THE MERCHANT TRADER, _PLYMOUTH ADVENTURE_
RUBBING his ear which Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes had soundly boxed
before releasing him, Jack marched along in gloomy silence until he was
conducted into his small, unplastered room. His uncle stalked out and
shot the ponderous bolt behind him. Passing through the kitchen, he
halted to scold the black cook as a lazy slattern and then sat himself
down to a lonely meal. Jack was a problem which the finicky, middle-aged
bachelor had been unable to solve. He had undertaken the care of the boy
after his parents had died in the same week of a mysterious fever which
ravaged the settlement. The uncle failed to realize how fast this
strapping youngster was growing into manhood. He disliked punishing him
and was usually unhappy after one of these stormy episodes.
Mr. Peter Forbes pecked at his dinner with little appetite and his plump
face was clouded. Shoving back his chair, he paced the floor in a
fidgety manner and, at length, opened the door of Jack's room. The
hungry prisoner was lounging upon a wooden settle, his chin in his hand,
while he sullenly stared at the wall. Always mindful of his manners, he
slowly rose to his feet and waited for another scolding.
"I wish we might avoid such scenes as these, Jack," sadly observed Uncle
Peter, his hot temper cooled. "No sooner do you leave my sight than some
new mischief is afoot."
"You do not understand, sir," impatiently protested the nephew. "In your
eyes I am still the urchin who came out from England clinging to his
dear mother's skirts. Would ye have me pass my time with girls or have
no other friends than snuffy old Parson Throckmorton, my tutor, who
tries to pound the Greek and Latin into my thick skull?"
"He is a wise and ripened scholar who wastes his effort," was the dry
comment. "Most of the lads of the town are coarse louts who pattern
after their ribald elders, Jack. They will lead you into evil courses."
"I shall always pray God to be a gentleman, sir," was the spirited
response, "but I must learn to fight my own battles. Were it not for
hardy pastimes with these other stout lads, think you I could have
cracked the crown of a six-foot pirate?"
Uncle Peter gazed at the boy before he spoke. Tanned and hard and
muscular, this was a nephew to be proud of, a man in deeds if not in
years, and there was unswerving honesty in the straight mouth and firm
chin. The guardian sighed and then annoyance got the better of his
affection as he burst out:
"Perdition take all pirates! You were cozened by this hell-rake of a
Stede Bonnet and thought it a rare pleasure! John Spencer Cockrell, own
nephew to the Secretary of the Colony!"
"I did but copy older men of fair repute," demurely answered Jack, a
twinkle in his eye. "Graybeards of Parson Throckmorton's flock traffick
in merchandise with the pirates and are mighty civil to them, I note."
"A vile business!" cried Uncle Peter. "It was decided at the recent
conference in Virginia that I should go to England as a delegate to lay
before His Majesty's Government such evidence as might invoke aid in our
campaign against the pirates. It was my intention to leave you in care
of Parson Throckmorton, Jack, but I have now resolved to take you with
me. And you will remain at school in England. No more of this boon
comradeship with villains like Stede Bonnet."
Poor Jack looked most unhappy at the tidings. It was not at all in
accord with his ambitions. Here was worse punishment than he had dreamed
his uncle could inflict. Dolefully he exclaimed:
"To live in tame and stupid England, locked up in a school? Why, I am
big enough to join the forays against the Indians, or to fight bloody
battles against the pirates if you really mean to chastise them. But I
cannot promise to attack Captain Bonnet. He is a friend of mine."
"You shall come to see him hanged," shouted Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes,
very red in the face. "The merchant ship _Plymouth Adventure_ is
expected soon, and you and I shall take passage in her for Merry
England, thanking heaven to see the last of the barbarous Carolinas for
a time."
"Thank your own thanks, sir," grumbled Jack. "Captain Bonnet may be a
pirate but he is not nearly so heartless as my own uncle. He asked me to
dinner at the tavern. I am faint for lack of food. My stomach sticks to
my ribs. 'Tis a great pity you were never a growing boy yourself. For a
platter of cold meat and bread I will take my oath to chop you a pile of
firewood as high as the kitchen."
The gaoler relented and bustled out to ransack the pantry. Having
demolished a joint and a loaf, young John Spencer Cockrell was in a mood
much less melancholy. In fact, when he swung the axe behind the fence of
hewn palings, he was humming the refrain of that wicked ditty: "_Yo, Ho,
with the Rum Below!_" He was tremendously sorry that he had been
snatched away from the engaging society of Captain Bonnet and his wild
crew, and the future had a gloomy aspect, but even these grievances were
forgotten when he descried, in a lane which led past the house, the
lovely maid whose cause he had championed at the wharf.
