



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]



[Illustration: "_HARRY'S BLOOD WAS UP._"  p. 12]




                              CARRIED OFF

                       _A STORY OF PIRATE TIMES_


                                   BY
                              ESME STUART


              AUTHOR OF 'FOR HALF-A-CROWN' 'THE LAST HOPE'
                        'THE WHITE CHAPEL' ETC.



                  _WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS_




                                 LONDON
                     NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY
                      BROAD SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
             NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE
                                  1888




                                  _TO_
                          _CLARISSA AND JOHN_


_I dedicate this story, knowing they are already fond of travelling.
They may be glad to hear that the chief events in it are true, and are
taken out of an old book written more than two hundred years ago.  Yet
they may now safely visit the West Indies without fear of being made
prisoners by the much dreaded Buccaneers._

_E.S._



                        [_All rights reserved_]




                                CONTENTS

CHAPTER


      I. THE SACRIFICE
     II. CAPTURED
    III. A BEAUTIFUL ISLAND
     IV. THE PIRATES ARE COMING
      V. THE SCOUTS
     VI. HATCHING A PLOT
    VII. TREACHERY
   VIII. A BRAVE DEFENCE
     IX. IMPRISONED
      X. A FELLOW-COUNTRYMAN
     XI. THE SECRET PASSAGE
    XII. A NEW EXPEDITION
   XIII. THE ESCAPE
    XIV. DEFENCE TILL DEATH
     XV. IN THE WOODS
    XVI. WAITING FOR LUCK
   XVII. DISCOVERED
  XVIII. HUNTING A FUGITIVE
    XIX. IN A LONELY SPOT
     XX. SAVED
    XXI. A BAG OF GOLD




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


'HARRY'S BLOOD WAS UP'

CARLO REFUSED ADMISSION (missing from book)

CARLO BEFORE CAPTAIN MORGAN

'SHALL WE LAND?' (missing from book)




                              CARRIED OFF.



                               CHAPTER I.

                             THE SACRIFICE.


It was a beautiful warm spring evening, and as the sun sank slowly in
the west it illuminated with quivering golden light the calm waters that
surrounded green, marshy Canvey Island, which lies opposite South
Benfleet, in the estuary of the Thames.

Harry Fenn had just come out of church, and, as was often his wont, he
ran up a slight hill, and, shading his eyes, looked intently out towards
Canvey and then yet more to his left, where Father Thames clasps hands
with the ocean.

The eminence on which young fair-haired Harry stood was the site of a
strong castle, built long ago by Haesten, the Danish rover, in which he
stowed away Saxon spoil and Saxon prisoners, till King Alfred came down
upon him, pulled down the rover's fortress, seized his wife and his two
sons, and relieved the neighbourhood of this Danish scourge.  How often,
indeed, had the peaceful inhabitants trembled at the sight of the sea
robber's narrow war-vessels creeping up the creek in search of plunder!

Harry, however, was not thinking of those ancient days; his whole soul
and mind was in the present, in vague longings for action; full, too, of
young inquisitiveness as to the future, especially his own future, so
that he forgot why he had come to this spot, and did not even hear the
approach of the Rev. Mr. Aylett, who, having been listening to a tale of
distress from one of his parishioners at the end of the evening service,
had now come to enjoy the view from Haesten's hill.  As he walked slowly
towards the immovable form of the boy, he could not help being struck by
the lad's graceful outline; the lithe, yet strongly built figure, the
well-balanced head, now thrown back as the eyes sought the distant
horizon; whilst the curly fair locks appeared to have been dashed
impatiently aside, and now were just slightly lifted by the evening
breeze; for Harry Fenn held his cap in his hand as he folded his arms
across his chest.  He might have stood for the model of a young Apollo
had any artist been by, but art and artists were unknown things in South
Benfleet at that time.

Mr. Aylett shook his head as he walked towards the lad, even though a
smile of pleasure parted his lips as he noted the comeliness of his
young parishioner, whom he now addressed.

'Well, Harry, my boy, what may be the thoughts which are keeping you so
unusually still?'  Harry started and blushed like a girl, and yet his
action was simple enough.

'Indeed, sir, I did not hear you.  I--I came here to have a look at our
cows down on the marsh. Father----'

Mr. Aylett laughed good-humouredly.

'Am I to believe that that earnest look is all on account of the cattle,
Harry?'  Harry felt at this moment as if he had told a lie, and had been
found out by Mr. Aylett, who was so good and clever that he could
almost, nay, sometimes did, tell one's thoughts.

'No, sir;' then, with a winning smile, the lad added, 'in truth I had
forgotten all about the cattle.  I was dreaming of----'

'Of the future, Harry.  Listen, did not those same thoughts run thus?
That it is dull work staying at home on the farm; that some of thy
relations in past days had famous times in our civil wars, and went to
battle and fought for the King, and that some even had been settlers in
