CHAPTER III.

When the vessel in which young Billings set sail started she had a fair wind, and was soon out in the open sea.

Just as night began to set in, a small craft was observed approaching them, and being a much faster sailor than the larger and heavily ladened ship, she was soon along-side.

When near enough to be heard, the commander of the smaller vessel desired the other to lay too, as he had important dispatches for him which had been forgotten.

The commander of the ship not liking to stop his vessel while under full sail merely for the purpose of receiving dispatches, offered to send for them, and was about lowering a boat for that purpose, when the other captain, who was none other than Captain Flint, declared that he could only deliver them in person.

The captain of the ship, though in no very good humor, finally consented to lay too, and the two vessels were soon lying along side of each other.

Now although while lying at, or about the wharves of New York, the two men already introduced to the reader apparently constituted the whole crew of Captain Flint's vessel, such was by no means the fact, for there were times when the deck of the little craft would seem fairly to swarm with stout, able-bodied fellows. And the present instance, Captain Flint had no sooner set foot upon the deck of the ship, than six or eight men fully armed appeared on the deck of the schooner prepared to follow him.

The first thing that Captain Flint did on reaching the deck of the ship was to strike the captain down with a blow from the butt of a large pistol he held in his hand. His men were soon at his side, and as the crew of the other vessel were unarmed, although defending themselves as well as they could, they were soon overpowered.

Several of them were killed on the spot, and those who were not killed outright, were only reserved for a more cruel fate.

The fight being over, the next thing was to secure the treasure.

This was a task of but little difficulty, for Flint had succeeded in getting one of his men shipped as steward on the ill-fated vessel.

One of those who had escaped the massacre was James Bradley. He had, by order of Captain Flint, been lashed to the mast at the commencement of the fight.

He had not received a wound. All the others who were not killed were more or less badly hurt.

These were unceremoniously compelled to walk the plank, and were drowned.

When it came to Billings' turn, there seemed to be some hesitation among the pirates subjecting him to the same fate as the others.

Jones Bradley, in a particular manner, was for sparing his life on condition that he would pledge himself to leave the country, never to return, and bind himself to eternal secrecy.

But this advice was overruled by Captain Flint himself, who declared he would trust no one, and that the young man should walk the plank as the others had done.

From this decision there was no appeal, and Henry Billings resigned himself to his fate.

Before going he said he would, as a slight favor, to ask of one of his captors.

And then pulling a plain gold ring off his finger, he said:

"It is only to convey this to the daughter of Carl Rosenthrall, if he can find means of doing so, without exposing himself to danger. I can hardly wish her to be made acquainted with my fate."

When he had finished, Captain Flint stepped up saying that he would undertake to perform the office, and taking the ring he placed it upon his own finger.

By this time it was dark. With a firm tread Billings stepped upon the plank, and the next moment was floundering in the sea.

The next thing for the pirates to do was to scuttle the ship, which they did after helping themselves to so much of the most valuable portion of the cargo as they thought they could safely carry away with them.

In about an hour afterwards the ship sank, bearing down with her the bodies of her murdered crew, and burying, as Captain Flint supposed, in the depths of the ocean all evidences of the fearful tragedy which had been enacted upon her deck.

The captain now directed his course homeward, and the next day the little vessel was lying in port as if nothing unusual had happened, Captain Flint pretending that he had returned from one of his usual trading voyages along the coast.

The intercourse between the new and the old world was not so frequent in those days as now. The voyages, too, were much longer than at present. So that, although a considerable time passed, bringing no tidings of the ill-fated vessel without causing any uneasiness.

But when week after week rolled by, and month followed month, and still nothing was heard from her, the friends of those on board began to be anxious about their fate.

At length a vessel which had sailed some days later than the missing ship, had reported that nothing had been heard from her.

The only hope now was that she might have been obliged by stress of weather to put in to some other port.

But after awhile this hope also was abandoned, and all were reluctantly compelled to come to the conclusion that she had foundered at sea, and that all on board had perished.

After lying a short time in port, Captain Flint set sail up the river under pretence of going on a trading expedition among the various Indian tribes.

But he ascended the river no further than the Highlands, and come to anchor along the mountain familiarly known as Butterhill, but which people of more romantic turn call Mount Tecomthe, in honor of the famous Indian chief of that name.

Having secured their vessel close to the shore, the buccaneers now landed, all save one, who was left in charge of the schooner.

Each carried with him a bundle or package containing a portion of the most valuable part of the plunder taken from the ship which they had so recently robbed.

Having ascended the side of the mountain for about two hundred yards, they came to what seemed to be a simple fissure in the rocks about wide enough to admit two men abreast.

This cleft or fissure they entered, and having proceeded ten or fifteen feet they came to what appeared to be a deep well or pit.

Here the party halted, and Captain Flint lighted a torch, and producing a light ladder, which was concealed in the bushes close by, the whole party descended.

On reaching the bottom of the pit, a low, irregular opening was seen in the side, running horizontally into the mountain.

This passage they entered, Indian file, and bending almost double.

As they proceeded the opening widened and grew higher, until it expanded into a rude chamber about twelve feet one way by fifteen feet the other.

