Together we rode to Goody Hallett’s hut next day, but there was no trace of the stranger, and the old woman vehemently denied that any such person had ever been there!
“Now, Goodman Rich, what do you think of it?” asked the minister when he had finished.
My father acknowledged that he had heard of the man’s presence in the neighborhood. He believed him to be the Englishman who was one of the survivors of the “Whidah” wreck; in fact, the minister’s story confirmed this. Perhaps he was Sam Bellamy himself? As to that, however, he was present at the burial of the drowned pirates and he remembered one corpse being identified as that of the pirate captain.
Next morning the minister went his way after profusely thanking my parents for their hospitality.
In the five years following the departure of the stranger many things happened. Mr. Osborn had been dismissed from the South Parish and he left the district, never to return. Time will do justice to the memory of this gifted man whose broad views were so much misunderstood by his contemporaries. To me he had always shown marked favor, and I loved to hear him speak of the noted men of letters he had known in the Old World. He told me many anecdotes of Jonathan Swift, the famous Dean of St. Patrick’s, and he used to read for me passages from the works of that brilliant but erratic churchman. That Mr. Osborn had a liking for such literature was not the least of his offences in the eyes of the stern elders of his parish.
The incident of the strange man was almost forgotten, except by those who, like myself, had heard the minister’s story. My father and I often talked it over and the facts were indelibly fixed in my young mind. Goody Hallett was still alive, but she was now feeble and those who visited her hut with wool for the spinning reported that her mental faculties were getting weak; at least, so they inferred from her garrulity and the strange talk she indulged in.
I was now a lusty youth, of great assistance to my father in his labors and skilled in all the craftsmanship which the young men of the time were supposed to know. My mother was desirous that I should go to Harvard college, but we were not well off in the world’s goods and my father was beginning to feel the effects of his laborious life, so that project came to nothing. The most we could hope for from my attainments as a scholar was the position of teacher in the district school when I grew to man’s estate. Not until I was in my fortieth year was this ambition of my mother realized, and then the good woman had been long in her grave.
One evening in the early spring, a traveler called at our door and asked for refreshment. I was alone with my mother at the time and I took particular notice of the man as he partook of the food given him. His beard was grey and bushy, growing nearly to his eyes. I had never before seen a man wear a beard in such fashion. His nose was large and hooked and there was a fierce glitter in his eyes. However, he was very civil. He told us that he was bound for Truro where he had friends. In leaving, he raised his hat, and this movement revealed a broad scar across the upper part of his forehead. Seeing that I had observed the mark, the man hastily drew his hat over his eyes and departed.
Next day I set out for Goody Hallett’s with a bundle of wool which my mother wanted spun. I had not given much thought to the visit of the traveler to our house, but still, somehow, I couldn’t altogether dismiss it from my mind. The fierceness of his eyes and the broad scar on his forehead had stirred some memories of the minister’s tale, and as I brought my horse to a stop at Goody Hallett’s hut I had an indescribable feeling that I was to see this man again, and that I should find him to be the pirate.