When Dickory Charter sailed away from the island of Jamaica, his reason, had it been called upon, would have told him that he had a good stout brig under him on which there were people and ropes and sails and something to eat and drink. But in those moments of paradise he did not trouble his reason very much, and lived in an atmosphere of joy which he did not attempt to analyze, but was content to breathe as if it had been the common air about him. He was going away from every one he loved, and yet never before had he been so happy in going to any one he loved. He cared to talk to no one on board, but in company with his joy he stood and gazed westward out over the sea.
He was but little younger than she was, and yet that difference, so slight, had lifted him from things of earth and had placed him in that paradise where he now dwelt.
So passed on the hours, so rolled the waves, and so moved the King and Queen before the favouring breeze.
It was on the second day out that the breeze began to be less favouring, and there were signs of a storm; and, in spite of his preoccupied condition, Dickory was obliged to notice the hurried talk of the officers about him, he occupying a point of vantage on the quarter-deck.
Presently he turned and asked of some one if there was likelihood of bad weather. The mate, to whom he had spoken, said somewhat unpleasantly, "Bad weather enough, I take it, as we may all soon know; but it is not wind or rain. There is bad weather for you! Do you see that?"
Dickory looked, and saw far away, but still distinct, a vessel under full sail with a little black spot floating high above it.
He turned to the man for explanation. "And what is that?" he said.
"It is a pirate ship," said the other, his face hardening as he spoke, "and it will soon be firing at us to heave to."
At that moment there was a flash at the bow of the approaching vessel, a little smoke, and then the report of a cannon came over the water.
Without further delay, the captain and crew of the King and Queen went to work and hove to their brig.
Young Dickory Charter also hove to. He did not know exactly why, but his dream stopped sailing over a sea of delight. They stood motionless, their sails flapping in the wind.
"Pirates!" he thought to himself, cold shivers running through him, "is this brig to be taken? Am I to be taken? Am I not to go to Barbadoes, to Bridgetown, her home? Am I not to take her back the good news which will make her happy? Are these things possible?"