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Hiram White had suffered quite a financial loss some six months before, through that very Blueskin who was now lurking in Indian River inlet. He had entered into a “venture” with Josiah Shippin, a Philadelphia merchant, to the tune of seven hundred pounds sterling. The money had been invested in a cargo of flour and corn meal which had been shipped to Jamaica by the bark Nancy Lee. The Nancy Lee had been captured by the pirates off Currituck Sound, the crew set adrift in the longboat, and the bark herself and all her cargo burned to the water’s edge.

Five hundred of the seven hundred pounds invested in the unfortunate “venture” was money bequeathed by Hiram’s father, seven years before, to Levi West.

Eleazer White had been twice married, the second time to the widow West. She had brought with her to her new home a good-looking, long-legged, black-eyed, black-haired ne’er-do-well of a son, a year or so younger than Hiram. He was a shrewd, quick-witted lad, idle, shiftless, willful, ill-trained perhaps, but as bright and keen as a pin. He was the very opposite to poor, dull Hiram. Eleazer White had never loved his son; he was ashamed of the poor, slack-witted oaf. Upon the other hand, he was very fond of Levi West, whom he always called “our Levi,” and whom he treated in every way as though he were his own son. He tried to train the lad to work in the mill, and was patient beyond what the patience of most fathers would have been with his stepson’s idleness and shiftlessness. “Never mind,” he was used to say. “Levi ‘ll come all right. Levi’s as bright as a button.”

It was one of the greatest blows of the old miller’s life when Levi ran away to sea. In his last sickness the old man’s mind constantly turned to his lost stepson. “Mebby he’ll come back again,” said he, “and if he does I want you to be good to him, Hiram. I’ve done my duty by you and have left you the house and mill, but I want you to promise that if Levi comes back again you’ll give him a home and a shelter under this roof if he wants one.” And Hiram had promised to do as his father asked.

After Eleazer died it was found that he had bequeathed five hundred pounds to his “beloved stepson, Levi West,” and had left Squire Hall as trustee.

Levi West had been gone nearly nine years and not a word had been heard from him; there could be little or no doubt that he was dead.

One day Hiram came into Squire Hall’s office with a letter in his hand. It was the time of the old French war, and flour and corn meal were fetching fabulous prices in the British West Indies. The letter Hiram brought with him was from a Philadelphia merchant, Josiah Shippin, with whom he had had some dealings. Mr. Shippin proposed that Hiram should join him in sending a “venture” of flour and corn meal to Kingston, Jamaica. Hiram had slept upon the letter overnight and now he brought it to the old Squire. Squire Hall read the letter, shaking his head the while. “Too much risk, Hiram!” said he. “Mr Shippin wouldn’t have asked you to go into this venture if he could have got anybody else to do so. My advice is that you let it alone. I reckon you’ve come to me for advice?” Hiram shook his head. “Ye haven’t? What have ye come for, then?”

“Seven hundred pounds,” said Hiram.

“Seven hundred pounds!” said Squire Hall. “I haven’t got seven hundred pounds to lend you, Hiram.”

“Five hundred been left to Levi–I got hundred–raise hundred more on mortgage,” said Hiram.

“Tut, tut, Hiram,” said Squire Hall, “that’ll never do in the world. Suppose Levi West should come back again, what then? I’m responsible for that money. If you wanted to borrow it now for any reasonable venture, you should have it and welcome, but for such a wildcat scheme–“