Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) * * * * * TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at the end of the text. * * * * * THE BUCCANEER. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET: BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; J. CUMMING, DUBLIN. 1840. London: Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE. New-Street-Square. * * * * * STANDARD NOVELS. N^{o} LXXIX. "No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by the many than graver productions, however important these latter may be. Apuleius is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by his abstruser Platonic writings; and the Decameron of BOCCACCIO has outlived the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author." * * * * * [Illustration: THE BUCCANEER. The Protector instantly exclaimed "Guards! what ho! without there!" Five or six rushed into the room and laid hands upon Robin. _J. Cowse, pinxt. W. Greatbatch, sc._ London. Published by Richard Bentley. 1840.] THE BUCCANEER, A Tale BY Mrs S. C. Hall. [Illustration: _Kneeling on a high-backed and curiously carved chair, which he leaned over pulpit-fashion, was seen the lean, lanky figure of Fleetword._] LONDON, _RICHARD BENTLEY,_ _NEW BURLINGTON STREET,_ CUMMING, DUBLIN, BELL & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH, 1840. THE BUCCANEER. A TALE. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. Stay! methinks I see A person in yond cave. Who should that bee? I know her ensignes now--'tis Chivalrie Possess'd with sleepe, dead as a lethargie; If any charme will wake her, 'tis the name Of our Meliadus! I'll use his Fame. BEN JONSON. REVISED BY THE AUTHOR. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET: BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; J. CUMMING, DUBLIN. 1840. THE BUCCANEER. CHAPTER I. With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves, Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, She seems a sea wasp flying on the waves. DRYDEN.