destination—which was a lovely cottage at the end of this road. I would not say that the cottage necessarily looked rich, but it was quite pleasant-looking, and did appear as if the owners were well to do. The entire area looked very different from the pathway there, for the area surrounding the small home had been cleared of all trees, brush, and anything that might have caused any unpleasantness. Instead, there was an entire garden planted, and many flowers of different sorts were displayed here and about . . . at least, they were flowers which could withstand the tropical weather, so they were limited in their kind. However, the small bit of landscape had been sculpted by a master gardener. Set dead center in the midst of this Eden type of scenery was the cottage of Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca. It was surrounded by a white picket fence, which fit the scene of these sights quite well. Of course, our visitor was in no mood to pay any attention to the pleasantries that were offered to his eyes this evening (even if it were harder to see in the dim light of the departing sun), for the man was still in his contemplation over the matters at hand.

Mr. Edward, before knocking upon the front door (which he had just arrived at), took a moment to once again reflect deeply upon the situation. While doing so, he took his hand and slowly wiped away the sweat that had formed on his face, which developed because of his walk to the home. The man, being in his fifties, and having a slight heart condition, should have thought twice about venturing out on foot in the heat of the island. But, even though in his fifties, and despite some medical difficulties, he did not look his age, for he seemed to be much younger than he was in his appearance. And, there were several ladies (from good families, mind you) who were interested in marriage with him. But, it seemed that his work preoccupied him otherwise, for he displayed no interest in such opportunities. My suspicions on the matter are that he acted this way because of his last wife, who had died at the hands of vicious pirates, as she was returning from England, where she had been visiting her mother; who had lived (that is, her mother) to the ripe old age of ninety-two. Anyway, and because of this tragedy, it is also my suspicion that this is why he felt about cleaning up the island as he did. I really feel that piratical activity was a major sin to this man, for he always spoke roughly about any robber, whether they be on sea or upon land. So, one can imagine what he was thinking about the Dark Bandit at this particular moment.

Knocking on the front door very slowly and lightly of Sir Guy's home, it was a wonder that the house servant was even able to detect his presence from within.

"Sir Edward!" said the servant in a bit of surprise, once he had opened the door. "I barely heard your knock. But, I thought I'd check to make sure that it was not the wind hitting the door. Please come in, sir," he added, while stepping aside, "you are expected."

Hardly even paying attention to the words of the servant, Sir Edward advanced slowly into the cottage, taking off his hat. Of course, the hat was standard for the period, which resembled the best of the cavaliers' hats in London, but without an excessive amount of plumes; of which plumes the Puritans were apt to discard entirely from their own drab costumes. The servant, without saying anything, politely took the hat from him to hang in a nearby closet. After the hat had been put away, the servant then motioned for the nobleman to have a seat in the living area. Barely able to comprehend the servant, for his thoughts were still heavy, Sir Edward mechanically obeyed the suggestion, and took a seat on a nearby couch.

"My master will be with you shortly. I will inform him of your arrival."

Without bothering to await a reply, the servant took his leave.

Within only five minutes of waiting, Sir Guy, and his lovely wife Rebecca, came into the living area where the nobleman was waiting. Upon their arrival into this room, Mr. Edward stood up quickly to greet them.

"Oh, remain seated, my friend," said Sir Guy, with a bright smile upon his face, and while shaking the man's hand.

"Why, yes," agreed Rebecca, also with a gentle smile, "do sit down."

Not returning their smile with one of his own, Mr. White merely sat back down without even saying a word. After the other two were seated across from him in two large chairs, Rebecca was the first to say something of the man's condition.

"Are you well, sir?" she asked, with a very concerned look upon her face.

"Yes, dear man," added the house master, who also seemed concerned, "what is wrong? Do tell us."

Finally collecting himself somewhat, Mr. White looked at both of them with a deep frown. "I'm afraid that I bring bad news, Sir Guy," he ventured to say.

"It must be terrible, my friend," interposed Sir Guy, with frowning brows, "judging by the look upon your face. Please expound!"

"It's about your money, Sir Guy," he began.

"What money?" asked he, confusedly. "What money are you meaning?"

"Why, the money that I was to give you from Sir Henry Morgan, our honored Governor."

"Oh, that money. Well, what about it?"

"I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid that it has been stolen."

"What!" screamed Sir Guy, while he quickly jumped to his feet. "My money? Stolen?"

"I'm afraid that it's true," added Mr. White, who remained seated, and looking steadfastly at the agitated man.

"Who would dare?" moaned Sir Guy, looking away in thought, as the words slid through his gritted teeth.

"He said that his name was The Dark Bandit."

"The Dark Bandit?" asked both Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca at the same time.

"Yes, that is correct," said Sir Edward. "And, he says that he is famous in England."

"England? He's not famous in England!" declared Sir Guy, with much anger. "I just returned from there, as you know, and I heard of no such man."

