"Let the old fool alone," he said; "we fare well, and our lives are easy, having three men to do the work of one. So say I, let us sail on and make merry with his good rum; his money-chest is heavy yet."
"That's what I'm thinking of," said the sailing-master. "Why should I be coursing about here looking for prizes with that chest within reach of my very arm whenever I choose it?"
Black Paul grinned and said to himself: "It is your arm, old Sam, that I am afraid of." Then aloud: "No, let him go. Let us profit by our good treatment as long as it lasts, and then we will talk about the money-box."
Thus Big Sam found that his time had not arrived, and he swore in his soul that his old shipmate would some day rue that he had not earlier stood by him in his treacherous schemes.
So all went on without open discontent, and Bonnet, having sailed northward for some days, set his course to the southeast, with some hundred and fifty eyes wide open for the sight of a heavy-sailing merchantman.
One morning they sighted a brig sailing southward, but as she was of no great size and not going in the right direction to make it probable that she carried a cargo worth their while, they turned westward and ran towards Cuba. Had Captain Bonnet known that his daughter was on the brig which he thus disdained, his mind would have been far different; but as it was, not knowing anything more than he could see, and not understanding much of that, he kept his westerly course, and on the next day the lookout sighted a good-sized merchantman bearing eastward.
Now bounded every heart upon the swiftly coursing vessel of the planter-pirate. There were men there who had shared in the taking of many a prize; who had shared in the blood and the cruelty and the booty; and their brawny forms trembled with the old excitement, of the sea-chase; but no man's blood ran more swiftly, no man's eyes glared more fiercely, than those of Captain Bonnet as he strapped on his pistols and felt of his sword-hilt.
"Ah, ye needna glare so!" said Ben Greenway, close at his side. "Ye are no pirate, an' ye canna make yoursel' believe ye are ane, an' that ye shall see when the guns begin to roar an' the sword-blades flash. Better get below an' let ane o' these hairy scoundrels descend into hell in your place."