Royal Sovereign, fitted out by some of the most decent merchants
of New York. The governor himself had subscribed to the

adventure, and had himself signed Captain Brand's commission. So,
if the unfortunate man went astray, he must have had great

temptation to do so, many others behaving no better when the
opportunity offered in those far-away seas where so many rich

purchases might very easily be taken and no one the wiser.
To be sure, those stories and ballads made our captain to be a

most wicked, profanewretch; and if he were, why, God knows he
suffered and paid for it, for he laid his bones in Jamaica, and

never saw his home or his wife and daughter again after he had
sailed away on the Royal Sovereign on that long misfortunate

voyage, leaving them in New York to the care of strangers.
At the time when he met his fate in Port Royal Harbor he had

obtained two vessels under his command--the Royal Sovereign,
which was the boat fitted out for him in New York, and the

Adventure galley, which he was said to have taken somewhere in
the South Seas. With these he lay in those waters of Jamaica for

over a month after his return from the coasts of Africa, waiting
for news from home, which, when it came, was of the very

blackest; for the colonial authorities were at that time stirred
up very hot against him to take him and hang him for a pirate, so

as to clear their own skirts for having to do with such a fellow.
So maybe it seemed better to our captain to hide his ill-gotten

treasure there in those far- away parts, and afterward to try and
bargain with it for his life when he should reach New York,

rather than to sail straight for the Americas with what he had
earned by his piracies, and so risk losing life and money both.

However that might be, the story was that Captain Brand and his
gunner, and Captain Malyoe of the Adventure and the sailing

master of the Adventure all went ashore together with a chest of
money (no one of them choosing to trust the other three in so

nice an affair), and buried the treasure somewhere on the beach
of Port Royal Harbor. The story then has it that they fell

a-quarreling about a future division or the money, and that, as a
wind-up to the affair, Captain Malyoe shot Captain Brand through

the head, while the sailing master of the Adventure served the
gunner of the Royal Sovereign after the same fashion through the

body, and that the murderers then went away, leaving the two
stretched out in their own blood on the sand in the staring sun,

with no one to know where the money was hid but they two who had
served their comrades so.

It is a mighty great pity that anyone should have a grandfather
who ended his days in such a sort as this, but it was no fault of

Barnaby True's, nor could he have done anything to prevent it,
seeing that he was not even born into the world at the time that

his grandfather turned pirate, and was only one year old when he
so met his tragical end. Nevertheless, the boys with whom he

went to school never tired of calling him "Pirate," and would
sometimes sing for his benefit that famous catchpenny song

beginning thus:
Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing, And

a-sailing; Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing free.
Oh, my name was Captain Brand, And I sinned by sea and land,

For I broke God's just command, A-sailing free.
'Twas a vile thing to sing at the grandson of so misfortunate a

man, and oftentimes little Barnaby True would double up his fists
and would fight his tormentors at great odds, and would sometimes

go back home with a bloody nose to have his poor mother cry over
him and grieve for him.

Not that his days were all of teasing and torment, neither; for
if his comrades did treat him so, why, then, there were other

times when he and they were as great friends as could be, and
would go in swimming together where there was a bit of sandy

strand along the East River above Fort George, and that in the
most amicable fashion. Or, maybe the very next day after he had

fought so with his fellows, he would go a-rambling with them up
the Bowerie Road, perhaps to help them steal cherries from some

old Dutch farmer, forgetting in such adventure what a thief his
own grandfather had been.

Well, when Barnaby True was between sixteen and seventeen years
old he was taken into employment in the countinghouse of Mr.

Roger Hartright, the well-known West India merchant, and
Barnaby's own stepfather.

It was the kindness of this good man that not only found a place
for Barnaby in the countinghouse, but advanced him so fast that

against our hero was twenty-one years old he had made four
voyages as supercargo to the West Indies in Mr. Hartright's ship,

the Belle Helen, and soon after he was twenty-one undertook a
fifth. Nor was it in any such subordinate position as mere

supercargo that he acted, but rather as the confidential agent of
Mr. Hartright, who, having no children of his own, was very

jealous to advance our hero into a position of trust and
responsibility in the countinghouse, as though he were indeed a

son, so that even the captain of the ship had scarcely more
consideration aboard than he, young as he was in years.

As for the agents and correspondents of Mr. Hartright throughout
these parts, they also, knowing how the good man had adopted his

interests, were very polite and obliging to Master
Barnaby--especially, be it mentioned, Mr. Ambrose Greenfield, of

Kingston, Jamaica, who, upon the occasions of his visits to those
parts, did all that he could to make Barnaby's stay in that town

agreeable and pleasant to him.
So much for the history of our hero to the time of the beginning

of this story, without which you shall hardly be able to
understand the purport of those most extraordinary adventures

that befell him shortly after he came of age, nor the logic of
their consequence after they had occurred.

For it was during his fifth voyage to the West Indies that the
first of those extraordinary adventures happened of which I shall

have presently to tell.
At that time he had been in Kingston for the best part of four

weeks, lodging at the house of a very decent, respectable widow,
by name Mrs. Anne Bolles, who, with three pleasant and agreeable

daughters, kept a very clean and well-served lodging house in the
outskirts of the town.

One morning, as our hero sat sipping his coffee, clad only in
loose cotton drawers, a shirt, and a jacket, and with slippers

upon his feet, as is the custom in that country, where everyone
endeavors to keep as cool as may be while he sat thus sipping his

coffee Miss Eliza, the youngest of the three daughters, came and
gave him a note, which, she said, a stranger had just handed in

at the door, going away again without waiting for a reply. You
may judge of Barnaby's surprise when he opened the note and read

as follows:
MR. BARNABY TRUE.

SIR,--Though you don't know me, I know you, and I tell you this:
if you will be at Pratt's Ordinary on Harbor Street on Friday

next at eight o'clock of the evening, and will accompany the man
who shall say to you, "The Royal Sovereign is come in," you shall

learn something the most to your advantage that ever befell you.
Sir, keep this note, and show it to him who shall address these

words to you, so to certify that you are the man he seeks.
Such was the wording of the note, which was without address, and

without any superscription whatever.
The first emotion that stirred Barnaby was one of extreme and