(_South Carolina, 1718_)
I
Antony Evans was rowing slowly round the southern point of Charles Town,
the bow of his boat pointing out across the broad expanse of water that
lay to the east. It was early morning of a bright summer day, and the
harbor looked very inviting, the breeze freshening it with little
dancing waves of deep blue, tipped with silver, and bringing the salt
fragrance of the ocean to the sunlit town. Deep woods ringed the bay;
here and there tall, stately palmettos standing out on little headlands,
looking like sentries stationed along the shore to keep all enemies
away.
Antony loosened his shirt at the throat and rolled his sleeves higher up
on his sunburned arms. He had finished school a few days before, and was
to have a fortnight's holiday before starting work in his father's
warehouse. He loved the water, the two rivers that held his home-town in
their wide-stretched arms; the little creeks that wound into the
wilderness, teeming with fish and game; the wide bay, and the open
ocean. His idea of a holiday was to fish or swim, row or sail, and he
meant to spend every day of his vacation on the water. In the bow of his
boat was a tin box, and in that box were bread and cold meat and cake,
and a bottle of milk--his lunch, and possibly his supper too.
Slowly the town receded across the gleaming water. It grew smaller and
smaller as Antony watched it from his boat, until it looked to him like
a mere handful of toy houses instead of the largest settlement in His
Majesty's colony of South Carolina. He half-shut his eyes and rested on
his oars, letting the wind and the waves gently rock his boat. Now
Charles Town became a mere point, a spot of color on the long, level
stretch of green. He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the
wide expanse of blue. Then he pulled toward the southern shore, planning
to follow it for a time. There would be more shade there as the sun grew
warmer.
The depths of the woods looked very cool and inviting as he rowed along
close to them. Great festoons of gray moss hung from the boughs of the
live-oaks, festoons that were pink or pale lavender where the sun shone
on them. He paddled along slowly, letting the water drip from the blades
of his oars, until the town had disappeared around the curve of the
forest and he was alone with the waves and the trees.
The sun, almost directly overhead, and his appetite, presently suggested
to him that it was time for lunch. He chose a little bay with a sandy
beach, and running his boat aground, landed, carrying the precious tin
box with him. There was a comfortable mossy seat under a big palmetto,
and here he ate part of his provisions, and then, rolling his coat into
a pillow, prepared to take a nap. The air was full of spices from the
woods, warm and sleep-beguiling; he had slept an hour before he waked,
stretched his rested muscles, and went back to the boat.
He had a mind to do a little exploring along this southern shore. The
water was smooth, and he felt like rowing. Rapidly he traveled along the
shore, peering into bays and inlets, covering long stretches of thick
forest, while the sun made his westward journey, the air grew cooler,
and the shade stretched farther across the sea. There would be a moon to
see him home again, and he was weatherwise enough to know that he had
nothing to fear from the wind.
The sun was almost setting when the rowboat rounded a wooded point and
swung into a bay. Antony was following the shore-line, so he did not
bother to look around, but pulled steadily ahead, keeping about the same
distance from the bank. Then, to his great surprise, a voice directly
ahead hailed him. "Look where you're going, son! Ease up a bit on your
oars, and you'll get to us without bumping."
He looked around and saw three men fishing from a boat. They must have
kept very quiet not to have attracted his attention. He slowed the
speed of his boat by dragging his oars in the water, but even so he
swept pretty close to the fishermen, and one of them, with a quick turn
of his own oar, brought the larger boat side-on to Antony's.
"Pull in your oar," the man ordered. To avoid a collision Antony obeyed.
The man caught the gunwale of Antony's boat, bringing the two side by
side.
All three of the men were grinning. "Well, now, lad," said the man at
the oars, "where were ye bound at such a pace? Going to row across the
ocean or down to St. Augustine? Bound out from Charles Town, weren't
ye?"
Antony smiled. "I was doing a little exploring," he answered. "I didn't
know there were any fishermen down along here."
The man's grin widened. "Ye didn't, eh? Well, there's quite a lot of us
fishermen down along here. Take a look." He gestured over his shoulder
with his thumb. Antony turned and saw that at the other end of the bay
were a number of boats, men on the beach, and that the hull and spars of
a good-sized ship stood out beyond the trees of the next headland.
