HELD AS HOSTAGES TO BLACKBEARD
TO discover the pestilent Blackbeard in Carolina waters was like a
thunderbolt from a clear sky. Captain Wellsby had felt confident that he
could beat off the ordinary pirate craft which was apt to be smaller
than his own stout ship. And most of these unsavory gentry were mere
salt-water burglars who had little taste for hard fighting. The master
of the _Plymouth Adventure_, so pious and sedate, was a brave man to
whom the thought of surrender was intolerable. From what he knew of
Blackbeard, it was useless to try to parley for the lives of his
passengers. Better it was to answer with double-shotted guns than to beg
for mercy.
The British tars, stripped to the waist, turned anxious eyes to the
skipper upon the quarter-deck while they quaffed pannikins of rum and
water and cracked many a rough jest. They fancied death no more than
other men, but seafaring was a perilous trade and they were toughened to
its hazards. They were facing hopeless odds but let the master shout the
command and they would send the souls of some of these pirates sizzling
down to hell before the _Plymouth Adventure_ sank, a splintered hulk, in
the smoke of her own gunpowder.
Captain Wellsby delayed his decision a moment longer. Something most
unusual had attracted his attention. A ball of smoke puffed from a port
of Blackbeard's ship, but the round shot splashed beyond the bowsprit of
the _Plymouth Adventure_ instead of thudding into her oaken side. This
was a signal to heave to. It was a courtesy both unexpected and
perplexing, because Blackbeard's habit was to let fly with all the guns
that could bear as the summons to submit. Presently a dingy bit of cloth
fluttered just beneath the black flag. It looked like the remains of a
pirate's shirt which had once been white.
"A signal for a truce?" muttered Captain Wellsby. "A ruse, mayhap, but
the rogue has no need to resort to trickery."
The two sloops of Blackbeard's squadron, spreading tall, square
topsails, came driving down to windward in readiness to fire their
bow-chasers and form in line of battle. The passengers of the _Plymouth
Adventure_, snatching at the chance of safety, implored the skipper to
send his men away from the guns lest a rash shot might be their ruin.
They prayed him to respect the precious flag of truce and to ascertain
the meaning of it. Mystified and wavering in his purpose, he told the
mates to back the main-yard and heave the ship to.
Upon his own deck Blackbeard was stamping to and fro, bellowing at his
crew while he flourished a broadsword by way of emphasis. The hapless
company of the _Plymouth Adventure_ shivered at the very sight of him
and yet there was something almost ludicrous in the antics of this
atrocious pirate, as though he were play-acting upon the stage of a
theatre. He had tucked up the tails of his military coat because the
wind whipped them about his bandy legs and made him stumble. The flowing
whiskers also proved bothersome, wherefore he looped them back over his
ears by means of the bows of crimson ribbon. This seemed to be his
personal fashion of clearing for action.
"There be pirates and pirates," critically observed Mr. Peter Forbes as
he stared at the unpleasant Blackbeard. "This is a filthy beast, Jack,
and he was badly brought up. He has no manners whatever."
"Parson Throckmorton would take him for the devil himself," gloomily
answered the lad.
And now they saw Blackbeard raise a speaking-trumpet to his lips and
heard the hoarse voice come down the wind with this message:
"The ship ahoy! Steady as ye be, blast your eyes, or I'll lay aboard and
butcher all hands."
He turned and yelled commands to the two sloops which now rolled within
pistol-shot. In helter-skelter style but with great speed, one boat
after another was lowered away and filled with armed pirates. They rowed
toward the _Plymouth Adventure_ and there were enough of them to carry
her by boarding. In addition to this, she was directly under the guns of
Blackbeard's powerful ship. One valorous young gentleman passenger
whipped out a rapier and swore to perish with his face to the foe, but
Captain Wellsby kicked him into the cabin and fastened the scuttle. This
was no time for dramatics.
"It looks that the old ruffian comes on a peaceful errand," said the
skipper, by way of comfort. But the hysterical ladies below decks
redoubled their screams and one substantial merchant of Charles Town
scrambled down to hide himself among them. Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes
folded his arms and there was no sign of weakness in his pink
countenance. His dignity still sustained him.
As agile as monkeys, the mob of pirates poured over the bulwark,
slashing through the hammock nettings, and swept forward in a compact
mass, driving Captain Wellsby's seamen before them and penning them in
the forecastle. Having cleared the waist of the ship, they loitered
there until a few of them discovered the galley and pantry. They swept
the shelves and lockers bare of food like a pack of famished wolves.