She was Dorothy, only daughter of Colonel Malcolm Stuart who commanded
the militia forces of the Colony. Although she was the elder by two or
three years and gave herself the airs of a young lady, Jack Cockrell
hopelessly, secretly adored her. It was an anti-climax for a hero to be
serving out his sentence at the wood-pile and he turned his back to the
gate while he made the chips fly. But Dorothy had no intention of
ignoring him. She paused with a smile so winsome that Jack's heart
fluttered and he dropped the axe to grasp her outstretched hand. He
squeezed it so hard that Dorothy winced as she said:
"What a masterful man it is, but please don't crush my poor fingers. I
fled from those pirates at the wharf, Jack, instead of waiting to offer
you my most humble thanks. Will you accept them now? They come straight
from the heart."
For such a reward as this Jack would have fought a dozen pirates. Baring
his head, he murmured bashfully:
"A trifling service, Mistress Dorothy, and 'tis my devout hope that I
may always be ready in time of need."
"So?" she exclaimed, with mischief in her eyes. "I believe you would
slay a pirate each morning before breakfast, should I ask it."
"Or any other small favors like that," gallantly returned Jack.
"A proper courtier," cried Dorothy. "My father will thank you when he
returns from North Carolina. When I ventured to the wharf this morning
it was in hopes of sighting his armed sloop."
The dwelling of Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes was at some distance from the
tavern which was on the sloping ground that overlooked the harbor, among
the spreading live-oaks and magnolias. Borne on the breeze came the
sounds of Stede Bonnet's pirates at their revels, pistol shots, wild
choruses, drunken yells. Jack was not disturbed although Mistress
Dorothy moved closer and laid a hand on his arm. Presently the tumult
ceased, abruptly, and now Jack was perplexed. It might mean a sudden
recall to the ship. Something was in the wind. The youth and the maid
stood listening. Jack was about to scramble to the roof of the house in
order to gaze toward the harbor but Dorothy bade him stay with her. Her
fair cheek had paled and she shivered with a vague apprehension.
This sudden stillness was uncanny, threatening. Soon, however, a trumpet
blew a long, shrill call to arms, and they heard one hoarse, jubilant
huzza after another.
"Have Stede Bonnet's pirates mustered to sack the town?" implored
Dorothy.
"I can speedily find out," replied her protector.
"Oh, I pray you not to leave me," she tremulously besought him.
"Captain Bonnet will wreak no harm on Charles Town," Jack assured her.
"I know him too well for that. You saw what he did to the base varlet
who annoyed you at the wharf,--felled him like an ox."
"If only my father were here, to call out the troops and rout this
rabble of sea rogues, Jack dear," was her fluttering prayer.
A little after this, the tumult increased and it was drawing nearer. It
was a martial clamor of men on the march, with the rattle of drums and a
loud fanfare of trumpets. Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes came running out of
the house, all flustered and waving his hands, and ordered the two young
people indoors. The servants were closing the heavy wooden shutters and
sliding the bars across the doors.
Jack slipped out into the lane and hailed a neighbor who dashed past.
The news was babbled in fragments and Jack scurried back to blurt to his
uncle:
"An Indian raid,--the savages are within a dozen miles of Charles Town,
laying waste the plantations,--slaying the laborers. The militia is
called to arms but they lack a leader. Colonel Stuart is sorely missed.
Captain Bonnet called another boat-load of his pirates ashore, and they
march in the van to assail the Indians. May I go with them, Uncle Peter?
Must I play the coward and the laggard?"
"Nonsense, John Cockrell. These mad pirates have addled your wits. Shall
I let you be scalped by these painted fiends of Yemassees?"
"Then you will volunteer in my stead," shrewdly ventured Jack, with a
glance at Dorothy.
"Um-m. Duty and my official cares prevent," quoth the worshipful
Secretary of the Colony, frowning and pursing his lips. Dorothy smiled
at this and winked at Jack. Uncle Peter was rated a better lawyer than a
valiant man of war.
"Let us stand at a window," exclaimed the girl. "Ah, they come! My
faith, but this is a brave array. And Captain Bonnet leads them well."