"I haven't heard of him either, but Thomas said the man seemed upset when he told him that he never heard of him."

"Thomas?" said Rebecca, interrupting. "How is Thomas involved?"

"Well, he's the man who was held up, on his way back from Sir Henry Morgan's residence in Port Royal. I had sent Thomas there to fetch the gold."

"Oh, the poor man!" said Lady Rebecca, with great concern. "Is he alright?"

Before Mr. White had time to even answer, Sir Guy interposed with: "Oh, a plague on him! My gold is gone!"

Rebecca quickly looked at her husband, with a bit of disgust upon her face, but decided not to voice her thoughts upon his poorly executed words.

"Sir Henry Morgan, eh?" continued Sir Guy. "So, he was held up on his way back from Morgan. Well, it seems that this may very well have been planned. There's been absolutely no criminal activity done on this side of the island, because that type of activity resides at Port Royal. But, why all of a sudden here, and now? The barbarian must surely have come from the capital."

"On the contrary," insisted Sir Edward, "there is always criminal activity done in Riley."

"But not of this kind," Guy insisted. "This was large, and it took time to plan such an adventure. It took someone who already knew of this plan in order to be at the right place at the right time. And, I know that I didn't do it, because it was my money!"

At that last sentence, he suddenly looked at Sir Edward with suspicion.

"Why, you don't think I did it, do you?" suddenly yelled out Sir Edward. "I have bigger hopes of gain from this entire affair, once the plan goes through. What good would one bag of gold coins do me when I hope to gain hundreds of bags of gold coin?"

"Too true . . . sorry for suspecting you. But, that leaves only one man—Henry Morgan himself!"

"Why suspect Morgan?" asked Sir Edward. "He's been watching us, and seeing how we have been growing here in Riley. I know Morgan; once he sees gold in the future, he's in it for the duration. No; each of us has much to gain from the completion of this whole plan, and it would be unwise for any of us to ruin them now. I suspect someone on the outside who had learned of this somehow. I know that I didn't say anything to anyone, and I know that you didn't, either. Perhaps Morgan let something slip to where someone got wise to the plan."

"Yes, perhaps you are correct," said Sir Guy, agreeing, whilst rubbing his chin with his hand, as he continued to ponder the problem. "But, it's possible that there'll never be a way of finding out. Therefore, our main concern is this Dark Thief!"

"Bandit," corrected Sir Edward. "Dark Bandit."

"Whatever!" the house master bellowed out, as he waved his hand around in disgust. "If we don't capture this Dark Idiot, then all our plans of great wealth will never be realized . . . not to mention, he already has some of my gold!"

At that moment, the house servant arrived to announce that supper was ready.

"Oh, supper! Well, I am hungry," said Sir Guy."Bad news always hungers me . . . Come, Sir Edward, let's talk about Dark Bandit hunting over food."

Chapter 9: Dark Bandit Hunting

The very next morning after the events of which I had just described, I was standing still upon a dirt street in the midst of the town of Riley, and I was amusing myself by reading a posted bill that was stuck to the outside wall of a small store. I had seen, only a few moments earlier, an older man nailing it there, which aroused my curiosity; so, I walked over and began reading it. But then, I found myself re-reading the thing several times, and each time that I did, it got funnier and funnier. I could not stop myself from a few chuckles as I read on, and noticed several citizens, who were passing by, looking at me, and were wondering if my laughter was, perhaps, aimed at them. But, seeing the respectably sized sword hanging at my side, none dared to stop and ask any questions.

As I ventured on to my fifth reading, I suddenly heard a voice coming from behind, calling out my name:

"Sir Charles?" it said. "Sir Charles of Riley?"

At this, I immediately turned around, and found myself face to face with Sir Guy of Wayne, who was walking up toward me, with his walking stick pointed in my direction.

"Why, it is you, dear sir!" he continued, in a most cheerful voice, as he approached. "Oh, I am so happy to have found you. And not only so, but I am glad that you are reading my bill."

"This bill belongs to you?" I asked, surprised.

"Why, yes, it does. I had it posted."

At that, I turned around toward the bill once again, staring at it in great disbelief.

Turning back toward the man, I asked: "You had this posted?"

"Why, certainly. And, this is why I am out here this morning seeking you out."

"You're seeking me out about this?" I asked, somewhat nervously.

"Sure thing. Just like the bill has said, which is my 'hue and cry,' I am hunting for the Dark Bandit—a man who fits the description as noted."

Even more nervous, I asked: "And, who has given you this description?"

"Why, a poor creature by the name of Thomas, who was unfortunate enough to have been the victim of this terrible crime!"

"I see," said I, trying not to show any emotion, but straining my ears to catch every word. "And, just when did all of these bad things occur?"

