Chapter II
In Hispaniola
Robert Barthelemy's name became known everywhere on the high seas. Holland and Portuguese sailors trembled before him; for when they recognized his vessel and, after a desperate chase, gained the shelter of a harbor, he followed them, robbed them under the very guns of the port and, if attacked, ordered the town to be bombarded and its fortifications given to the flames.
There was no end to the marvelous tales related about him.
On the southern coast of the beautiful Island of Hayti, in a pleasant valley, stands a small wooden house, whose front is covered with climbing vines, and whose windows are filled with flowers; doves coo softly on the gable-roof, and a white cat lies purring on the threshold.
At both sides of the little house stretch cotton fields, whose green foliage charms the traveler's eye as, coming from the interior, he sees toward evening the little cottage in the quiet valley.
Who lived there?
One evening just at twilight, a light boat containing three men was pulled to the shore. One left it, the two others remained.
The youth who climbed the bank was a handsome fellow, with a bright, eager face; his complexion was bronzed by exposure to the weather and, as the wind tossed back his hair, the locks bared a high, broad forehead.