She had never expected to praise a pirate but there was no denying that
this lean, straight rover in the scarlet coat and great cocked hat
looked the part of a competent and intrepid soldier. He was superbly fit
for the task in hand. Catching sight of Jack Cockrell and Dorothy Stuart
in the window, he saluted by raising the hilt of his cutlass and his
melancholy visage brightened in a smile.
Behind him tramped his men in column of fours, matchlocks across their
shoulders, bright weapons swinging against their thighs as they sang all
together and kept step to the beat of the drums.
"But ere to Execution Bay,
The wind these bones do blow,
I'll drink an' fight what's left away,
_Yo, ho, with the rum below_."
Behind these hardy volunteers straggled as many of the militia company
as had been able to answer the sudden call, merchants, clerks, artisans,
and vagabonds who seemed none too eager to meet the bloodthirsty
Yemassees. Their wives and children trailed after them to the edge of
the town, amidst tears and loud lamentations. The contrast did not
escape the eye of Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes who reluctantly admitted:
"Give the devil his due, say I. These wicked brethren of the coast go
swaggering off of their own free will, as though it were to a frolic. I
will remember it in their favor when they come to hang."
A long roll of the drums and a lilting flourish by the pirate trumpeter
as a farewell to Charles Town and its tavern and its girls, and the
company passed from view. The lane was again deserted and silent and
Jack offered to escort Dorothy Stuart to her own home. As they loitered
across an open field, he cried in a fierce flare of rebellion:
"My good uncle will drive me too far. Let him sail for old England and
leave me to find my own career. Upon my soul, I may run away to join a
pirate ship."
Dorothy tried to look grave at this dreadful announcement but a dimple
showed in her cheek as she replied:
"My dear Jack, you can never be braver but you will be wiser some day.
Banish such silly thoughts. You must obey your lawful guardian."
"But did you see the lads in the militia company? Two or three of them I
have whipped in fair fight. And Uncle Peter wants to keep me tucked in a
cradle."
"Softly, Jack," said she, with pretty solicitude. "Stede Bonnet has
bewitched you utterly."
The stubborn youth shook his head. This day of humiliation had been the
last straw. He was ripe for desperate adventure. It would have made him
happy and contented to be marching against the Indians with Stede Bonnet
and his cut-throats, in peril of tomahawks and ambuscades.
Small wonder that poor Jack Cockrell's notions of right and wrong were
rather confused, for he lived in an age when might ruled blue water,
when every ship was armed and merchant seamen fought to save their skins
as well as their cargoes. English, French, Spanish, and Dutch, they
plundered each other on the flimsiest pretexts and the pirates harried
them all.
Still sulky, Jack betook himself to the rectory next morning for his
daily bout with his studies. Parson Throckmorton was puttering in the
garden, a shrunken little man who wore black small-clothes, lace at his
wrists, and a powdered wig. Opening the silver snuff-box he almost
sneezed the wig off before he chirruped:
"Ye mind me of Will Shakespeare's whining schoolboy, Master
John,--creeping like snail unwillingly to school. A treat is in store
for us to-day, a signal treat! We begin our Virgil. '_Arma virumque
cano._'"
"Arms and a man? I like that much of it," glowered the mutinous scholar,
"but my uncle makes me sing a different tune."
"He accepted my advice,--that you be educated in England," said the
parson.
"Then I may hold you responsible for this hellish thing?" angrily
declaimed Jack. "Were it not for your white hairs----"
He subsided and had the grace to apologize as they entered the library.
The tutor was an impatient old gentleman and the pupil was so
inattentive that his knuckles were sharply rapped with a ruler. A
blunder more glaring and the ruler came down with another whack. This
was too much for Jack who jumped up, rubbed his knuckles, and shouted:
"Enough, sir. I would have you know that I all but killed a big, ugly
pirate yesterday."
"So rumor informs me," rasped Parson Throckmorton, "but you will give
yourself no grand airs with me. Construe this passage properly or I must
tan those leather breeches with a limber rod."
This was too much for the insulted Jack who slammed down the book,
clapped on his hat, and tramped from the room in high dudgeon. Such
scurvy treatment as this was fairly urging him to a life of crime on the
rolling ocean. He wandered down to the wharf and wistfully gazed at the
lawless brig, _Royal James_, which swam at her anchorage in trim and
graceful beauty. A few men moved briskly on deck, painting the bulwarks
or polishing brass. Evidently Stede Bonnet had sent off word to be all
taut and ready to hoist sail for another cruise.