"Only yesterday. And, it was late last night when Thomas was interviewed for the description. I had an original poster made, and five copies duplicated by some of my servants this morning, and they are now posted at various parts of the town."

"I see," I repeated. "And, was this your money that he had stolen?"

"Oh, my, yes!" said he, with much disgust.

"And, do you have your suspicions of who this man is?" I added, looking very hard at Sir Guy.

"The Dark Bandit? Oh, I haven't a clue! This is why I am seeking you out. I need you to help me find and capture this man."

"You want me to find and capture the Dark Bandit for you?" I asked, almost shouting—for, I could not have been more surprised that day even if Henry Morgan had asked me to become Governor in his stead.

"Why, most certainly!" declared he, majestically. "You are the only man I know of on this island who is more than capable of handling this."

"Really?" I asked, a bit surprised by his words. "And, why is that?"

"Why, you are the equal to that terrible Captain Skull—who everyone knows is one of the best swordsmen in the Caribbean. Now, if you are his equal, which I know that you are, then you also are one of the best swordsmen in the Caribbean as well. Therefore, when we surround this Dark Bandit, then he will be unsuccessful in using his sword against us, for I will have one of the best with me!"

"And, you thought of this plan all by yourself?"

"I did. Is it not a stroke of brilliant wit?" he asked, with a huge grin, whilst he pulled a delicate, laced kerchief out of his right sleeve, moved it up with his hand to his left nostril, and breathed in its perfumed scent . . . What a buffoon.

Sir Guy, as I was later to find out, was a personage of a most curious and peculiar nature, indeed. At that time, when I first met him, and he being in his early thirties, was actually of handsome countenance, though ill-proportioned withal because of his slight denseness, his naivety, and for his rude and snotty mannerism. Lucky he was, though, for he did land Lady Rebecca as his wife. But the matchup, as I was later to learn, was an arranged marriage from both of their parents—which would explain her attachment to him. But, like I said, he was a handsome man—not to mention extremely rich—and, he did cut a pretty good figure in his varied costumes, which were always filled with lace and silk. His outer coat (which he wore on this day that I was speaking with him) was dark in color, and it displayed many designs in fantastic formation which I had observed the nobles wearing in London; and, his wig was long, curly, and black, which also fit the fashion of the day. The man was also a traditionalist when it came to the address of his name. Instead of just calling himself Sir Guy Wayne, he preferred to present himself as did his recent ancestors (and, a few elderly, traditionalist gents who presently resided in the countryside of England), by adding the 'of' within; for, as he was later to have said, the French do this all the time when they call themselves Monsieur So-and-so 'de' So-and-so. Lady Rebecca Armstrong, who preferred to keep her parent's family name to her own address (for personal reasons, which she kept secret, and that Sir Guy had accepted) had to constantly remind the poor man that he was not French.

"Why don't we discuss this further at supper this evening at my home, Sir Charles?" the man added, as he continued the conversation. "Of course, I intend to pay you handsomely for your service toward me!"

"Well, I don't know, Sir Guy," I said, stammering somewhat.

"Oh, please, my friend. I have no one else to turn to. Besides, my lovely wife is already expecting you this evening, so let's not disappoint her, alright?"

"Well, I don't know, I..."

"Oh, at least come to supper where we can discuss it further."

"Very well, Sir Guy . . . until this evening, then."

"Until this evening," he repeated with a low, gracious bow. "And, don't forget," he added, after straightening himself up from the bow, "just ask anyone where the home of Sir Guy is and they will be able to tell you. Come anytime this evening."

At this, he left.

Now, I cannot even begin to tell my readers of how I was feeling at that moment; for, I was, at first, very surprised at this turn of events, though slightly put out over the matter. Of course, I know that I have no need to tell my readers that I myself was The Dark Bandit. And, after having to leave the Grey Goose Inn, I certainly had to be able to support myself somehow until Captain Skull arrived—which was still a while off. But, I had absolutely no clue that it was Sir Guy's money that I had stolen. That gained knowledge did at least explain why a poor carriage driver had such a large amount of coin on him. Though, I could not figure out why he had Sir Guy's money in the first place. Of that, I did not have a clue—at least, not at that time. But, what I did know was that I was going to have to put on an act in front of everyone, so that they would not be able to suspect that I and The Dark Bandit were one and the same person. That thought left me a little depressed . . . However, and at the same time, I must be admitting to, the thought that I was being hired to hunt down the Dark Bandit (since I was the Dark Bandit) was a bit amusing.

Later, and as the evening began to close in, I was on my way out of the inn that I was presently staying at, and in the direction of Sir Guy's home: the directions to which I had obtained just a bit earlier from a local townsman; who, being friendly enough, kindly pointed the way out to me. And, by the description that he gave, I could see how it would be easy enough to find. But, like I said, as I was on my way out of the inn that I was presently staying at, I was stopped short by a jolly voice that was calling out to me.