The man in the bow of the other boat, a slim, dark fellow with a
straggling black mustache, pulled in his fishing-line. "An' now you've
done your exploring, you'll make us a little visit. It wouldn't do to go
right back to Charles Town to-night." He stood up, and with the agility
of a cat stepped from his boat to Antony's and sat down on the
stern-seat.
Antony had plenty of nerve, but somehow neither the words of the man at
the oars nor the performance of the dark fellow was altogether
reassuring. The two men now in the other boat were big swarthy chaps,
with many strange designs tattooed on their brawny arms; and the one who
sat in the stern wore gilded earrings and had a good-sized sheath-knife
fastened to his belt. They didn't look like the men he was used to
seeing about Charles Town.
They weren't disagreeable, however. The man at the oars gave Antony's
boat a slight shove, which sent them some distance apart, and then
dropped his fishing-line into the water again. "See you two later," he
said, still grinning. "Keep an eye on the lad, Nick."
Nick sat leaning forward, his arms on his knees, his black eyes
twinkling at Antony. "Don't you be feared of this nest," said he. "I
don't say that some mightn't well be, but not a lively young limb like
you. What's your name?"
Antony told him. "And why might some be afraid?" he asked, his curiosity
rising.
"Because," said Nick, "that sloop round the point belongs to old man
Teach, and she flies a most uncommon flag at her masthead."
"Blackbeard!" exclaimed the boy, his eyes wide with surprise and sudden
fear.
"Now don't be scared," said Nick. "Some do call him Blackbeard, but he
don't make trouble if he's handled right."
"They said he was down around the Indies, after Spanish ships," said
Antony.
"He's been in a good many places," said the other. "Spanish galleys pay
well, but trade's trade, wherever you find it."
This Nick was a pleasant fellow, with nothing piratical-looking about
him, unless you considered the skull and crossbones tattooed on his
right forearm as a sign of his trade. He smiled in a very friendly
fashion. "We've got a little matter on hand now that brings us up to
Charles Town. Some of the crew's sick, and we want drugs and other
things for 'em." He chuckled, as though the notion was amusing. "Pirates
get sick just like other folks sometimes," he added. He pointed to the
beach ahead of him. "Row us up there, Tony."
There was nothing for Antony to do but obey, and somewhat assured by the
mild manner of Nick, he pulled at his oars until the boat grounded in
shallow water. "Don't mind a little wetting, do ye?" said Nick, stepping
over the side. Antony followed, and they drew the boat high and dry on
the shore. "Come along," said Nick, and he turned to lead the way.
[Illustration: NICK TURNED TO LEAD THE WAY]
Men were working on a couple of overturned skiffs, men were lounging
about doing nothing, men who looked nowise different from the fellows
Antony saw in his own town. They paid no particular attention to him,
and Nick led him along the shore through the woods that covered the
headland, and out on the other side. Here was a snug harbor, with a
good-sized ship at anchor, men on the shore and more men on the ship's
deck.
Nick shoved a small boat into the water, motioned to Antony to climb in,
and with a few strokes brought them to the ship's side. He made the boat
fast, and climbed a short rope-ladder to the deck. "Don't be scared," he
muttered; "he don't eat boys." He led the way to where a stocky man with
a heavy black beard sat in a chair smoking a long pipe.
"Here's a lad," said Nick, nodding to the chief, "we picked up as he was
rowing down along the coast from Charles Town. He wanted a taste of salt
air, and something better to do than what he'd been doing. And we didn't
want him to go back home and tell what he'd seen down here."
Blackbeard was certainly black, and there was a scar on one side of his
face that didn't add to the beauty of his appearance, but he wasn't
ferocious-looking, not as fierce in fact as several men Antony knew at
home. He puffed at his pipe a minute before he spoke.
"We're going up to the town to-morrow morning," he said. "What's the
talk about us there?"
"They thought you were chasing Spanish ships from Cuba and St.
Augustine," answered Antony, "and I think they were pretty glad you were
doing it."
"They were, eh?" snorted Blackbeard. "That's always the way of it!
