s gait. He was stout-bodied and the heat of the day oppressed him. Mopping his face with a lace handkerchief or fanning himself with his hat, he halted now and then in a shady spot. Very mindful of his rank and dignity was Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes, sometime London barrister, at present Secretary to the Council of the Province.
He differed from some of his neighbors in that he abominated pirates and would have given them short shift. A trifle near-sighted, he was quite close to the tavern before he espied his own nephew and ward, Jack Cockrell, in this shameful company of roisterers. The august uncle blinked, opened his mouth, and turned as red as a lobster. Indignation choked his speech. For his part, Jack stood dumfounded and quaking, the picture of a coward with a guilty conscience. He would have tried to steal from sight but it was too late.
Captain Stede Bonnet enjoyed the tableau and several of his wicked sailors were mimicking the pompous strut of Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes. Poor Jack mu
This writing kept me (70yrs old) quite encouraged to read on... and on... and on. It was interesting and well written. My thanks for publishing it. The old English might turn some the other way, but those who enjoy it are not hampered in the least. You have preserved the flavor and textyre of the original writing very well, which I appreciate. I would not have had the financial resources to have had this pleasure of reading.
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