"Dear sir," it said, "why are you walking on such a hot evening as this?"

At that question, I stopped my advancement and turned to see who had thus addressed me. I almost uttered a cry of surprise at seeing Thomas, the jolly carriage driver; who was sitting happily on top of his carriage, and who was awaiting paying passengers whom he could drive to their destination.

"Why, it's you!" I said, with a huge smile.

"Do you know me, sir?" he asked, surprised.

"I know of you, my friend; but, I don't think that we have officially met."

"Oh, you must know me because I am famous for driving people all over the island!"

"Yes, that is it. You are Thomas, the famous Riley carriage driver! Well, Thomas, how can I help you this fine evening?"

"By letting me drive you to your destination!"

"And, how do you know that my destination is not just five feet from where I am standing?" I asked, somewhat amused.

"Well, sir, in five feet, you will only be at the end of the inn that you are staying at, and I don't think that there is much to do there."

"I suppose not, Master Thomas. And how much do you charge for your services, then?"

"Oh, not very much, sir! In fact, I let people give me whatever they feel to give me for my services; so, you can pay me whatever amount you feel that you need to."

"I see . . . Well, that is very kind of you. I just happen to be going to Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca's home for evening supper. Do you know their location?"

"Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca? Who, upon this entire island, doesn't know that? I've been there many times," he said, excitedly. "Many, many times. I can have you there very quickly."

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" I asked, as I quickly climbed into the carriage.

And, true to his word, we arrived at their home with a quickness—even though the ride was very bumpy along the way. But, what would one expect? It's not a stone-laid roadway in London.

As I climbed out of the carriage, I quickly handed the driver his pay—one of Sir Guy's gold coins. And, at receiving the payment, the jolly man's eyes bulged to their extent at the sight of such a sum.

"Oh, sir," he said, with a tear in his eye, "the drive hither was not over quick, nor was it very pleasant—considering all the ruts, mires, and sloughs we encountered!"

"Nonsense, my friend. I was very pleased with your driving skills. Now, take it like a good man, and drink an extra cup of rum to my health when you get the chance."

"You can be sure that I will do just that!" he shouted, enthusiastically. And, just before he got the carriage underway, back toward the town, he added: "And, I will say a prayer at church tomorrow for you, as well."

At that, he departed; and, I watched him as he left. Once around the bend, and completely out of sight, I turned in the direction of Sir Guy's home, which I could see was pleasing to the eye, even if viewed just prior to darkness—though there was still enough light to see fairly by. To own such a cottage as this was beyond a street lad such as myself . . . but, what was I talking about? It's not beyond Sir Charles of Riley!

Upon this thought, I quickly walked over to the front of the home, opened the gate of the white picket fence, and advanced toward the doorway. And, when I had gained the door, I knocked with three hits. After about a moment's hesitation, the door did open, and the house servant asked what I had wanted, for mine was a face that was not familiar to this abode.

"I am Sir Charles of Riley, and your master awaits me."

"Oh, yes, sir!" he said, quickly jumping out of the way. "Please come in, sir; and, make yourself comfortable in the sitting area," he added, while pointing out the way. And, before I had a chance to advance within, the man asked if I would like to give him my hat to hang in the closet. After giving it to him, I walked into the living area and took a seat upon a nearby cushioned bench.

"I will inform my master of your arrival."

"Thank you, my good man."

After only a couple of moments, Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca arrived into the sitting area. Upon seeing them, I made movements to get up, but before I had a chance to do so, Sir Guy stopped my advancements.

"Please, do not get up, my friend," he told me, while he held out his hand for me to shake.

Lady Rebecca bowed slightly before me. I nodded my head in consent, but did not say a word to either of them, neither did I have a smile, for I was a bit nervous to be in their home.

"Supper will be ready soon," Sir Guy informed me, as he and Lady Rebecca took their seats in individual chairs across from me. "But, in the meantime, let's get to know each other a bit better; and tell me, did you have a chance to think over my proposal?"

"Well," I began, "to be honest with you, I could think of nothing else than this affair today."

"Oh, good!" said Sir Guy, with an expression of great joy. "Then, we are of one mind! Dark Bandit hunting should be fun, wouldn't you agree, my dear?" asked he of his wife, as he turned his gaze from me to her.

"Well," she said, with a smile, "it should be interesting, anyway."

"Interesting, indeed!" said Sir Guy, while turning his gaze back to me once again. "If you accept my offer, like I had said, I will certainly make it worth your while . . . Where are you presently staying?"

"At an inn in Riley."

"Oh, how horrid!" he said, with a grimace. "You must stay in one of my private homes in the jungle—just outside the limits of Riley. I had them constructed to entertain my noblemen friends from England when they come to visit me and my wife. Oh, you simply must stay in one of them! Of course, I will lend you a manservant to attend you while you stay there, and you can abide there just as long as you stay on the island . . . But, out of curiosity, what about your home, Sir Charles? Did you not say that you are a native who was born here?"

