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‘Haul down the colors!’ exclaimed the captain the second time, and as he spoke in a stern, loud tone of voice, which precluded all misunderstanding, the first lieutenant, for the first time ventured an answer in the following words:

‘Captain Rowland, I must own that I am at a loss to perceive the necessity of hauling down our colors, when we have twice the number of guns possessed by the brig, which would, in case of a conflict, enable us easily to save the ship as well as our own lives.’

‘I believe this ship is under my command and not yours, Mr. Howe,’ replied Rowland, coolly, ‘and I alone am responsible for her safety. Again, sir, I order you to haul down the colors.’

There was something in the cold, calm, passionless manner of Rowland, which awed the lieutenant into compliance, notwithstanding he was naturally a brave man, and he therefore walked forward and repeated to one of the men the captain’s order, which a moment afterwards was sullenly obeyed, then a shout of exultation rose up from the crew of the piratical brig, whilst a gun was fired in triumph as her commander prepared to board the ship which had been so ingloriously placed without a struggle within his grasp.

By the time the boat was lowered from the brig, she had ranged up so near the side of the ship, as rendered easy to distinguish from the deck of each the countenances of those on board the other, and as the Earl of Derwentwater and Arthur Huntington, (who had boarded the ship almost unperceived at the time of her surrender,) gazed upon the dark swarthy forms which crowded the sides of the brig, the former suddenly exclaimed–

‘Gracious Heaven, Arthur,–yonder on that strange vessel’s deck stands Ellen Armstrong with that villain who calls himself the Pirate of the Roanoke close by her side.’

‘It cannot be,–where is she?’ exclaimed Arthur, involuntarily. ‘Thank God, I see her,’ he exclaimed, after gazing a moment upon the brig’s deck. Another minute elapsed and he was in the water, before any one could anticipate, much less prevent his movements, making towards the piratical brig, which, (as he was an excellent swimmer,) he managed to reach, and he soon found himself by the side of sweet Ellen Armstrong whom he thus addressed:

‘Good God! Ellen, how came you here!’

‘Arthur!’ exclaimed Ellen, faintly,–but she said no more, though Blackbeard answered his query as follows:

‘What rashness, young man, caused you to come here?’

‘I have come here,’ replied Arthur, ‘with all the calmness of desperation, to rescue this young lady or die in the attempt.’

‘What an uncommonly heroic young gentleman you must be,’ responded Blackbeard, satirically, ‘to attempt unarmed, and single-handed, the rescue of a young girl from the midst of a hundred armed men. You must certainly be either moon-struck or love-cracked.’

‘And you must be a cold-blooded, heartless villain,’ exclaimed Arthur, irritated beyond endurance at the scorching irony of the pirate’s tone.

‘Those are words, young man, which only your life-blood can atone for,’ exclaimed the pirate, as he drew a pistol from his belt, and presented it to the young man’s breast. ‘Die, upstart, die!’

‘Rather let me die,’ exclaimed sweet Ellen Armstrong, as, quicker than thought, she sprang between the murderous weapon and Arthur’s person.

The pirate fired, but the ball did not take effect, and was about to present his second pistol, when he suddenly stopped, and thus addressed a portion of his comrades, who had in meantime gathered round this strange scene.

‘Some of you take these two fools below, and confine them in separate apartments until I can attend to the hanging of them.’

Immediately upon the reception of this order, Ellen was dragged by the rough hands of two piratical officers into the brig’s cabin, where she was locked up in a small state room, whilst Arthur Huntington, was heavily ironed and confined in the steerage. As the fair Ellen sat in her narrow prison, brooding in mute despair over the horrid scenes she had just passed through, she covered her face with her hands and faintly murmured,