At this, a roar arose from the pirates, who, having thrown some of their grappling-irons over the gunwale of the merchantman, were now pulling hard upon them to bring the two vessels together, and Captain Bonnet shouted back at Ben:  “What are you talking about, you drivelling idiot; haven’t you told Mr. Marchand that I am a pirate?”

“Indeed I hae no’,” cried Ben, “for I don’t believe ye are are; at least, no’ to your friends an’ neebours.”

To this Bonnet made a violent reply, but it was not heard.  The two vessels had now touched and the crowd of yelling pirates had leaped upon the deck of the Amanda.  Bonnet was not far behind his men, and, sword in hand, he rushed towards the spot where stood the merchant captain with his crew hustling together behind him.  As there was no resistance, there was so far no fighting, and the pirates were tumbling over each other in their haste to get below and find out what sort of a cargo was carried by this easy prize.

Captain Marchand held out his hand.  “Good-day to you, friend Bonnet,” he said.  “I had hoped that you would be one of the first friends I should meet when I reached port at Bridgetown, but I little thought to meet you before I got there.”

Bonnet was a little embarrassed by the peculiarity of the situation, but his heart was true to his new career.

“Friend Marchand,” he said, “I see that you do not understand the state of affairs, and Ben Greenway there should have told you the moment he met you.  I am no longer a planter of Barbadoes; I am a pirate of the sea, and the Jolly Roger floats above my ship.  I belong to no nation; my hand is against all the world.  You and your ship have been captured by me and my men, and your cargo is my prize.  Now, what have you got on board, where do you hail from, and whither are you bound?”

Captain Marchand looked at him fixedly.

“I sailed from London with a cargo of domestic goods for Kingston; thence, having disposed of most of my cargo, I am on my way to Bridgetown, where I hope to sell the remainder.”

“Your goods will never reach Bridgetown,” cried Bonnet; “they belong now to my men and me.”

“What!” cried Ben Greenway, “ye speak wi’out sense or reason.  Hae ye forgotten that this is Mr. Abner Marchand, your fellow-vestryman an’ your senior warden?  An’ to him do ye talk o’ takin’ awa’ his goods an’ legal chattels?”

Bonnet looked at Greenway with indignation and contempt.

“Now listen to me,” he yelled.  “To the devil with the vestry and da—­” the Scotchman’s eyes and mouth were so rounded with horror that Bonnet stopped and changed his form of expression—­“confound the senior warden.  I am the pirate Bonnet, and regard not the Church of England.”

“Nor your friends?” interpolated Ben.

“Nor friends nor any man,” shouted Bonnet.

“Abner Marchand, I am sorry that your vessel should be the first one to fall into my power, but that has happened, and there is no help for it.  My men are below ransacking your hold for the goods and treasure it may contain.  When your cargo, or what we want of it, is safe upon my ship, I shall burn your vessel, and you and your men must walk the plank.”