Fight the enemy and you're a hero, but don't for the love of Heaven come
near us. Smooth-faced rascals all! Keep an eye on him, Nick," and he
jerked his head to show that the audience was over.
"Not so terrible, was he?" said Nick, as they went aft. "Now I'll show
you some folks you know." They came to the window of the cabin, and he
indicated that he wanted Antony to look inside. Half a dozen men and a
couple of small boys were in the cabin, a most disconsolate-looking lot.
To his great surprise Antony recognized the nearest as Mr. Samuel Wragg,
a prominent merchant of Charles Town. The faces of all the others were
familiar to him. "What's Mr. Wragg doing there?" he demanded. "He isn't
a pirate, too?"
"No, he's no pirate," chuckled Nick. "He's what you might call a
hostage. You see, all that merry-looking crowd sailed from your town a
few days ago, bound for England, but we met their ship when she reached
the bar and we asked 'em to come on board us. Thought we might be able
to accommodate 'em better, you see. We overhauled eight ships within a
week out there, and that's pretty good business, better than what we've
done with your Spanish Dons lately. But there's no denying the Dons do
carry the richer cargoes."
"And what are you going to do with them?" asked Antony.
"That's for old Teach, the chief there, to make out. I've a notion your
friend Mr. Wragg and the others in there are going to help us get that
store of drugs and supplies I was telling you of. Let's be going ashore.
I don't want those mates of mine to eat all the fresh fish before we get
back to 'em."
Blackbeard's men--pirates and desperadoes though they were--seemed no
rougher to Antony than any other seafaring men he had met at Charles
Town. They carried more pistols and knives perhaps than such men, but
though he listened eagerly he heard no strange ear-splitting oaths nor
frightening tales of evil deeds they had committed. Nick looked after
him almost like an older brother, saw that he had plenty to eat, helped
him gather up wood for the fire they lighted on the shore after supper.
There were a number of these small fires, each with a group of
swarthy-faced men round it. As Big Bill, the man who had first hailed
Antony and caught the gunwale of his boat, explained, "Blackbeard's men
were glad to stretch their legs ashore whenever they got the chance."
Their pipes lighted, the pirates sat about the campfires as the moon
flooded the sea with sparkling silver. Nick told Antony how he had run
away from his English home in Devon when he was a boy, and had shipped
on board a merchantman out of Bristol. He had followed the sea year in,
year out, until one day the captain of his ship had suddenly given up
being a peaceful merchantman and had begun to hold up and rob any
well-laden vessels he happened to meet. There was more profit in such a
life, he said, and a great deal more excitement. Then he went on to tell
Antony that many great sea-captains had really been pirates, and that
both the people in England and the American colonists really liked the
pirates as long as they preyed on Spanish commerce and the ships of
enemies. King Charles the Second of England, he said, though he
pretended to frown on piracy, had actually made Morgan, the greatest
pirate of them all, a knight, and appointed him governor of his island
of Jamaica. "In most seaport towns," said Nick, "the townsfolk are glad
enough to have us walk their streets, spend our Mexican doubloons, and
sell them the silks and wine we bring in, without asking any questions
about where we got 'em. We're as good as any other traders then; maybe
better, because we don't haggle so over a bargain. But when we hold up
one o' their own precious ships they sing a song about us from t'other
side their mouths."
So he talked on, boastfully enough, about the doings of the sea-rovers;
but the boy, listening intently, thought that every now and then it
sounded as if the dark man were making excuses for himself and his
mates.
The fires burned down, and most of the men hunted soft beds under the
forest trees. The summer night was warm, and the air was fresher here
than in the close bunks on the ship. Big Bill and Nick and Antony found
a comfortable place for themselves. "You might take it into your head to
run away," said Nick, "but Big Bill and I always sleep with one eye
open, and there's a couple of men by the boats that'll see anything
stirring, and there's a big marsh through the woods, so you'll do better
to stay where you be. And if they should catch you trying to take French
leave, I'm afraid they'd put you in that stuffy cabin along with your
friend Mr. Wragg and the others. So my advice to ye is, get a good
night's sleep."
