The Buccaneer - A Tale

From whence came the rich warm blood that in a moment suffused the old

man's cheek, as his unconscious grandchild pronounced the name of his

darling, his long-lost, but not forgotten ship? He grasped the boy's arm

with the energy of former times, and shook him as he never thought to

have shaken the child of his own Barbara.

"Where heard you those words--where, I say?" he demanded of his

namesake, while the boy cowered, and the other children stood aghast.

"I heard that wild old man who died in our barn last week, although

mother made him so comfortable, and you and father were so kind to him,

say that was the name of a ship you once had," sobbed little Hugh: "and

I only thought I should like to call mine after it."

"And was that indeed all?" inquired the aged Buccaneer, relaxing his

grasp, but still looking into the boy's ingenuous countenance, as if he

expected some evil tidings.

"It was all that I understood," replied the child, now weeping from pain

and terror, "except that I remember he asked to be buried at

East-Church, because that was nearer what he called the Gull's Nest Crag

than the old church of Minster."

"Poor Jack!--poor Jack Roupall!" exclaimed Dalton, forgetting his

momentary displeasure, and musing aloud upon the end of his ever

reckless follower--"Poor Jack! The nut had been good, fresh, sweet,

wholesome, though the rind was rough and bitter; it was the canker that

destroyed it: and I should have been as bad--as blighted--lost--but for

my own sweet child." And then Hugh Dalton's eye fell upon the pouting

boy, whose arm he had, in the anguish of his remembrance, pressed too

roughly, and he caught him to his bosom, and blessed him with all his

heart and soul.

Little Con crept round, and, seeing where her brother's arm was still

red, held it to her grandfather's lip, saying, "Kiss, kiss it, and make it well."

The old man did as that child in her simplicity directed; and, when she

again looked upon it, there was more than one tear glistening on the

fair firm flesh.

"Let us call her 'King Charles,'" exclaimed the eldest boy, as the

gallant little vessel moved down the stream; while the children, who not

ten minutes before were trembling with alarm at their grandfather's

displeasure, now, with the happy versatility of youthful spirits,

shouted gaily at the ship's progress over the unrippled waters.

"You will call it by no such name," said Dalton gravely. "Yonder comes

your mother, and she or your father can best christen your little ship."