After a while the truant went homeward and manfully confessed to the
quarrel with Parson Throckmorton. Uncle Peter Forbes was amazingly mild.
There was no gusty outbreak of temper and, in fact, he had little to
say. It was in his mind to patch up a truce with his troublesome nephew
pending their departure for England. He even suggested that the studies
be dropped and advised Jack to go fishing in his canoe.
Several days later, Captain Bonnet and his pirates came back from their
foray against the Indians. They were a foot-sore, weary band, the
wounded carried in litters and several men missing. Their gay garments
were caked with mud, the finery all tatters, and most of them were
marked with cuts and scratches, but they pulled themselves together and
swaggered into Charles Town as boldly as ever to the music of trumpet
and drum. Stede Bonnet carried an arm in a sling. As he passed the
Secretary's house he cheerily called out to Jack:
"Ahoy, my young comrade! 'Twill please you to know that fair Mistress
Dorothy Stuart may sleep in peace."
"Did you scatter the savages, sir?" asked Jack, running out to shake his
hand.
"God bless ye, boy, we exterminated 'em."
The gratitude of Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes was stronger than his
dislike and he came out to thank the captain in behalf of the citizens
of Charles Town. To his excited questions the pirate replied:
"There be old buccaneers from Hispaniola in my crew, may it please Your
Excellency,--fellows who hunted the Indians in their youth,--tracked 'em
like hounds through forest and bayou. Others served their time with the
log-wood cutters of Yucatan. They laughed at the tricks of these
Yemassees of the Carolinas."
One of the militia company broke in to say to Mr. Forbes:
"Your Honor's own plantation was saved from the torch by this doughty
Captain Bonnet. It was there he pulled the flint arrow-head from his arm
and was near bleeding to death."
Mr. Peter Forbes could do no less than invite the pirate into the house,
for the wounded arm had been rudely bandaged and was in sore need of
dressing. Jack fetched a tray of cakes and wine while his uncle bawled
at the servants who came running with soft cloths and hot water and
healing lotions. Captain Bonnet protested that the hurt was trifling and
carelessly explained:
"My own ship's surgeon was spitted on a boarding-pike in our last action
at sea and I have not found me another one. You show much skill and
tenderness, sir."
"The wound is deep and ragged. Hold still," commanded Mr. Peter Forbes.
"You have been a soldier, Captain Bonnet, commended for valor on the
fields of Europe and holding the king's commission. Why not seek pardon
and serve with the armed forces of this province? My services in the
matter are yours to command."
Stede Bonnet frowned and bit his lip. All he said was:
"You meddle with matters that concern you not, my good sir. I am a man
able to make my own free choice."
"Captain Bonnet does honor to the trade of piracy," cried the admiring
Jack, at which his uncle declared, with a wrathful gesture:
"I must remove this daft lad to England to be rid of you, Stede Bonnet.
You have cast a wicked spell over him."
"To England?" said the pirate, with a sympathetic glance at the boy. "I
would sooner lie in gaol."
"And reap your deserts," snapped Uncle Peter.
"No doubt of that," frankly agreed the pirate. "And what thinks the lad
of this sad penance?"
"I hate it," was Jack's swift answer. "Will you grant our merchant ship
safe conduct, Captain Bonnet?"
"What ship, boy? You have only to name her. She will go scathless, as
far as in my power."
"The _Plymouth Adventure_," replied Jack. "It would ruin my uncle's
temper beyond all mending to be taken by pirates."
"I pledge you my word," swore Stede Bonnet. "Moreover, if trouble
befall you by sea or land, Master Cockrell, I pray you send me tidings
and you will have a friend in need."
That night those who dwelt near the harbor heard the clank of a windlass
as the crew of the _Royal James_ hove the cable short, and the
melodious, deep-throated refrain of a farewell chantey floated across
the quiet water. With the flood of the tide and a landward breeze, the
brig stole out across the bar while the topsails were sheeted home. When
daylight dawned, she had vanished in the empty reaches of the Atlantic.
The brig sailed without Jack Cockrell. His shrewd uncle saw to that. It
was not by accident that a constable of the town watch loitered in the
lane by the Secretary's house. And Uncle Peter himself was careful not
to let the lad out of his sight until the beguiling Stede Bonnet had
left his haunts in Charles Town. Life resumed its routine next day but
the boy's whole current of thought had been changed. He was restless,
craving some fresh excitement and hoping that more pirates might come
roaring to the tavern green.