Antony took the advice so far as lying still went, though it was not
nearly so easy to fall asleep. He watched the moon through the
tree-tops, he listened to the lapping of the water on the shore, and he
thought how strange it was that he should actually be a prisoner of the
pirates. He thought of his father and mother and hoped they weren't
worried about him; he had stayed away from home overnight before,
camping out in the woods, and probably they wouldn't begin to worry
about him until next day. Then he fell asleep, and when he woke the sun
was rising over the water, and the woods were full of the early morning
songs of birds.
"Yeo ho for a swim!" cried Nick, jumping up. He and Antony plunged into
the water, swam for half an hour, came out and lay in the sun, drying
off, put on their clothes, and went on board the ship, where, in the
galley, they found the cooks had breakfast ready.
Soon afterward there was work to be done preparatory to weighing
anchor. The small boats were brought on board, the crew set the sails,
orders rang from bow to stern. Blackbeard was no longer a quiet man
smoking a pipe in a chair. He was very alert and active, overseeing
everything, and when he snapped out a word, or even jerked his thumb
this way or that, men jumped to do his bidding. The anchor was hoisted
aboard, the ship slowly turned from her harbor and sought the channel.
With a fresh favoring wind the ship set in toward Charles Town. Antony,
on the forward deck with Nick, watched the shore-line until the bright
roofs of the little settlement began to stand out from the green and
blue. Farther and farther on Blackbeard sailed until they were in full
view of the town. Then he called a half-dozen men by name, among them
Nick, and gave them his orders. "Man the long-boat," said he, "and row
ashore. Send this note to the governor. It's a list of drugs I want for
my crew. And tell the governor and Council that if the drugs don't come
back to me in three hours I'll send another boat ashore with the heads
of Samuel Wragg and his son and a dozen other men of Charles Town. Their
heads or the drugs! Look to the priming of your pistols." Blackbeard was
a man of few words, but every word he spoke told.
As the others swung the long-boat overboard Nick stepped up to the
chief. "I'll take the boy along," said he. "He might help us ashore, as
he knows the people there." Blackbeard nodded.
An idea occurred to Antony, and whispering to Nick, he darted to the
galley. He found a scrap of paper there, and scrawled a couple of lines
to his father, saying he was well, and begging his parents not to worry
about him. As he ran back by the cabin he couldn't help glancing in at
the window, and saw Samuel Wragg and the other prisoners whispering
together, their frightened faces seeming to show that they had heard
what was in the wind, and knew that Blackbeard meant to have their heads
in case their friends in Charles Town should refuse to let him have the
drugs he wanted.
The long-boat was now manned and floating lightly on the bay. At a word
from Nick, Antony swung himself over the side of the ship by a rope and
dropped into the boat, "You steer us," said Nick, "and mind you don't
get us into any trouble, or overboard you go as sure as my name's
Nicholas Carter."
The harbor was smooth as glass and the long-boat, pulled by its lusty
crew, shot along rapidly. Nick was pulling the stroke oar, and presently
Antony, who sat opposite him, took the little note he had written from
his pocket. "If you go ashore, won't you give this paper to somebody?"
he begged. "My father's name's on the outside, and everybody knows him.
It'll make his mind easier about me."
Nick bobbed his head. "Slip it into my pocket," he murmured, nodding to
where his jacket lay on the bottom of the boat.
The town was right before them now, its quays busy with the usual
morning life of the water-front. To Antony, however, it seemed that more
men and boys than usual were standing there, some watching the
long-boat, and others looking past her at the big ship far down the bay.
He saw faces he knew, he saw men staring at him wonderingly, he even
felt rather proud at the strange position he had so unexpectedly fallen
into.
"Easy now, mates," sang out Nick, looking over his shoulder at the near
water-front. He gave a few orders, and the long-boat swung gently up to
an empty float, and he and the man next to him, slipping on their
jackets and making sure that their pistols slid easily from their belts,
stepped lightly to the float.
By now a large crowd had gathered on the shore, all staring at the
strangers. Nick and his fellow-pirate, cool as cucumbers, walked up the
plank that led from the float to the dock. There Nick made a little
mocking bow to the men and boys of Charles Town. "Who's governor here?"
he demanded, with the assurance of an envoy from some mighty state.