Jack Cockrell looked at them from the poop and perceived that they were
a gaunt, ragged lot. The skins of some were yellow like parchment, and
fits of trembling overtook them. Something more than dissipation ailed
them.
With a body-guard of the sturdiest men, Blackbeard clambered up the
poop ladder and, with wicked oaths, told the skipper to stand forth.
Clean and trig and carefully dressed, Captain Jonathan Wellsby
confronted these savage, unwashed pirates and calmly demanded to know
their errand. It was plain to read that Blackbeard thought himself an
imposing figure. With a smirk and a grimace he bowed clumsily to a woman
on deck who had refused to desert her husband. He growled like a bear at
Captain Wellsby and prodded the poor man with his cutlass as he
thundered:
"You tried my patience, shipmaster, with your cracking on sail. A little
more and I'd ha' slit your throat. Blood an' wounds, would ye dare to
vex Blackbeard?"
Captain Wellsby faced him with unshaken composure and returned in a
strong voice:
"I beg no favors for myself but these helpless people, women amongst
them, came on board with my assurance of safety. They have friends and
kinsmen in Charles Town who will ransom them in gold."
Blackbeard's mien was a shade less ferocious as he cried:
"Gold? Can it cool a fever or heal a festering sore? A score of my men
are down and the others are tottering ghosts. Medicines I must have. A
foul plague on those ports of the Spanish Main which laid my fine lads
by the heels."
Jack Cockrell, who had retreated to the taffrail, decided that this
unkempt pirate was not so absurd as he appeared. There was the strength
of a giant in those hulking shoulders and in the long arms which bulged
the coat-sleeves, and the man moved with a quickness which made that
clumsy air deceptive. The beard masked his features but the eye was keen
and roving, and he had a trick of baring his teeth in a nasty snarl. He
uttered no more threats, however, and seemed to be anxiously awaiting
the reply of Captain Wellsby, who said:
"The few medicines and simples in my chest will not suffice your need.
Your ships are rotten with the Spanish fever."
"A ransom, shipmaster?" exclaimed the pirate. "'Twas in my mind when I
flew a white flag for parley. I will hold some of your fine passengers
as hostages while the others go in to rake Charles Town for medicines to
fetch back to my fleet."
"You will send my ship in?" asked the skipper.
"No! This _Plymouth Adventure_ is my good prize and I will overhaul the
cargo and sink her at my leisure. My ship will tack in to Charles Town
bar. Then let the messengers go in the long-boat to find the store of
medicines. Harkee, shipmaster,--two days, no longer, for their return!
Failing this, the hostages feed the fishes. Such sport 'ud liven the
hearts of my doleful seamen."
It was a shameful bargain, thus to submit to a pirate's whim, but the
wretched ship's company hailed it as a glad surprise. They had stood in
the shadow of death and this was a respite and a chance of salvation.
Captain Wellsby was heart-sick with humiliation but it was not for him
to take into his hands the fate of all these others. Sadly he nodded
assent. Jack Cockrell nudged his uncle and whispered:
"Why doesn't he sail in with his three ships and take what he likes? The
town lies helpless against such a force as this."
"Ssh-h, be silent," was the warning. "He is a wary bird of prey and he
fears a trap. He dare not attack the port, since he lacks knowledge of
its defenses."
Jack's cheek was rosy again and his knees had ceased to tremble. There
was no immediate prospect of walking the plank. To be captured by
Blackbeard was a finer adventure than strutting arm-in-arm with Captain
Stede Bonnet. It was mournful, indeed, that Captain Wellsby should have
to lose his ship but 'tis an ill wind that blows nobody good and the
voyage to England, which Jack had loathed from the bottom of his heart,
was indefinitely postponed. Such an experience as this was apt to
discourage Uncle Peter Forbes from trying it again.
There were sundry chicken-hearted passengers anxious to curry favor with
Blackbeard, who gabbled when they should have held their tongues, and in
this manner he learned that he had bagged the honorable Secretary of the
Provincial Council. The bewhiskered pirate slapped his thighs and roared
with glee.
"Damme, but he looks it! Alack that my sorry need of medicines compels
me to give quarter! Would I might swing this fat Secretary from a
topsail yard! And a rogue of a lawyer to boot! He tempts me----"
"I demand the courtesy due a hostage," exclaimed Mr. Peter Forbes.
"Ho, ho, you shall be my lackey,--the chief messenger," laughed
Blackbeard, showing his yellow teeth. "Hat in hand, begging medicines
for me."
