“You forget,” his father reminded him, “that they were no longer buccaneers in the true sense of the word. They had degenerated to common pirates and attacked any ship they met, except British, and they were not by any means overpunctilious in that respect. Early in the eighteenth century,—soon after the Cygnet’s wreck, in fact?—Madagascar became a favorite pirates’ lair and they even set up an independent kingdom, or rather republic, there. Had they possessed a leader such as Morgan, Mansvelt or Sharp, no doubt they would have maintained a colony which might have established British dominion over a vast area, but they were always quarreling among themselves and never succeeded in anything for long.” “But what became of them all?” asked Fred. “They never seemed to get killed off or hung.” “Some settled down in the West Indies, others in England or Europe and others in the American colonies, and led respectable lives under fictitious names among people who never suspected who they were. At times, though, they were recognized, brought to trial or hung or managed to slip away and find new homes. Many a well-to-do planter in the West Indies; many a wealthy merchant and shipowner in the New England colonies, made the beginnings of his fortune by pirating. And many of them, of whom the world never hears, led most romantic and adventurous lives. For example, there was Red Legs. He was a most picturesque character—not a pirate by choice, but by force of circumstances, and I’m happy to say that he eventually became a highly respected and charitable man. Indeed, I have actually stopped in the house he built and occupied after he gave up piracy.” “Oh, do tell about him!” cried Jack. “Gee—that’s a great name—Red Legs! I’ll bet he was a peach of a pirate.” “He was,” asserted Mr. Bickford, with a smile. “But I must pass over his career very briefly, for there were many other interesting buccaneers and pirates I have not mentioned as yet. “Red Legs was originally a slave—one of those unfortunates who were taken during Cromwell’s time, and, because they wore kilts—being Irish and Scotch, they were nicknamed ‘red-legs.’ At that time it was customary to ship prisoners and malefactors as slaves to the West Indies, where they were sold for fifteen hundred pounds of sugar each. They were marked or branded like cattle, compelled to labor with the blacks and were treated far more cruelly than the negro slaves. Many of them were shipped to Barbados and their descendants may still be seen there and are still called ‘red-legs.’ A few have become well-to-do, but the majority are miserable, ragged, degenerate folk who have never recovered from the effects of their ancestors’ servitude.