"Well..." I stammered. "It had burned down in a terrible fire."

"Oh, that's too bad . . . Well, like I said, you simply must stay in one of my homes—I insist! Is that not so, dear?" he asked, again looking at Lady Rebecca.

"Of course, dear," she said to her husband. Then turning toward me, she added: "you simply must, Sir Charles; it's the least that we can do, considering your bravery onboard our ship on the way over here."

"Oh, yes!" said Guy. "And such bravery, too!"

At that moment, the house servant walked in and announced that supper was ready.

After we sat down at table to eat, we were immediately served a bowl of soup, which looked like some type of chicken or other kind of bird soup, for bits of the bird were placed here and about amongst some potatoes and other ingredients. Now, I had not thought of this at the time I was invited to supper, but I knew absolutely nothing of table manners of the noble class. So, what was I to do? By watching Sir Guy and his wife, who were busying themselves at their own bowls of soup, I was going to attempt to imitate their moves—but, I had never extended my pinky finger before while sipping out of a spoon—though I was going to try it anyway. So, after dipping my spoon into the broth, I slowly—and I do mean ever so slowly—brought it up to my extending lips . . . so slowly, in fact (because I was afraid of spilling any—and not to mention that I was being heavily distracted by my protruding pinky finger), that even the other two stopped their advancements at their own soup and began staring hard at me. Now, I was nervous enough as it was, but to have had them start looking straight at me while I attempted to be a gentleman was just too much for me to handle, so I ended the spectacle by accidentally dropping my spoon into the soup bowl. And, after having unwanted liquid shoot out onto the table and floor, the poor spoon decided to completely bury itself into the broth.

"Whoops!" said Lady Rebecca, with a chuckle.

"Well, no matter," added Sir Guy, "I really didn't want soup anyway." After saying this, he clapped his hands, and a servant appeared. "Take the soup away, my friend," he said to him, waving his arms about, "and bring us the main course."

"Yes, sir," said he, bowing.

I cannot tell my readers of how relieved I was to have that soup taken away from me. And, when the main course came, Sir Guy immediately started in about Dark Bandit hunting once more.

"So, my friend, I will come get you each morning from your new home—say, about seven o'clock—and we will begin our Dark Bandit hunting. I will have your new servant prepare you a hearty breakfast so that you can be healthy enough for your fencing bout with that wretch. And, we will continue to do this until that blackguard is caught . . . after that, you will be more than welcome to use the home as you need it. What say you to that, my friend?"

"It sounds fine to me," I said, gnawing on a leg of something or other.

"Oh, excellent! I believe that we will make a brave pair, you and I, Sir Charles . . . a grand alliance!"

Chapter 10: A Bitter Conclusion to an Already Sad Affair

After supper was finished, Sir Guy and I had ridden, by way of his own carriage, to the cottage that was to become mine; and, it stood just fifteen minutes away from his, and was far enough into the brush of the hot jungle so as not to get any disturbances from anything or anyone except for some small animals. Not quite as nice, but almost, as Sir Guy's home, we arrived at the quaint little cottage without too much tossing and bumping by the various ruts and sloughs that had met us mercilessly upon the ill-made roadway. And, upon our stopping in front, and just before I jumped out of the carriage, I quickly noticed that the place also had (as also did Sir Guy's home) a small white picket fence with a gate, and displayed some similar characteristics to the cottage of mine host.

Standing outside to greet us was a man who was to become my manservant: a man by the name of Johnson. He was an odd person by nature, for the poor man really had no personality to speak of.

"You can get your personal belongings from your old quarters in town tomorrow when we travel through there, just before we begin our observations into these matters," said Sir Guy, who had remained in the carriage, but was speaking to me out of its window. "And, we can keep your things in the carriage until evening when I bring you back to your cottage. But, for now, make yourself at home, and I will see you promptly at seven in the morning. Have a good night's rest, Sir Charles, you'll need it for tomorrow."

At this, he bumped the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick, indicating to the driver that he was ready to push on. And, after they were completely out of sight in the moonlight, I turned to face my new manservant, Johnson, who was staring at me, awaiting some orders.

"Well," I said to him, "let's go inside."

"Yes, sir," he merely said, emotionless.

And, once inside the fairly rich establishment, which was dully lit by several candles and lamps, I could see that Johnson was in need of further instructions, for he was standing by stiffly, perhaps a bit impatiently. But, honestly, what was I to say to the man? I certainly was not used to having a servant, so I really did not know what to tell him.

"Well, I suppose I'll retire for the evening," I said.

"Can I help you undress, sir?"

"What!" I nearly yelled out, my eyes widening. "Undress me? Are you jesting?"