The honorable Secretary was near apoplexy. He could only sputter and
cough. He was to be sent as an errand boy to the people of Charles Town,
at the brutal behest of this unspeakable knave, but refusal meant death
and there were his fellow captives to consider. He thought of his nephew
and was about to plead that Jack be sent along with him when Blackbeard
demanded:
"What of the boy? He takes my eye. No pursy swine of a lawyer could sire
a lad of his brawn and inches."
"I am Master Cockrell," Jack answered for himself, "and I would have you
more courteous to my worthy uncle."
It was a speech so bold that the scourge of the Spanish Main tugged at
his whiskers with an air of comical perplexity. The headstrong Jack was
keen enough to note that he had made an impression and he rashly added:
"'Tis not long since I knocked a pirate on the head for incivility."
Mr. Peter Forbes gazed aghast, with slackened jaw, expecting to see his
mad nephew cut down by the sweep of a broadsword, but Blackbeard merely
grinned and slapped the lad half-way across the deck with a buffet of
his open hand. Dizzily Jack picked himself up and was furiously scolded
by his uncle. Their lives hung by a hair and this was no time to play
the fool. For once, however, Jack was the wiser of the two. In an
amiable humor Blackbeard exclaimed:
"And so this strapping young jackanapes knocks pirates on the head!
There be lazy dogs among my men that well deserve it. You shall stay
aboard, Master Cockrell, whilst the juicy lubber of a lawyer voyages
into Charles Town. He may sweat an' strive the more if I hold you as his
security. Zounds, I'll make a gentleman rover of ye, Jack, for I like
your mettle."
It was futile for the unhappy uncle to argue the matter. He could only
obey the tyrant's pleasure and hope for a speedy return and the release
of the terrified passengers. The _Plymouth Adventure_ was ordered to
haul her course to the westward and jog under easy sail toward the
Charles Town bar. Blackbeard was rowed off to his own ship, the
_Revenge_, leaving his sailing-master and a prize crew. These amused
themselves by dragging the weeping women on deck and robbing them of
their jewels and money, but no worse violence was offered. Middle-aged
matrons and elderly spinsters, they were neither young nor fair enough
to be stolen as pirates' brides.
The _Revenge_ and the two sloops hovered within sight of the _Plymouth
Adventure_ and their sails gleamed phantom-like in the darkness. There
was little sleep aboard the captured merchant trader. Some of the
pirates amused themselves with hauling chests and boxes out of the
cabins and spilling the contents about the deck in riotous disorder. One
sprightly outlaw arrayed himself in a silken petticoat and flowered
bodice and paraded as a languishing lady with false curls until the
others pelted him with broken bottles and tar buckets. By the flare of
torches they ransacked the ship for provisions, cordage, canvas, and
heaped them ready to be dumped into boats.
Jack Cockrell looked on until he was too drowsy to stay awake and fell
asleep on deck, his head pillowed on his arm. Through the night the
watches were changed to the harsh summons of the pirate sailing-master
or his mate. Once Jack awoke when a seaman staggered into the moonlight
with blood running down his face. He was not likely to be caught napping
on watch again.
At dawn the _Plymouth Adventure_ was astir and the _Revenge_ ran close
aboard to watch Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes and two prosperous merchants
of Charles Town bundled into the long-boat. Blackbeard shouted bloody
threats through his trumpet, reminding them that he would allow no more
than two days' grace for their errand ashore. Uncle Peter was deeply
affected as he embraced his nephew and kissed him on the cheek. Jack's
eyes were wet and he faltered, with unsteady voice:
"Forgive me, sir, for all the trouble I have made you. Never did I
expect a parting like this."
"A barbarous coast, Jack, and a hard road to old England," smiled the
Secretary of the Council. "Have a stout heart. By God's grace I shall
soon deliver you from these sea vermin."
The boy watched the long-boat hoist sail with a grizzled, scarred old
boatswain from the _Revenge_ at the tiller. It drove for the blue
fairway of the channel between the frothing shoals of the bar and made
brave headway for the harbor. Then the ships stood out to sea to go
clear of a lee shore and the captives of the _Plymouth Adventure_
endured the harrowing suspense with such courage as they could muster.
Should any accident delay the return of the long-boat beyond two days,
even head winds or foul weather, or if there was lack of medicines in
the town, they were doomed to perish.
Jack Cockrell endured it with less anguish than the other wretched
hostages. He had the sublime confidence of youth in its own destiny and
he had found a chum in a boyish pirate named Joseph Hawkridge who said
he had sailed out of London as an apprentice seaman in a ketch bound to
Jamaica. He had been taken out of his ship by Blackbeard, somewhere off
the Azores, and compelled to enlist or walk the plank. At first he was
made cook's scullion but because he was well-grown and active, the chief
gunner had taken him over as a powder boy.
