Then all would gaze seaward with startled faces, and would murmur:
“The pirate—the Spanish pirate will be here.”
As they thus stood irresolutely, a strongly-knit fellow came walking towards the dock-end. He was clad in gray; his face was deeply seamed by long exposure to the elements; and high top-boots of leather encased his lower limbs.
“What ho! Good citizens,” said he. “Do I understand that a Spaniard has frightened you all? Why, where’s your courage?”
“Courage?” answered a rotund-bodied merchant. “Of that we have a plenty. But we have no ship with which to combat this fellow—or fellows—for some of my skippers tell me that there are two of them off the coast, and that they’ve captured twenty trading vessels.”
The newcomer smiled.
“I’ve got a staunch craft here,” said he. “My name is Walker, and I hail from Bristol, England. My ship—the Duke William—mounts but twenty guns, and my crew is but of thirty-two, yet, I know that many of you gentlemen will volunteer your services, particularly if there is to be a nice little battle.”
“Hear! Hear!” came from all sides. “You’re the boy for us! You’re the chap we’ve been looking for! Hear! Hear!”
It did not take long to increase the crew of the Duke William. Several of the wealthy colonists volunteered their services; many sailors were there who had been fighting on the Spanish Main. They were eager and anxious to join. So, before three days were out, the Duke William spread her canvas for the open sea, carrying one hundred men and an additional twenty guns. Now—you see—she could put up an excellent fight with the average pirate-ship which cruised about the low-lying and sandy coast.
Out into the broad expanse of the Atlantic glided the little barque and eagerly the mariners scanned the horizon for some signs of the pirate.