"Oh, no, sir!" he said, a bit embarrassed.

"I think that I can undress myself."

"Yes, sir," he said, nervously.

"Well, good night," I told him, walking out of the living area.

"Good night, sir," he said, watching my departure.

When morning came, Sir Guy of Wayne came tiptoeing into my bedroom, voicing out lightly: "Sir Charles . . . Sir Charles . . . It's time to wake up, my friend. I believe that you have overslept."

A low moan from the bed was the only answer that he got from his light callings. And, all that he could see was a pair of feet protruding from the blankets, the stockings extremely disheveled, for one was nearly off entirely, and the other hung halfway from the heel.

"Sir Charles," he called out again, "it's time to wake up; it's seven o'clock."

Further moans were his only answer, but this time Sir Guy decided to pull the blanket from the sleeper and was shocked at what he saw. "Get up, you idiot!" he yelled out; for, indeed, it was Johnson the servant who was asleep in my bed. "Get out of Sir Charles' bed!"

At these newly screamed sentences, Johnson bounded up to his feet in a flash, looking well vexed, and extremely sleepy-eyed.

"Why are you sleeping in Sir Charles' bed?" roared the master.

"Don't be angry, sir," the poor man said in his morning hoarseness, "my young master fell asleep in my quarters last night, and I didn't want to disturb him, so I came in here and slept in his bed—I had to sleep somewhere!"

"You should have slept on the floor in the living area, you fool! You'd be lucky if I don't have you flogged for your insolence!"

"Oh, please, sir," the man said, begging, "have mercy—I won't let it happen again—I swear!"

Without bothering to answer, Sir Guy advanced into the servant's quarters, looking for me, and—yes—there I was, fast asleep upon the servant's cot, snoring away with great harmony. My left arm was hanging out onto the floor; my right hand was occasionally scratching my head and nose; my lips and mouth were smacking; my teeth were grinding—should I go on?—and, the blanket was halfway off my body; and, just like Johnson, my stockings were disheveled as well . . . What a sight to behold.

"Sir Charles?" said Sir Guy to me, calmly. "It's time to get up."

At the hearing of his voice, I awoke immediately, and looked up at him blankly.

"It's time to get up, my friend," he said to me again. "I will be awaiting you in the living area; come when you have finished your morning toilette."

After which, he departed.

How embarrassing that was. I could have kicked myself for not waking up any sooner, and for letting Sir Guy see me like that . . . My morning, what? Toilet?

Out in the living area, Sir Guy was patiently waiting for me on the couch.

"I apologize, Sir Guy, for not being ready at seven."

"Oh, no apologies are needed, my friend," he said to me, all smiles. "But, since you haven't breakfasted yet, we'll stop at Riley to let you get something to eat, and then we shall begin our hunting."

"Very well."

"By the bye, Sir Charles, and just out of curiosity, why did you go to sleep in your servant's bed last night?"

"My servant's bed?" I asked, confused.

"Why, yes; that was Johnson's bed that you were asleep in when I awoke you."

"Really?" I said, almost in non-belief. "I didn't know that, Sir Guy. When I came in last night, I was tolerably spent, and I just went to sleep in the first bed that I had found. I was completely unaware that it belonged to Johnson."

"Oh, that is funny!" he said, while beginning to laugh a little. "Well, let's be on our way."

After we arrived in Riley, I made special mention that I was not interested in having breakfast at the Grey Goose Inn. Not understanding in the slightest, Sir Guy accepted my wish, and we went to my old inn, where I had recently been staying, to get a bite to eat. Besides, I had to empty out the room of my personal belongings anyway. Which, by the way, was not much to speak of.

After breakfast, and after I got my belongings, we began our official hunt for the Dark Bandit—a man whom Sir Guy had already found, but without realizing it. This was to be the first of many similar days until the Skull arrived. Now, that is not saying my entire stay there was spent in Dark Bandit hunting, but I was also acting as an escort for Thomas, who was bringing in more money from Sir Henry Morgan to Sir Edward White; and, I was to make sure that there would be no foul play along the roadway to Riley from Port Royal. My orders were simple—to kill anybody stupid enough to try and rob the gold.

This was also a time when I got to get a little familiar with Sir Henry Morgan: a large man, with a very rough-looking exterior—even though elegantly dressed; and was a man of whom one could tell easily that he was used to being in charge and giving orders. After only a few times of being in his presence, it was evident why King Charles the Second had made him Lieutenant of Jamaica, and why he was able to clean the sea of rats. I must admit that I was really impressed by his presence and confidence; I had not met another man with such a commanding presence other than Captain Skull himself. So, this was really saying a lot.

