THE VOYAGE OF THE LITTLE RAFT
THESE sturdy youngsters were not easily frightened, and Jack Cockrell,
the landsman, was confident that wind and tide would change to send the
little raft shoreward. So tranquil was the sea that they rode secure and
dry upon the cabin hatch which was buoyed by the two short spars. Joe
Hawkridge was silent with foreboding of a fate more bitter than the
perils which they had escaped. He had seen a lone survivor of a crew of
pirates picked off a raft in the Caribbean, a grisly phantom raving mad
who had gnawed the flesh of his dead comrades.
They drifted quietly before the land breeze, beneath a sky all jeweled
with bright stars. The fire on the beach dimmed to a red spark and then
vanished from their wistful ken. They could no longer see the light on
the wreck of the _Plymouth Adventure_. Now and then the boys struggled
with the heavy oars and rowed until exhausted but they knew they could
be making no headway against the current which had gripped the derelict
raft. They ate sparingly of flinty biscuit and leathery beef pickled in
brine and stinted themselves to a few swallows of water from the wooden
breaker or tiny cask.
"Hunger and thirst are strange to ye, Jack," said young Hawkridge as
they lay stretched side by side. "Hanged if I ever did get enough to eat
till I boarded the _Plymouth Adventure_. Skin and bone I am. I'll not
call this a bad cruise unless we have to chew our boot-tops. A pesky
diet is leather. I've tried it."
"Truly, Joe?" cried Jack in lugubrious accents. "We may have more heart
when morning comes. A piping easterly breeze, such as is wont to come up
with the sun in Charles Town, and we can steer for the coast all taut
and cheery."
"I dread the sun, Jack. For men adrift the blaze of it fries them like
fish on a grid. A pint of water a day, no more, is the allowance. 'Twill
torture you, but castaways can live on it. They have done it for weeks
on end. Here's two musket balls in my pocket. I can whittle a balance
from a bit of pine and we must weigh the bread and meat."
"Two musket balls' weight of food for a meal?" protested Jack.
"Not a morsel more," was the grim answer. "Granted we be not washed off
this silly raft and drowned when a fresh breeze kicks up the sea, we may
hold body and soul together through five or six days."
"But some vessel will sight us, Joe, even if the plight is as dark as
your melancholy fancies paint it. And I thought you a light-hearted
mariner in danger."
"The sea is a cruel master and she hath taught me prudence," was the
reply. "A vessel sight us? I fear an empty sea so soon after the storm.
And honest ships will be loth to venture out from port if the word sped
that Blackbeard was cruising off Charles Town bar."
Jack Cockrell forsook the attempt to wring comfort out of his hardy
companion who refused to delude himself with vain imaginings. However,
it is the blessed gift of youth to keep the torch of hope unquenched and
presently they diverted themselves with chatting of their earlier
adventures. Jack was minded of his pompous, stout-hearted uncle, Mr.
Peter Arbuthnot Forbes, and wondered how he had fared, whether he had
set out to return to Blackbeard's ship with the store of medicines from
Charles Town when the great storm swooped down. Forgotten were Jack's
hot grievances against the worthy Secretary of the Council who had
sought to take a father's place. Piracy had lost its charm for young
Master Cockrell and meekly would he have obeyed the mandate to go to
school in merry England among sober, Christian folk.
"Tremendous odd, I call it," exclaimed Joe Hawkridge. "Here I was a
pirate and hating the dirty business. And my dreams were all of learnin'
to be a gentleman ashore, to know how to read books and such. Blow me,
Jack, we should ha' swapped berths."
"If my good uncle is alive I mean to commend you to his kindness,"
exclaimed Jack. "We must cleave together, and you shall have a skinful
of books and school and manners."
This pleased the young sea rover beyond measure and he diverted himself
with pictures of a cleaner, kindlier world than he had ever known. In
the small hours of the night, the twain drowsed upon their frail
platform which floated as a speck on the shrouded ocean. The waves
splashed over the spars as the breeze grew livelier and the piteous
voyagers were sopping wet but the water was not chill and they slept
through this discomfort.
