“Yes, it was a great place for pirates,” I replied. “You know these islands well, Sam. Have you ever run across any old guns or forts or wrecks on any of them? By the way, what’s your last name?” Sam grinned. “Ah got a right funny name, Chief,” he responded. “Ah don’ ’spec’ you ever hear it. It’s Lithgow, Chief.” Lithgow! What a name to conjure with, in the old buccaneer days! Red Lithgow, the bold, unprincipled pirate chieftain who hailed from Louisiana and met death at the end of a rope from his own yard-arm! Perchance—nay, in all probability—some of the old rascal’s blood still flowed in Sam’s veins; for all through the islands one finds lineal descendants (though they may be brown, black, or yellow) of the buccaneers, whose progeny was legion. But Sam was again speaking, replying to my first question and telling me that hidden among the brush and weeds on St. John, St. Martin, and others of the Virgins, were numerous old walls, ruins, and cannon which, rumor had it, were relics of the pirates who once made the islands their stronghold. My itinerary included all of these in turn, and so the Vigilant’s course remained unaltered and with the wind humming through the taut rigging and filling the great straining sails, we rushed on toward St. Thomas, looming like a cloud upon the horizon far ahead. And now, as the schooner races onward toward the quaint port of Charlotte Amalie, a word about the crew that manned the Vigilant; for Sam was not by any means the only or the most important personage besides myself. A mixed lot they were, but most valuable factors in my cruise and an entertaining lot as well. Originally they were all Virgin Islanders, save Sam, the Bahaman pilot and “captain,” and Joseph, the long-legged, solemn-faced cook, who, notwithstanding his ebony skin and kinky head, dubbed all of his race “stupid niggers,” who found everything not to his liking “pure corruption,” and who proudly boasted of being a Turks Island boy. With the Chesterfieldian manners of a duke, painstakingly perfect English, and the dignity of a Spanish grandee, Joseph looked down upon the “stupid niggers” of the crew as from an impregnable height, and fraternized with Sam only, the others being merely tolerated. A right good cook and a faithful boy was Joe, and a never-ending source of amusement because of his assumption of a sort of guardianship over me.