Again, as I had said, this farce of pretending to hunt a long-gone bandit (as I was doing) lasted the whole while I was waiting upon Captain Skull to arrive. And, in the meantime, Riley really did start to grow—thanks to the Dark Bandit, who was kind enough not to show up to stop the progress. This, of course, Sir Guy attributed to my presence, saying that no man dared interfere with his plans whilst he had one of the best swordsmen around in the entire Caribbean to stop any blunderheads . . . those were his words, not mine . . . But when Captain Skull does show up, an arrival I have already mentioned several times, I certainly knew that it would be extremely hard to explain my association with the pirate captain if anyone were to see me actually meet up with him. And, I knew perfectly well, if a witness were to see this thing, that I would have to quickly think of some excuse (seeing as I had not one at that moment) of why I was speaking friendly with the man, else it would be a very strange occurrence of me leaving with the captain when I was supposed to be his enemy and not joining him as an ally. Actually, I had just at that moment thought of that problem, for it really did not even occur to me up until that time. Perhaps, if I could find him soon enough, it would be best for me to meet him at the shoreline, so no one would be the wiser; but, how would I even know when to be there, unless I sat at the coast every day and every hour?

At any rate, upon a certain day, that was close to his expected arrival, Sir Guy and Lady Rebecca decided that they wanted to eat a meal over at the Grey Goose Inn, and they wanted me to join them. Of course, I had my reservations, since I was known as a nobody to the owners . . . but, then again, it had been long enough (nearly three months) since I was there, that they probably would not even be able to recognize me; especially considering that I now had on different clothing since I was with Sir Guy than what I was wearing when they last saw me—for from the time that I had left that terrible job, I had been dressing as a nobleman; and, my wardrobe (with its pleasant and varied styles) had certainly grown very well over this short period; because, too, the initial stolen clothes of Sir Guy's (even though of nice quality themselves) were not in the best of shape, considering that they had become very soiled in such a short time from working around cooked food. But, now I had (well, again, since I was in Sir Guy's company) wonderfully plumed hats, varied buckskin and silken gloves, and cloaks of fashionable quality. So, and because of that, I figured—why not go to the Grey Goose Inn. Besides, I would simply hide my face from the owners if they happened to pass by our table.

As we advanced into the inn, I began to look around very nervously—seeing if I could spot the owner or his wife; but, it was so busy in there, that there was really no way they would recognize me anyway, seeing as the large crowd would distract them from looking at too many people. So, I was able to relax a little.

Sir Guy was particularly happy this day, for his investments into Riley were really paying off well; not to mention that the town was growing steadily, and more businesses and homes were starting to be built. If he watched carefully what he did (he and Sir Edward White, that is), then there would be no stopping of their successes.

I was getting into an animated conversation with Sir Guy about the possibilities and potential growth of the town, when a stranger walked into the inn, who had caught my full attention, and had just walked over to the bar and sat down. He, I noticed, was also staring right at me—as if he knew who I was. Funny thing was, I was certain that I knew him also, but I could not place him in my mind of where I had seen him before; but, recognize him I did. He was smiling at me, a little sarcastically in my opinion, so I certainly did not return the smile. I did strain my memory, though, in trying to place him.

"Sir Charles, are you alright?" Sir Guy asked of me.

"Oh, yes, I am fine," I said, returning my gaze back to him. "I apologize for not hearing your last sentence. Could you repeat it?"

"Why, certainly, my friend. All I was saying was that Sir Edward spoke with Sir Henry Morgan this week, and that the Governor is very pleased with how things are turning out here in Riley."

"That's very good," I commented, as my gaze turned back in the direction of the unknown. However, my view was suddenly blocked by someone barring the pathway between him and me; and, that someone (who was blocking my view) was none other than the innkeeper himself, who had just recognized me.

"You?" he said, bellowing.

Oh, great! I really did not need this.

Approaching me in a threatening manner, he continued, while yelling: "What are you doing at my inn? You must leave, immediately!"

"How dare you speak to my friend like this!" said Sir Guy, very angrily.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the host to him, without recognizing who he was, "but, this man has to leave; he has done a very bad thing to me!"

"And what is that?" asked Sir Guy, in a gruff.

"Why, he took advantage of me!" was the yelled reply.

"And, how is that?" continued the questions from Sir Guy, as he knitted his brows bitterly.

I remained silent during this dialogue, for I honestly did not know what to say. But, I did catch a glimpse of the unknown over at the bar, who was still looking in my direction; and, he seemed highly amused at this turn of events, for he was chuckling slightly at the heated conversation between the host and Sir Guy.

"He was a servant at my inn, and he just up and quit on me, that's what he did—and when we were very busy, too!"

"A servant at your inn?" asked Sir Guy, horrified. "Are you delusional, man? This is Sir Charles of Riley, a gentleman from England."

"From England I do believe, but a gentleman he is not!"

"I think that you are getting him confused with someone else," my companion insisted.

"Yes, that's it," added Rebecca. "You are getting him confused with someone else."