Jack Cockrell dreamed of walking in a green lane of Charles Town with
lovely Dorothy Stuart. A wave slapped his face and he awoke with a
sputtering cry of bewilderment. The eastern sky was rosy and the sea
shimmered in the eternal beauty of a new day. Joe Hawkridge sat huddled
against the mast, chin and knees together, his sharp eyes scanning the
horizon. With a grin he exclaimed:
"The watch ahoy! Rouse out, shipmate, and show a leg! Turn to cheerly!
Holystone decks and wash down, ye lazy lubber."
Jack groaned and scowled as he rolled over to ease his aching bones. He
was in no mood for jesting. There was no land in sight nor the gleam of
a sail, naught but the empty waste of the Atlantic, and the wind still
held westerly.
"Let's have the beggarly morsel you miscall breakfast, Joe, and a swig
from the breaker. Are we bound across the main?"
"Straight for London River, and the school you prate about, my bucko,"
replied the scamp of a pirate. "Haul away on your belt and set the
buckle tighter. 'Twill ease the cursed hunger pain that gnaws like a
rat."
They munched the pittance of salty food which made the thirst the harder
to endure, and then watched the sun climb hot and dazzling. It was
futile to hoist the sail and so they pulled the canvas over them as the
heat became more intense. By noon, Jack was begging for water to lave
his tongue but Joe Hawkridge laughed him to scorn and swore to hit him
with an oar unless he changed his tune. Never in his life had Jack known
the lack of food or drink and he therefore suffered cruelly.
Worse than this privation was the increasing roughness of the sea. It
was a blithesome wind, rollicking across a sparkling carpet of blue,
with the little white clouds in flocks above, like lambs at play. But
the raft was more and more tossed about and the waves gushed over it
like foam on a reef. Through the day the castaways might cling to it but
they dreaded another night in which their weary bodies could not
possibly ward off sleep. Even though they tied themselves fast, what if
the raft should be capsized by the heave of the mounting swell? It was
the merest makeshift, scrambled together in haste as a ferry from the
wreck of the _Plymouth Adventure_.
No longer did Jack Cockrell bemoan his situation. Taking pattern from
his comrade in misery, he set his teeth to await the end as became a
true man of gentle blood. After all, drowning was easier than the slow
torments of hunger and thirst.
Every little while one of them crawled from under the canvas to look for
a ship. It was the vigilant Joe Hawkridge who, at length, discovered
what was very like a fleck of cloud on the ocean's rim, to the
southward. Afraid that his vision tricked him, he displayed no emotion
but held himself as steady as any stoic. Jack was wildly excited,
blubbering and waving his arms about. His hard-won composure was broken
to bits. But even though it were a ship, Joe well knew it might pass
afar off and so miss sighting this bit of raft which drifted almost
submerged.
Slowly the semblance of a wandering fragment of cloud climbed the curve
of the watery globe until Joe Hawkridge perceived, with a mariner's eye,
that it was, indeed, a vessel steering in their direction.
"Two masts!" said he, "and to'gallant-sails set to profit by this brave
breeze. A brig, Jack! Had she been a ship, my heart 'ud ha' been in my
throat. Blackbeard's _Revenge_ might be working up the coast, did she
live through the storm."
"A brig?" joyfully cried Jack. "Ah, ha, I see her two masts plainly,
with mine own eyes. And they soar too tall for a merchant trader. Her
sails, too,--she spreads them like great wings. Who else will it be than
Captain Stede Bonnet in the _Royal James?_"
"A shift of luck is due us, by the bones of Saint Iago," shouted Joe, in
a thrill of glad anticipation. "Watch her closely. You saw the brig in
Charles Town harbor. Bless God, this may well be Cap'n Stede Bonnet
yonder, an' perchance he cruises in search of Blackbeard to square
accounts with that vile traitor that so misused him."
"A sworn friend of mine is Stede Bonnet," proudly declared Jack
Cockrell, "and pledged to bear a hand when I am in distress. He will
land us safe in Charles Town, Joe,--unless,--unless we choose to go
a-piratin' with him in the _Royal James_----"
Jack's voice trailed off in tones of indecision so comical that his
comrade cried:
"Not cured yet, you big numbskull? 'Cause this fine Cap'n Bonnet is a
gentleman pirate? His neck will stretch with the rest of 'em when the
law overtakes him. Thirteen burly lads I saw swinging in a row at
Wapping on the Thames."
"I'll not argue it," sheepishly mumbled Jack. "However, we'll find a
safe deliverance aboard this _Royal James_."