He found welcome diversion when the _Plymouth Adventure_, merchant
trader, arrived from London after a famous passage of thirty-two days to
the westward. Her master's orders were to make quick dispatch and return
with freight and passengers direct from Charles Town. Jack was given no
more leisure to brood over his own misfortunes. There were many errands
to be done for Mr. Peter Forbes, besides the chests and boxes to be
packed and stoutly corded. As was the custom, they had to supply their
own furniture for the cabin in the ship and Jack Cockrell enjoyed the
frequent trips aboard.
He found much to interest him in the sedate, bearded Captain Jonathan
Wellsby of the _Plymouth Adventure_, in the crew of hearty British tars
who feared neither man nor devil, in the battery of nine-pounders, the
stands of boarding-pikes, and the triced hammock nettings to protect the
vessel against hand-to-hand encounters with pirates. The voyage might be
worth while, after all. There were to be a dozen of passengers, several
ladies among them. The most distinguished was Mr. Peter Arbuthnot
Forbes, Secretary of the Provincial Council, who was accorded the
greatest respect and given the largest cabin.
It was an important event when the _Plymouth Adventure_ hoisted all her
bunting on sailing day and Charles Town flocked to the harbor with
wistful envy of the lucky people who were bound home to old England.
There were sad faces among those left behind to endure the perils,
hardships and loneliness of pioneers. Jack Cockrell's heart beat high
when he saw sweet Dorothy Stuart in the throng. He tarried ashore with
her until the boatswain's pipe trilled from the _Plymouth Adventure_ to
summon the passengers on board. Colonel Stuart, blonde and bronzed and
stalwart, escorted his winsome daughter and he praised Jack for his
deed of courage, telling him:
"There will soon be fewer pirates for you to trounce, I hope, my lad."
"The town will be a stupid place without a visit from the jolly rovers
now and then," honestly replied Jack, at which Colonel Stuart laughed
and his daughter suggested:
"With my brave knight in distant England, deliver me from any more
pirates."
Jack blushed and was both happy and sad when the dear maid took a flower
from her bodice and gave it to him as a token of remembrance. He
solemnly tucked it away in a pocket, stammered his farewells, and went
to join his uncle who waited in the yawl at the wharf. Once on board the
_Plymouth Adventure_, they were swept into a bustle and confusion.
Captain Jonathan Wellsby was in haste to catch a fair wind and make his
offing before nightfall. His sailors ran to and fro, jumping at the
word, active and cheery. Stately and slow, the high-pooped merchant
trader filled away on the larboard tack and pointed her lofty bowsprit
seaward.
The watches were set, ropes coiled down, and the tackles of the cannon
overhauled. The skipper paced the after-deck, a long telescope under his
arm, while the passengers lined the rail and gazed at the rude
settlement that was slowly dropping below the horizon. The sea was
tranquil and the breeze steady. The ship was clothed in canvas which
bellied to drive her eastward with a frothing wake. Safely she left the
outer bar astern and wallowed in the ocean swell.
The afternoon sun was sinking when a sail gleamed like a bit of cloud
against the southerly sky. Captain Wellsby held to his course and showed
no uneasiness. Soon another sail became visible and then a third, these
two smaller than the first. They might be honest merchantmen steering in
company, but the skipper consulted with his mates and the spy-glass
passed from hand to hand. The passengers were at supper in the cuddy and
their talk and laughter came through the open skylights.
Presently the boatswain piped the crew to quarters and the men moved
quietly to their battle stations, opening the gun-ports and casting
loose the lashings. The boys fetched paper cartridges of powder in
buckets from the magazine and the gunners lighted the matches of tow.
Cutlasses were buckled on and the pikes were scattered along the
bulwarks ready to be snatched up.
It was impossible to escape these three strange vessels by beating back
to Charles Town, for the _Plymouth Adventure_ made lubberly work of it
when thrashing to windward. She was a swift ship, however, before a fair
wind, and Captain Wellsby resolved to run for it, hoping to edge away
from danger if his suspicions should be confirmed.
Before sunset the largest of the strange sail shifted her course as
though to set out in chase and overhaul the deep-laden merchant trader.
Captain Wellsby stood near the tiller, his hands clasped behind him, a
solid, dependable figure of a British mariner. The passengers were
crowding around him in distressful agitation but he calmly assured them
a stern chase was a long chase and he expected to slip away under cover
of night. So far as he was aware, no pirates, excepting Stede Bonnet,
had been recently reported in these waters.