"No, I am not! This is the idiot who worked for me!"

"You don't call Sir Charles an idiot, you idiot!" screamed out Sir Guy, toward him. "Why, the very nerve; I could have you kicked out of town for this!"

"No, you couldn't—I'm not a slave or a servant, I'm a business owner who does good for this town, and no nobleman can lay a hand on me without permission from the King!"

"Oh, so? You mean permission from the Governor; of whom I happen to be good friends with!"

"Oh, I'm good friends with Henry Morgan, too. I actually served with him aboard one of his ships in the past, and he trusts me like the back of his hand. Can you say the same?"

At this last statement, I could hear the unknown burst into laughter over at the bar. And, at this hearty burst, both Sir Guy and the host turned to have a look at the one who had interrupted their conversation. In fact, the entire inn was quiet, and were listening intently to the heated debate between the two men . . . And, by the bye, my dear readers, I was busy dying from complete embarrassment, and was wanting desperately for the floor to swallow me up. At least, if that happened, I would be out of the way of this horrifying talk.

After a moment's reflection, Sir Guy got very quiet, for he was trying to take all this in (and, also being momentarily distracted by the laughing man, and the silent customers who were all staring at him), and he suddenly decided to look at me . . . and, I tell you honestly, he had the strangest look upon his face.

"You're not defending yourself," he said to me, after this momentary pause. "And, there's a reason you're not defending yourself, is that not so?"

"What are you saying, Guy?" asked Rebecca of her husband, taken aback. And, at this new turn of conversation, even the laughing man stopped laughing and began listening.

"Just look at him, Rebecca," he said to her, while still looking at me. "The same body build . . . the same boldness . . . the same daring . . . the same . . . everything! I should have seen it before."

"Guy, what are you talking about?" she asked him, getting a bit beside herself.

"You've been very clever, my friend, haven't you?" he asked me, while continuing his strange glare.

I was still very silent, and emotionless; but, I was staring very hard at him, with a very serious expression upon my face.

"All these months, I should have put the clues together, but I didn't. It's all very plain to me now, though. And, what a fool I have been!"

"Guy!" shouted Rebecca. "What are you saying?"

"My dear," he answered, while finally looking at her, "all this time we've been Dark Bandit hunting, and he has been in our midst all the while!" he concluded, pointing me out, and turning his serious gaze back toward me.

"Of all the things to say, Guy," said Rebecca, rising to her feet in complete anger, "this is the lowest you've gone! The very idea of accusing Sir Charles of such an outrageous thing . . . Apologize to him, Guy!"

"No, Rebecca, I will not; for, he surely is him . . . admit it!" he demanded of me. "Admit to me that what I say is true!"

Rising slowly to my feet, also, with all eyes of the tavern upon me, I slithered out the words: "Yes . . . yes, you buffoon—I am The Dark Bandit!"

"What?" yelled Rebecca, almost choking in disbelief.

And, without saying another word, Sir Guy, also standing to his feet (who had remained seated until now), began unsheathing his sword—never taking his eyes off me.

"Guy!" Rebecca yelled, once again. "Are you mad?"

"He must die," he said, gravely.

"But, he will kill you! You know he's one of the best swordsmen in these parts!"

"I do not care! He has taken me for a fool, and he must pay!"

And, just as soon as he had said that, he suddenly got a most fearful look upon his face, screamed out in horror, dropped his sword to the ground, and fell to the feet of his wife, crying like a child who had just seen a horrible monster.

At this new action, everyone turned toward the entrance of the inn where Sir Guy had been facing, and where a newcomer was now gracing the threshold—it was Captain Skull. And, upon seeing the captain, it threw Sir Guy into this frenzy.

Seeing this scene, the captain was dumbfounded at what could have caused such a crazy sight. He immediately came walking up to me.

"What has happened? Surely, my presence here this day could not have caused all of this."

"Let's just go," I said to him, "and, I will explain all to you later."

"Very well . . . Come on, Monsieur Pierre," he called out toward the bar, "our ship is awaiting us."

"Who are you?" asked Lady Rebecca of me, just before I took my leave through the door.

At hearing her question, I stopped my advancements, and turned back toward her.

"No one of consequence, my lady," I said to her, woefully. "And, it would be best for all of you to just forget about me."

At this, my shipmates and I departed.

And with that narrow escape, our time in Jamaica comes to a dramatic close! The secret is out, Sir Guy is left trembling on the floor, and Sir Charles has officially crossed the threshold into the pirate life alongside the notorious Captain Skull.

What awaits Charles now that he has traded the life of a 'nobleman' for the dangerous brotherhood of the open sea? How will he fare trapped on a ship with a sarcastic French poet who loves to duel, and a crew of aristocratic outlaws? Find out next Thursday in Chapter 11, where the real high-seas adventure begins!

Until next week, keep your powder dry and your blades sharp!