They clung to the swaying raft while the water washed over their knees
and watched the two masts disclose themselves until they fancied they
could not be mistaken. No other brig as powerful as this had been
reported cruising in the waters of Virginia and the Carolinas. By a
stroke of fortune almost incredible they had been saved at the very
brink of death. The brig was steering straight toward them, hauled to
take the wind abeam, and she would be up before sunset.
Shading his eyes with his hand, Joe Hawkridge suddenly uttered a curse
so fierce and wicked that it was enough to freeze the blood. He clutched
Jack's shoulder for support as though shorn of all his strength and
hoarsely gasped:
"Not two masts but three! See it? She lifts high enough to show the
stump of the foremast with head-sails jury rigged. 'Twas the storm made
a brig of her!"
"Then she may be Blackbeard's ship?" faltered Jack, in a whisper.
"Remember when the gale first broke and we parted company?" was the
reply. "The _Revenge_ lost her fore-topmast ere the swine could find
their wits."
"Aye, Joe, but this may be some other vessel."
"She looks most damnably familiar," was the reluctant admission. "A
great press of sail,--it fooled me into thinking her Stede Bonnet's
brig."
Gloomily they waited until the black line of the hull was visible
whenever the raft lifted on the back of a wave. This was enough for Joe.
He recognized the graceful shear of the flush deck which had been
extended fore and aft to make room for a heavier main battery. Even at
a distance, a sailor's eye could read other signs that marked this ship
as the _Revenge_.
"The devil looks after his own," angrily exclaimed Joe. "I'd ha' wagered
my last ducat that she was whirled away to founder. Blackbeard boasts of
his compact with Satan. I believe it's true."
"Shall we pull down our mast and pray that he passes the raft as a piece
of wreckage?" implored Jack.
Mustering his wits to meet this new crisis, Joe Hawkridge cried
impatiently:
"No, no, boy! This way death is sure, and most discomfortin'. If it
suits Blackbeard's whim to pick us up, there is a chance,--a chance, I
say, but make one slip and he will run us through with his own hand."
"We must arrange our tale of the wreck, Joe, to match without flaw.
Quick! What have we to say?"
"A task for a scholar, this," grinned the sea urchin. "If it's not well
learned, we'll taste worse'n a flogging. Where be his prize crew of
pirates, asketh Blackbeard. Answer me that, Jack."
"The _Plymouth Adventure_ was driven upon a shoal and lost," glibly
affirmed the other lad who had rallied to play at this hazardous game.
"Her boats were stove up. We left the pirates building a raft for
themselves and trusted ourselves to this poor contrivance, hoping to
gain the coast."
"Good, as far as it goes," observed the critical Joe.
"And it veers close to the truth. About the ship's company? What say
you?"
"There I hang in the wind," confessed Jack. "Blackbeard would have flung
'em overboard, I trow. Have a shot at it yourself."
"Well, leave me to answer that when the time comes. That we may agree,
suppose we say Ned Rackham needed the sailors to work the ship and so
spared 'em. Hanged if we can make it all true as Gospel."
"But if Blackbeard searches for the wreck, or if some of those pirates
rejoin him, Joe----"
"But me no more buts," snapped the sea rover. "We be jammed in a
clove-hitch, as the seaman's lingo hath it. Take trouble as it comes
and, ware ye, don't weaken."
They stared at the oncoming ship, dreading to be rescued and even more
fearful of being passed by. Disfigured though she was by a shattered
foremast, the _Revenge_ made a gallant picture as she leaned to show the
copper sheathing which flashed like gold. Her bow flung the crested seas
aside and Joe Hawkridge muttered admiringly:
"A swift vessel! She carries a bone in her teeth. A telescope can sight
us soon. Steady the raft, Jack, whilst I wriggle up this mast of ours
and wave my shirt."
"A hard choice," sighed Jack. "Now we well know what it means to be
betwixt the devil and the deep sea."
They saw the _Revenge_ shift her course a couple of points as the sheets
were eased off. A little way to windward of the raft, she hove to while
a small boat was hoisted out. Curiosity prompted Blackbeard to find out
who these castaways were and from what ship they had drifted. It
occurred to Joe Hawkridge that he might be in quest of tidings of the
two sloops of his squadron which no longer kept him company. Jack
Cockrell's teeth chattered but not with cold as the boat bobbed away
from the side of the _Revenge_. Presently Joe recognized the pirate at
the steering oar as a petty officer who had often befriended him.
