The Buccaneer: A Tale

faithfully as possible; please see list of printing issues . STANDARD NOVELS. N o LXXIX. "No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by the many than graver productions, however important these latter may be. Apuleius is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by his abstruser Platonic writings; and the Decameron of Boccaccio has outlived the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author." THE BUCCANEER. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET: BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; J. CUMMING, DUBLIN. 1840. London: Printed by A. Spottiswoode . New-Street-Square. J. Cowse, pinxt. W. Greatbatch, sc. THE BUCCANEER. The Protector instantly exclaimed "Guards! what ho! without there!" Five or six rushed into the room and laid hands upon Robin. London. Published by Richard Bentley. 1840. Kneeling on a high-backed and curiously carved chair, which he leaned over pulpit-fashion, was seen the lean, lanky figure of Fleetword . THE BUCCANEER. A TALE. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. Stay! methinks I see A person in yond cave. Who should that bee? I know her ensignes now—'tis Chivalrie Possess'd with sleepe, dead as a lethargie; If any charme will wake her, 'tis the name Of our Meliadus! I'll use his Fame. Ben Jonson. REVISED BY THE AUTHOR. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET: BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; J. CUMMING, DUBLIN. 1840. THE BUCCANEER. With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves, Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, She seems a sea wasp flying on the waves. Dryden. It was between the hours of ten and twelve on a fine night of February, in the year sixteen hundred and fifty-six, that three men moored a light skiff in a small bay, overshadowed by the heavy and sombre rocks that distinguish the Isle of Shepey from other parts along the coast of Kent, the white cliffs of which present an aspect at once so cheerful and so peculiar to the shores of Britain. The quiet sea seemed, in the murky light, like a dense and motionless mass, save when the gathering clouds passed from the brow of the waning moon, and permitted its beams to repose in silver lines on its undulating bosom. It was difficult to account for the motive that could have…