It was a glorious thing for our captain, for here were thirteen Yankee
crafts at one and the same time. So he took what he wanted, and then
sailed away, and it was many a day before Marblehead forgot that visit.

Some time after this he and his consort fell foul of an English sloop
of war, the Greyhound, whereby they were so roughly handled that Low was
glad enough to slip away, leaving his consort and her crew behind him,
as a sop to the powers of law and order. And lucky for them if no worse
fate awaited them than to walk the dreadful plank with a bandage around
the blinded eyes and a rope around the elbows. So the consort was taken,
and the crew tried and hanged in chains, and Low sailed off in as pretty
a bit of rage as ever a pirate fell into.

The end of this worthy is lost in the fogs of the past: some say that he
died of a yellow fever down in New Orleans; it was not at the end of a
hempen cord, more's the pity.

Here fittingly with our strictly American pirates should stand Major
Stede Bonnet along with the rest. But in truth he was only a poor
half-and-half fellow of his kind, and even after his hand was fairly
turned to the business he had undertaken, a qualm of conscience would
now and then come across him, and he would make vast promises to
forswear his evil courses.

However, he jogged along in his course of piracy snugly enough until he
fell foul of the gallant Colonel Rhett, off Charleston Harbor, whereupon
his luck and his courage both were suddenly snuffed out with a puff of
powder smoke and a good rattling broadside. Down came the "Black Roger"
with its skull and crossbones from the fore, and Colonel Rhett had the