Here, as far as could be seen, was a bar to all further progress, for the walls of the chamber appeared to be shut in on every side.

But on reaching the further side of the apartment, they stopped at a rough slab of stone, which apparently formed a portion of the floor of the cave.

Upon one of the men pressing on one end of the slab, the other rose like a trap door, disclosing an opening in the floor amply sufficient to admit one person, and by the light of the torch might be seen a rude flight of rocky stairs, descending they could not tell how far.

These were no doubt in part at least artificial.

The slab also had been placed over the hole by the pirates, or by some others like them who had occupied the cave before this time, by way of security, and to prevent surprise.

Captain Flint descended these steps followed by his men.

About twenty steps brought them to the bottom, when they entered another horizontal passage, and which suddenly expanded into a wide and lofty chamber.

Here the party halted, and the captain shouted at the top of his voice:

"What ho! there, Lightfoot, you she devil, why don't you light up!"

This rude summons was repeated several times before it received any answer.

At length an answer came in what was evidently a female voice, and from one who was in no very good humor: "Oh, don't you get into a passion now. How you s'pose I know you was coming back so soon."

"Didn't I tell you I'd be back to-day!" angrily asked Flint.

"Well, what if you did," replied the voice. "Do you always come when you says you will?"

"Well, no matter, let's have no more of your impudence. We're back bow, and I want you to light up and make a fire."

The person addressed was now heard retiring and muttering to herself.

In a few moments the hall was a blaze of light from lamps placed in almost every place where a lamp could be made to stand.

The scene that burst upon the sight was one of enchantment.

The walls and ceiling of the cavern seemed to be covered with a frosting of diamonds, multiplying the lamps a thousand fold, and adding to them all the colors of the rainbow.

Some of the crystals which were of the purest quartz hanging from the roof, were of an enormous size, giving reflections which made the brilliancy perfectly bewildering.

The floor of the cavern was covered, not with Brussels or Wilton carpets, but with the skins of the deer and bear, which to the tread were as pleasant as the softest velvet.

Around the room were a number of frames, rudely constructed to be sure, of branches, but none the less convenient on that account, over which skins were stretched, forming comfortable couches where the men might sleep or doze away their time when not actively employed.

Near the center of the room was a large flat stone rising about two feet above the floor. The top of this stone had been made perfectly level, and over it a rich damask cloth had been spread so as to make it answer all the purposes of a table. Boxes covered with skins, and packages of merchandise answered the purpose of chairs, when chairs were wanted.

"Where is the king, I should like to know?" said Captain Flint, looking with pride around the cavern now fully lighted up; "who can show a hall in his palace that will compare with this?"

"And where is the king that is half so independent as we are?" said one of the men.

"And kings we are," said Captain Flint; "didn't they call the Buccaneers Sea Kings in the olden time?"

"But this talking isn't getting our supper ready. Where has that Indian she-devil taken herself off again?"

The person here so coarsely alluded to, now made her appearance again, bearing a basket containing a number of bottles, decanters and drinking glasses.

She was not, to be sure, so very beautiful, but by no means so ugly as to deserve the epithet applied to her by Captain Flint.

She was an Indian woman, apparently thirty, or thirty-five years of age, of good figure and sprightly in her movements, which circumstance had probable gained for her among her own people, the name of Lightfoot.

She had once saved Captain Flint's life when a prisoner among the Indians, and fearing to return to her people, she had fled with him.

It was while flying in company with this Indian woman, that Captain Flint had accidently discovered this cave. And here the fugitives had concealed themselves for several days, until the danger which then threatened them had passed.

It was on this occasion that it occurred to the captain, what a place of rendezvous this cave would be for himself and his gang; what a place of shelter in case of danger; what a fine storehouse for the plunder obtained in his piratical expeditions!

He immediately set about fixing it up for the purpose; and as it would be necessary to have some one to take charge of things in his absence, he thought of none whom he could more safely trust with the service, than the Indian woman who had shared his flight.

From that time, the cave became a den of pirates, as it had probably at one time been a den of wild beasts.

Which was the better condition, we leave it for the reader to decide.

The only other occupant of the cave was a negro boy of about fourteen or fifteen years of age, known by the name of Black Bill.

He seemed to be a simple, half-witted, harmless fellow, and assisted Lightfoot in doing the drudgery about the place.

"What have you got in your basket, Lightfoot?" asked Captain Flint.

"Wine," replied the Indian.

"Away with your wine," said the captain; "we must have something stronger than that. Give us some brandy; some fire-water. Where's Black Bill?" he continued.

"In de kitchen fixin' de fire," said Lightfoot.

"All right, let him heat some water," said the captain; "and now, boys, we'll make a night of it," he said, turning to his men.

The place here spoken of by Lightfoot as the kitchen, was a recess of several feet in the side of the cave, at the back of which was a crevice or fissure in the rock, extending to the outside of the mountain.

This crevice formed a natural chimney through which the smoke could escape from the fire that was kindled under it.

The water was soon heated, the table was covered with bottles, decanters and glasses of the costliest manufacture. Cold meats of different kinds, and an infinite variety of fruits were produced, and the feasting commenced.