E-text prepared by Martin Robb HUMPHREY BOLD A Story of the Time of Benbow by HERBERT STRANG 1909 CONTENTS Chapter 1: The Wyle Cop. Chapter 2: Joe Breaks His Indentures. Chapter 3: I Meet The Mohocks. Chapter 4: Captain John Benbow. Chapter 5: I Lose My Best Friend. Chapter 6: I Take Articles. Chapter 7: A Crown Piece. Chapter 8: I Fall Among Thieves. Chapter 9: Good Samaritans. Chapter 10: The Shuttered Coach. Chapter 11: I Hold A Turnpike. Chapter 12: I Come To Bristowe--And Leave Unwillingly. Chapter 13: Duguay-Trouin. Chapter 14: Harmony And Some Discord. Chapter 15: The Bass Viol. Chapter 16: Across The Moat. Chapter 17: Exchanges. Chapter 18: In The Name Of King Lewis. Chapter 19: I Fight Duguay-Trouin. Chapter 20: The King's Commission. Chapter 21: I Meet Dick Cludde. Chapter 22: I Walk Into A Snare. Chapter 23: Uncle Moses. Chapter 24: I Make A Bid For Liberty. Chapter 25: I Spend Cludde's Crown Piece. Chapter 26: We Hold A Council Of War. Chapter 27: Some Successes And A Rebuff. Chapter 28: I Cut The Enemy's Cables. Chapter 29: We Bombard The Brig. Chapter 30: The Six Days' Battle. Chapter 31: The Cockpit. Chapter 32: I Become Bold. Chapter 1: The Wyle Cop. 'Tis said that as a man declines towards old age his mind dwells ever more and more on the events of his childhood. Whether that be true of all men or not, certain it is that my memory of things that happened fifty years ago is very clear and bright, and the little incidents of my boyhood are more to me, because they touch me more nearly, than such great matters as the late rebellion against His Majesty King George, whom God preserve. Especially does my thought run back to a day, fifty-six years ago this very summer, when by mere chance, as it would appear to men's eyes, my fortunes became linked with those of Joe Punchard, who is now at this moment, I warrant, smoking his pipe in the lodge at my park gates. I was eleven years old, a thin slip of a boy, small for my age, and giving no promise, to be sure, of my present stature and girth. The neighbors shook their heads sometimes as they looked at me, and wondered why Mr. John Ellery, if he must adopt a boy--a strange thing, they thought, for a bachelor to do--did not choose one of a sturdier make than poor little Humphrey Bold. They even joked about my name, averring that names assuredly must go by contraries, for I was Bold by name, and timid by nature. The joke seemed to me, even then, a very poor one, for a boy must have the name he is born with, and I have known very delicate and white-handed folk of the name of Smith.