"He then would make the nearest isle, And go at night by stealth, To hide within the earth a while His last ill-gotten wealth."
H. F. Gould.
Towards the approach of evening on the day following the events related in the last chapter, Kate Bellamont was walking beneath the noble oaks that shaded the lawn lying between the front of White Hall and the water. She had been for some time watching the slow progress of a brig into the harbour, which, on first discerning it from the balcony, her spyglass told her was the "Ger-Falcon." Her impatience had drawn her to the water side, where the thin waves uncurled upon a silvery beach at her feet.
Slowly it advanced up towards the town, and the shouts of the citizens, and gun after gun from the Rondeel, welcomed her return. It was nearly night when, coming between Governor's Island and the city, she fired a gun without coming to; the British ensign was lowered at the same instant, and up in its place went the black flag of the bucanier. A loud wail seemed to fill the town.
"The Kyd! the Kyd!" rung through the streets and everywhere spread consternation. The battery on the Rondeel opened a heavy fire, which was returned by two broadsides from the brig, which then stood across towards Brooklyn, and anchored east of the town out of the range of the guns of the fort.
Kate had witnessed all this, at first, with surprise, which grew to terrible anxiety and alarm; and when the return of the fire confirmed the hostile character of the vessel, now too plainly captured by the corsair, a faintness came over her and she leaned against an oak for support. "Where was Fitzroy? A prisoner or slain!" were questions that she dared not ask herself. Overcome by her feelings, she was ready to sink at the foot of the tree in almost a state of insensibility, when she saw a skiff containing two men, which had been making its way from the direction of "The Kills," land not far from the "Rondeel." The twilight was sufficiently strong to enable her to see a fisherman step from it and approach her by the winding of the shore. She struggled against her feelings, for his manner seemed to betoken news; and with a quick step she advanced several paces to meet him.
"Do you bring news of Captain Fitzroy, or come you to confirm my suspicions?" she cried, as he came near her.
"Sweet lady," he said, wrapping his ample jacket closer about his person, "I am but a poor shipwrecked mariner. Yet I do bear sad news for thee."
"Of whom?" she asked, quickly, vainly endeavouring, in the dusk of evening, to read in his shaded features all he had not revealed.
"Captain Fitzroy!"
"Ha! speak! Words! words! why are you silent? I will hear thee."