much applause, but my Lord Sympson, an
ambitious, and, at that moment, somewhat intoxicated
person, swore that in his opinion they
had made a foul choice— yet, after all, it
mattered little who was chosen, so it wasn't a
Papist; and, his religious scruples having been
set at rest, he staggered sulkily away.

Mr. Roberts was then called in, and having
been duly informed of the honour conferred on
him, accepted it in a speech of much modesty,
but of doubtful compliment: concluding that,
"Since he had dipt his hands in muddy water,
and must go a-pirating, 'twas better being a
commander than a common man."

The new captain's success bade fair to eclipse
that of his predecessor, and he was yet in the
full tide of prosperity, when my Lord Walter
Kennedy— a turbulent peer, who acted as first
mate— availed himself of the temporary absence
of his chief to make off with the ship and
treasure. His lordship, however, whose early
education had been confided to an eminent
pickpocket, possessed so little skill in navigation,
that he quickly lost influence with his men, and,
the company breaking up, my lord, with a few
followers, made sail for the Irish Channel. Here,
they encountered such severe storms, that, so
far from making prizes, they had the utmost
difficulty in preserving their own precious lives.
At length, they made the north-west coast of
Scotland, ran their vessel ashore in a small
estuary, and landing, marched up the country.
Betrayed by their own riotous roaring manners,
seventeen of the number were presently lodged
in gaol: nine of whom were afterwards hanged.
Lord Kennedy, with one attendant, escaped for
the time, but imprudently venturing to London,
was recognised by the mate of a plundered ship,
and committed to the Marshalsea.

Nothing now remained to the persecuted
noble but to turn king's evidence; he accordingly
lost not a moment in denouncing some fifteen of
his most intimate and particular friends.
Unluckily, he was not able to give their addresses,
and, one only being taken (who was acquitted),
my lord was himself arraigned, and made his last
public appearance, amidst a large concourse of
uusympathising persons, on the nineteenth of
July, seventeen-hundred and twenty-one.

To return to our true hero, Captain Roberts.
That energetic officer, losing no time in weak
regrets, at once reorganised his band, supplied
himself with a fresh ship, and went to work
again as vigorously as ever. We may not follow
him step by step, but must jump at once to the
crowning exploit of his illustrious career.

What gallant stranger is this, gliding into
Whydab Roads, with the ensign of St. George,
a black silk flag at his mizen-peak, and a jack
and pennant of the same? The flag hath a death
in it, with an hour-glass in one hand and
crossbones in the other; and underneath, a heart,
dropping three drops of blood.

Here are eleven sail in the road— of all
nations, some carrying thirty guns; but one glance
at the black silk flag is enough for them. All strike,
and pay different amounts of ransom. The ceremony
is presided over by a gallant figure, dressed
in a rich crimson damask waistcoat and breeches,
a red feather in his hat, a gold chain round his
neck with a diamond cross appended to it, a
sword in his hand, and two pair of pistols at the
end of a silk sling, flung over his shoulders. The
receipt he gives, is as follows:

"This is to certify whom it doth or doth not
concern, that we, GENTLEMEN OF FORTUNE, have
received—— pounds of gold-dust, for ransom of the
——, Captain—— , so that we discharge the said
ship."

It is signed by two noble lords— Sutton and
Sympson— who, however, being in a waggish
mood, prefer subscribing themselves by the
names of
                   " AARON WHIFFLINGPEN,
                   " SIMON TUGMUTTON,"
which is held not to invalidate the instrument,
but rather to legalise it, as showing the perfect
good will and humour with which the whole
affair was conducted.

This was his last adventure:

     Here ends thy glory, here the fates untwine
     The last bright remnant of so fair a line.

From that dayforth, the avenger— in the shape
of his majesty's ships Swallow and Weymouth
dogged his every step, until, on the morning of
the tenth of February, as Captain Roberts is at
breakfast in his cabin, in company with a
gentleman whose vessel he has just captured— the
meal being composed of a savoury dish of
"Solomon Gundy," and some of the prisoner's beer—
the king's cruiser suddenly rounds the Cape.
The greater part of the crew are drunk,
passively courageous, unfit for service.
Notwithstanding, the dauntless rover, in pursuance of a
hastily-arranged plan, steers straight for the
man-of-war, receives and returns her fire, and then,
hoisting his black flag, shoots away with all the
sail he can pack. The helmsman is unsteady,
the ship is taken aback, and the enemy is again
at hand. At this critical moment, a grape-shot
struck the rover in the throat. He settled
himself on the tackles of a gun, which one Stephenson
observing, ran to his assistance; but, not
seeing his hurt, swore at him, and bade him stand
up and fight like a man. However, when he
found his captain was certainly dead, he gushed
into tears, and wished the next shot might be
his lot. They presently threw him overboard,
with his arms and ornaments on, as he had
ordered in his lifetime.

Roberts was one of the latest of his type of
sea-ranger. The peace of Ryswick, which laid
up the privateer, deprived many an honest thief
of the only means of livelihood he had taught
himself to relish. " A merry life, and a short
one," might still be his motto; but if it were
merry, it was also unquestionably short; for the
police of the seas was vindicating itself, and the
pirate no longer possessed a single haven that
he could call his own. Some petty buccaneering,
hardly deserving of the name, continued,
however, to be done; and, oddly enough, our own
well-guarded coasts were generally the scene;