He was a merry man that morning, the great Blackbeard, triumphant in victory, glowing with the king's brandy, and with so little pain from that cut in his shoulder that he could waste no thought upon it.
"But Eliza will like it well," continued the merry pirate; "she will lead you with a string, be you bold or craven, and the less you pull at it the easier it will be for my brave girl.

Ah! she will dance with joy when I tell her what a frightened rabbit of a husband it is that I give her.

Now get away somewhere, and let your face rid itself of its paleness; and should you find a dead man lying where he has been overlooked, come and tell me and I will have him put aside.

You must not be frightened any more or Eliza may find that you have not left even the spirit of a rabbit." All day Dickory sat silent, his misery pinned into the breast of his coat.

"Miss Kate Bonnet, Kingston, Ja."-- and this on a letter written in the dying moments of an English captain, a high and mighty captain who must have loved as few men love, to write that letter, his life's blood running over the paper as he wrote.