“Probably because less is known about them,” replied his father. “And partly, too, as they lived and fought before the West Indies and the Spanish Main became as well known as in Morgan’s day. You must remember that we hear very little of L’Ollonois, Brasiliano, Portugues, or the earlier buccaneers. New England, you know, was not settled until 1638, and most of the famous buccaneers were those whose deeds were committed after the American colonies were trading extensively with the West Indies. Morgan, you remember, sent to merchants of New England for help in fitting out his fleet, and Davis and his fellows sailed for the South Sea from the Chesapeake. To the inhabitants of New England and Virginia the buccaneers seemed comparative neighbors, and hence the tales of their careers came fresh and vividly to them, whereas it took weeks or months for stories to reach England. “But don’t imagine that it was only the older pirates who were picturesque. Perhaps the most picturesque and fascinatingly wicked pirate who ever lived—although he hadn’t a redeeming feature—was among the last of the really famous corsairs of the Caribbean. If ever there was a dime-novel, story-book pirate it was he—Blackbeard.” “Hurrah! I was hoping you’d tell us about him!” cried Jack. “Was he really as bad as the stories make out?” “A great deal worse,” Mr. Bickford assured him. “No imagination could invent anything to equal Blackbeard’s innate deviltry. “He combined all the worst traits of every buccaneer and pirate who ever lived. He was a double-dyed, out-and-out rascal; a ruffian, a thug and a brutal, inhuman bully. The most despicable buccaneer who ever raided a Spanish town or boarded a galleon would have despised him, for he held no shred of honor or principle; he cheated his friends and his own men and was a veritable monster in human form. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that he was courageous; that he never shirked danger; that he never asked or expected his men to go where he would not lead, and, moreover, he was a most striking and picturesque rascal.” “I saw somewhere that he had a castle in St. Thomas,” said Fred, as Mr. Bickford paused to refresh his memory with data from a book on the table. “Did he live there, Uncle Henry?”