This Joe Hawkridge was a waif of the London slums, hard and wise beyond
his years, who had been starved and abused ever since he could remember.
He had fled from cruel taskmasters ashore to endure the slavery of the
sea and to be kidnapped into piracy was no worse than other things he
had suffered. A gangling lad, with a grin on his homely face, he had
certain instincts of manliness, of decent conduct, although he had known
only men whose souls were black with sin. Heaven knows where he learned
these cleaner aspirations. They were like the reflection of a star in a
muddy pool.
It was easy for Jack Cockrell to win his confidence. Few of his
shipmates spoke kindly or showed pity for him. And their youth drew them
together. Jack's motive was largely curiosity as soon as he discovered
that here was one of Blackbeard's crew ready to confide in him. The two
lads chatted in sheltered corners of the deck, between watches, or met
more freely in the night hours. Jack shuddered at some of the tales that
were told him but he harkened breathless and asked for more.
"Yes, this Blackbeard is the very wickedest pirate that ever sailed,"
said Joe Hawkridge in the most matter-of-fact tones. "You have found him
merciful because he fears a mortal sickness will sweep through his
ships."
"You have curdled my blood enough for now," admitted Jack. "Tell me
this. What do they say of Captain Stede Bonnet? He chances to be a
friend of mine."
Joe Hawkridge ceased to grin. He was startled and impressed. Real
gentlemen like this young Cockrell always told the truth. Making certain
that they could not be overheard, Joe whispered:
"What news of Stede Bonnet? You've seen him? When? Did he cruise to the
north'ard? Has he been seen off Charles Town?"
"He came ashore not long ago, and invited me to dinner at the tavern
with him," bragged Jack. "And he coaxed me to sign in his ship."
"Yes, you'd catch his eye, Cockrell, but listen! What ship had he, and
how many men? God strike me, but I'll not tattle it. I'm true as steel
to Stede Bonnet. If you love me, don't breathe it here."
"There is no love lost betwixt him and Blackbeard?" excitedly queried
Jack.
"Mortal foes they be, if you ask Stede Bonnet."
Feeling sure he could trust this young Hawkridge, Jack informed him:
"Stede Bonnet flies his pennant in a fine brig, the _Royal James_, with
seventy lusty rovers. But what about him, Joe? Why does he hate this
foul ogre of a Blackbeard? Did they ever sail together?"
"'Twas in the Bay of Honduras. Captain Bonnet was a green hand at the
trade but zealous to win renown at piratin'. And so he made compact with
Blackbeard, to sail as partners. There was Stede Bonnet with a fine ship
and his own picked crew. By treachery Blackbeard stole the vessel from
him. Bonnet and his men were left to shift for 'emselves in a rotten old
hulk that was like to founder in a breeze o' wind."
"But they stayed afloat and took them a good ship," proudly exclaimed
Jack, with a personal interest in the venture.
"True, by what you say. D'ye see the _Revenge_ yonder, Blackbeard's tall
cruiser? The very ship he filched from Stede Bonnet by dirty stratagem
and broken oaths!"
"Then the powder will burn when next they meet?"
"As long as there's a shot in the locker, Jack. And Blackbeard's men are
ripe for mutiny. Let 'em once sight Stede Bonnet's topsails and----"
A gunner's mate broke into this interview with a cat-o'-nine-tails and
flogged Joe Hawkridge forward to duty. He ducked and fled with a
farewell grin at the nephew of the Secretary of the Council. Now all
this was diverting enough to keep Jack from bemoaning his fate, but the
other passengers counted the hours one by one and their hearts began to
drum against their ribs. They scanned the sea and the harbor bar with
aching eyes, for the two days were well-nigh spent and there was never a
sign of the long-boat and the messengers with the ransom of medicines
which should avert the sentence of death.
Sunrise of the second day brought them no comfort. The sea was gray and
the sky leaden, without the slightest stir of wind. The drifting vessels
rolled in a swell that heaved as smooth as oil. It was a calm which
presaged violent weather. Against her masts the yards of the _Plymouth
Adventure_ banged with a sound like distant thunder and the idle canvas
slatted to the thump of blocks and the thin wail of chafing cordage.
Captain Jonathan Wellsby was permitted the freedom of the poop by
Blackbeard's sailing-master who seemed a sober and competent officer.
