Great changes had come over this old Buccaneer. Neither he, nor his ships were anything like what they were in the good old past. The past that we are always looking back to with such loving and longing eyes. Those huge wooden castles that had borne his flag to so many victories had been towed long ago to their last moorings. But ah! things change, and mountains even, if not moved by faith, are constantly being altered by that persistent worker, time. People looked back with regret to those grand old wooden walls, with their tier upon tier of guns; but it was all in vain. Science had condemned them. Amidst all the change that was constantly going on, there was one thing on board of the old Ship of State that bound the Buccaneer to the past. She was still impelled by wind, and consequently was not a rapid sailer. The Church Hulk alongside her, was also propelled in a similar manner, but considering the gales of wind that sometimes swept her decks she was a slow mover.
Away went the Buccaneer in his steam yacht, old Dogvane, of course, being at the helm. The cox'sn, however, for reasons already mentioned, was left behind. The captain's face did not wear an expression of happiness, but then he was one of those who take their pleasures seriously, and sometimes even in a melancholy manner; and often when he looked his saddest he was enjoying himself most. To judge from appearances, people might be pardoned if they thought that he and his master were bent upon some mournful errand, such as the burying of some dear departed friend.
But to return to the wonder-stricken people who lined the shore. Many were the questions asked and many were the answers given. Though our brave old Buccaneer hated anything secret, more especially in other people, yet he himself conducted all his public affairs by a secret council; being driven to do so, perhaps, by necessity. Then the reason for this sudden and somewhat mysterious departure was left open to all kinds of conjecture, some saying one thing, some another.
"What is in the wind now?" asked one. "Is the old man steering for peace or for war?"
"Ah!" cried another, "perhaps his spirit is at last aroused. Heaven only knows he has slept long enough!"
"The barking of curs, my lads," said a third, "does not disturb the slumber or the dignity of a bull-dog. Fighting, mates, it may be; for those who won't fight will fall."
The young hands looked hopeful and the hot blood mounted to their cheeks, for they had heard and read of fights by sea and land, and of the doughty deeds done by their forefathers, and they longed, too, for the fray. There was life in these young sea whelps yet. It was said that the wanton, Luxury, had touched them gently with the velvet tips of her fingers, but so far she had not taken away their manhood and put them to lie on downy beds scented with the perfume of flowers. No, no, she had not gone as far as that, and though the Buccaneer's women, some of them, had become masculine, his men had not surrendered up their position to them just yet.
The young expressed their hopes, the old men shook their heads. The Ojabberaways were wild with delight, and hoped that their tyrant master, as they called him, would get so embroiled that they might have a chance of shaking themselves free. Then, as many thought, there would be merry times indeed for those who lived in the green and fertile isle of the West.
The Ojabberaways now behaved themselves in a manner so peculiarly their own, that there was every prospect of a free fight. The leaders, or paid patriots as they were called, took up a strong position, behind whatever natural objects presented themselves, and from these points of vantage they commenced pelting their opponents with strong personal abuse. Of this they always kept a large supply ready on hand. Wise counsels prevailed, and the blood of the young Buccaneers was cooled down, and so a row was avoided and all attention was again directed to the head of the family and his doings. "Mates!" cried one sturdy fellow, "it's not for fighting he has gone with Captain William Dogvane on board. More likely he has gone to beg some person's pardon for some idle words spoken, or may be he's gone to hand over some patch of land that we got in fair and open fight. But let that pass, conscience becomes tender as a man grows old."
Here a square built old sailor with a patch over his left eye, and who was minus an arm and a leg cried out, "Who would spill his blood and stand the chance of being knocked on the head, if he thought that all he got in fair and open fight was to be given back, because a tender conscience pules and whines. Look at me, mates! The glim of one of my skylights is dousted, and is battened down for ever. My timber too I've lost, and have I been lopped of my branches for nothing? All, forsooth, because an old man's conscience pricks. Damme, lads! there's no justice in the like o' that. Do our neighbours give up what they have grabbed? not they; more likely to put the pistol to your head, as in days of old, and cry out, 'Stand and deliver?' That's the way of the world, mates, and we must not set up to be better than other folk. Haven't I a vested interest in the old man's conquests to the extent of one arm, a leg and an eye? Then damme, make all fast, say I!"