Here Mr. Peter Forbes broke in to say that the _Plymouth Adventure_ had
naught to fear from Captain Bonnet who had pledged his word to let her
sail unmolested. Other passengers scoffed at the absurd notion of
trusting a pirate's oath, but the pompous Secretary of the Council could
not be cried down. He was a canny critic of human nature and he knew an
honorable pirate when he met him.
It was odd, but in a pinch like this the dapper, finicky Councilor Peter
Arbuthnot Forbes displayed an unshaken courage as became a gentleman of
his position, while young Jack Cockrell had suddenly changed his opinion
of the fascinating trade of piracy. He had not the slightest desire to
investigate it at any closer range. His knees were inclined to wobble
and his stomach felt qualms. His uncle twitted him as a braggart ashore
who sang a different tune afloat. The lad's grin was feeble as he
retorted that he took his pirates one at a time.
The largest vessel of the pursuit came up at a tremendous pace, reeling
beneath an extraordinary spread of canvas, her spray-swept hull
disclosing an armament of thirty guns, the decks swarming with men. She
was no merchant ship, this was already clear, but there was still the
hope that she might be a man-of-war or a privateer. Captain Wellsby
looked in vain for her colors. At length he saw a flag whip from the
spanker gaff. He laid down the glass with a profound sigh.
The flag was black with a sinister device, a white blotch whose outline
suggested a human skull.
Captain Wellsby gazed again and carefully examined the two sloops which
were acting in concert with the thirty-gun ship. It was a squadron, and
the brave _Plymouth Adventure_ was hopelessly outmatched. To fight meant
a slaughter with never a chance of survival.
The passengers had made no great clamor until the menacing ship drew
close enough for them to descry the dreadful pennant which showed as a
sable blot against the evening sky. Two women fainted and others were
seized with violent hysteria. Their shrill screams were so distressing
that the skipper ordered them to be lugged below and shut in their
cabins. Mr. Peter Forbes had plumped himself down upon a coil of hawser,
as if utterly disgusted, but he implored the captain to blaze away at
the besotted scoundrels as long as two planks held together. The
Honorable Secretary of the Council had been too outspoken in his
opinions of pirates to expect kindness at their hands.
The sailors also expected no quarter but they sullenly crouched at the
gun-carriages, gripping the handspikes and blowing the matches while
they waited for the word. The pirate ship was now reaching to windward
of the _Plymouth Adventure_, heeling over until her decks were in full
view. Upon the poop stood a man of the most singular appearance. He was
squat and burly and immensely broad across the shoulders. What made him
grotesque was a growth of beard which swept almost to his waist and
covered his face like a hairy curtain. In it were tied bright streamers
of crimson ribbon. Evidently this fantastic monster was proud of his
whiskers and liked to adorn them.
The laced hat with a feather in it, the skirted coat of buff and blue
which flapped around his bow-legs, and the rows of gold buttons across
his chest were in slovenly imitation of a naval uniform. But there was
nothing like naval discipline on those crowded decks where half the crew
appeared to be drunk and the rest of them cursing each other.
Captain Jonathan Wellsby smothered a groan and his stern mouth twitched
as he said to his chief mate:
"God's mercy on us! 'Tis none other than the bloody Edward Teach,--that
calls himself Blackbeard! My information was that he still cruised off
the Spanish Main and refitted his ships in the Bay of Honduras."
"The madman of the sea," said the stolid mate. "A bad day for us when he
sailed to the north'ard. He kills for the pleasure of it. Now Stede
Bonnet loots such stuff as takes his fancy and----"
"He loves to fight a king's ship for the sport of it," broke in the
skipper, "but this murderer---- An unlucky voyage for the old _Plymouth
Adventure_ and all hands, Mate."
One of the women who had been suffered to remain on deck was close
enough to overhear the direful news. Her hands to heaven, she wailed:
"Blackbeard! Oh, my soul, we are as good as dead, or worse. Fight and
sink him, dear captain. What shall I do? What shall I do? If I had only
minded the dream I had the night before we sailed----"
Jack Cockrell sat down beside his uncle, a limp and sorry youth for one
who had offered to slay a six-foot pirate before breakfast to please a
pretty maid. With a sickly grin he murmured:
"This cockerel crowed too loud, Uncle Peter. Methinks I share your
distaste for piracy."