They were seen to confer earnestly, as though the safety of the ship
were uppermost in their minds. Soon the pirates of the prize crew were
ordered to stow and secure all light sail and pass extra lashings about
the boats and batten the hatches. They worked slowly, some of them
shaking with fever, nor could kicks and curses and the sting of the
whistling cat make them turn to smartly. The sailing-master signaled the
_Revenge_ to send off more hands but Blackbeard was either drunk or in
one of his crack-brained moods. With a laugh he pulled a brace of
pistols from his sash and blazed away at the _Plymouth Adventure._
The two sloops of the pirate squadron had sagged down to leeward during
the night and were trying to work back to their stations when the dead
calm intervened. Their skippers had sense enough to read the weather
signs and had begun to take in canvas. On board of the _Revenge_,
however, there was aimless confusion, the mates making some attempt to
prepare the ship for a heavy blow while Blackbeard defied the elements.
His idea of arousing his men was to try potshots with his pistols as
they crept out on the swaying spars.
It was quite apparent that the sailing-master was sorely needed in the
_Revenge_, if order was to be brought out of this chaos, but he received
no orders to quit the _Plymouth Adventure_. He was a proper seaman, Ned
Rackham by name, who had deserted from the Royal Navy, after being
flogged and keel-hauled for some trifling offense. Rumor had it that he
was able to enforce respect from Blackbeard and would stand none of his
infernal nonsense.
"In this autumn season we may catch a storm from the West Indies, Mr.
Rackham," said Captain Wellsby. "The sea has a greasy look and this
heavy ground swell is a portent."
"The feel of it is in the air, shipmaster. There fell an evil calm like
this come two year ago when I was wrecked in a ship-of-the-line within
sight of Havana. Four hundred men sank with her."
"If my sailors were not penned in the fo'castle----" suggested the
merchant skipper.
"None o' that," was the stern retort. "This ship is a prize to
Blackbeard and so she stays, and you will sink or swim with her."
The morning wore on and the two days of grace had passed for those
doleful hostages in the _Plymouth Adventure_. They beheld the black flag
hoisted to the rigging of the _Revenge_ as a signal of tragic import,
but the bandy-legged monster with the festooned whiskers was not to
disport himself with this wanton butchery. The sky had closed darkly
around the becalmed ships, in sodden clouds which were suddenly obscured
by mist and rain while the wind sighed in fitful gusts. It steadied into
the southward and swiftly increased in force until the sea was whipped
into foam and scud.
Staunch and well-found, the _Plymouth Adventure_ went reeling off across
the spray-swept leagues of water, showing only her reefed topsails and
courses. The two pirate sloops vanished beyond the curtain of mist. When
last seen, one of them was dismasted and the other was laboring in grave
peril. The _Revenge_ loomed as a spectral shape while Blackbeard was
endeavoring to get her running free in pursuit of the _Plymouth
Adventure_. But slovenly, reckless seamanship had caught him unready.
His sails were blowing to ribbons, ropes flying at loose ends, and it
was with great difficulty that the vessel could be made to mind her
tiller.
Already the sea was rising in crested combers which broke with the noise
of thunder and the fury of the wind was insensate. Slowly the struggling
_Revenge_ dropped astern, yawing wildly, rolling her bulwarks under,
splintered spars dangling from the caps. She was a crippled ship which
would be lucky to see port again. It was to be inferred that Blackbeard
had ceased to cut his mirthful capers on the poop and that he would have
given bushels of doubloons to regain his sailing-master and men.
In the _Plymouth Adventure_ things were in far better plight, even with
the feeble, short-handed prize crew. Prudently snugged down in ample
time, with extra hands at the steering tackles, they let her drive. She
would perhaps wear clear of the coast and there was hope of survival
unless the tempest should fairly wrench her strong timbers asunder.
Lashed to the weather rigging, Captain Jonathan Wellsby wiped the brine
from his eyes and waved his arm at the helmsman, now to ease her a
little, again to haul up and thus thwart some ravening sea which
threatened to stamp his ship under. Sailing-Master Ned Rackham was
content to let the skipper con his own vessel in this great emergency.
The mind of Captain Wellsby was very active and he pondered on something
else than winning through the storm. He had been helpless while under
the guns of the _Revenge_, with the two sloops in easy call. Now the
situation was vastly different. He had been delivered out of
Blackbeard's clutches. And in the forecastle were thirty British seamen
with hearts of oak, raging to be loosed with weapons in their hands.
Peering into the gray smother of sea and sky, Captain Jonathan Wellsby
licked his lips hungrily as he said to himself:
"Not now, but if the storm abates and we float through the night, these
lousy picaroons shall dance to another tune."