This fellow's swarthy, pockmarked face crinkled in a smile as he
flourished his broad hat and yelled:
"Stab my gizzard, but here's the London 'prentice-boy a-cruisin' on his
own adventure."
"Right-o, Jesse Strawn," Joe called back. "My bark is short-handed. I
need lively recruits. Will ye enlist?"
The boat's crew laughed at this as they reached out to lay hold of the
raft while the two lads leaped aboard. Joe Hawkridge carried it off with
rough bravado as though glad to be among his pals again. They eyed Jack
Cockrell with quizzical interest and he did his best to be at ease,
permitting Joe to vouch for him as a young gentleman with a taste for
piracy who had won Blackbeard's favor in the _Plymouth Adventure_. They
were plied with eager questions regarding the fate of the merchant ship
and Ned Rackham's prize crew. It was a chance to rehearse the tale as
they had concocted it, and it seemed to hang together well enough to
satisfy these simple rogues.
In his turn, Joe Hawkridge demanded to know the gossip of the _Revenge_.
The storm had sobered Blackbeard, it seemed, and he had displayed the
skill of a masterly seaman in bringing them safely through. In toiling
for their own lives, the men had forgotten their brawls and plots and
guzzling. And the great wind had blown the ship clear of Spanish fever.
There were no new cases and the invalids were gaining strength. Fresh
food and sweet water were needed and the opinion was that Blackbeard now
steered for an old rendezvous of his on the North Carolina coast where
his sloops would meet him if they were still afloat.
Jack Cockrell found his courage returning as he clambered up the side of
the _Revenge_ and followed Joe aft to the quarter-deck. Unless they
bungled it, there was a chance that they might escape when the pirates
made their landing on the coast to refresh themselves and refit the
ship. The mate on watch greeted them good-humoredly enough and bade them
enter the cabin where the captain awaited them. Jack was all a-flutter
again but he managed to imitate Joe's careless swagger.
Blackbeard lounged at his ease in a huge chair of carven ebony which
might have been filched from some stately East Indiaman or a ship of the
Grand Mogul himself. He had flung off his coat and the sleeves of a
shirt of damask silk were rolled to the elbow. Instead of the great,
mildewed sea-boots he wore slippers of crimson leather embroidered with
threads of gold. Gorgeous cushions, pieces of plate, costly apparel
strewed the cabin in barbaric confusion.
What the two lads gazed at, however, was this bizarre figure of a despot
who held the power of life and death. It was one of his quieter
interludes when he laid aside the ferocious and bombastic play-acting
which made it hard to discover whether he was very cunning or half-mad.
The immense beard flowed down his chest instead of being tricked out in
gaudy ribbons. He was idly running a comb through it when his small,
rum-reddened eyes took in the two lads in dripping clothes who were
shoved toward him by the sentry guarding the hatch.
Blackbeard let a hairy hand stray to clutch one of the pistols kept on
the table beside him. Jack Cockrell gulped and stole a frightened glance
at Joe Hawkridge who winked and nudged him. There was some small comfort
in this. Spellbound, they stared at the pistol and then at the pirate's
massive forearm on which a skull and cross-bones was pricked in India
ink. At this moment Jack earnestly wished himself back on the raft. The
barrel of the pistol looked as big as a blunderbuss.
With a yawn, Blackbeard reached for a silver bowl of Brazil nuts,
cracked one of them with the pistol-butt and roared for the black cabin
boy who came running with a flask of Canary wine and a goblet. Jack
Cockrell's sigh of relief sounded like a porpoise coming up for air. He
was not to be shot at once. Suddenly Blackbeard exclaimed, in that
husky, growling voice of his:
"I saw you rascals through the glass before I came below. What of the
ship I left ye in? Briefly now, and no lies."
Together the lads pieced out the narrative as they had hastily prepared
it. The vital thing was to watch lest they tell a word too much. Jack
stumbled once or twice but his comrade covered it adroitly, and they did
not betray themselves. The sweat trickled into their eyes but the heat
of the cabin was excuse for this. Blackbeard studied them intently,
munching Brazil nuts and noisily sipping his wine.
"The _Plymouth Adventure_ stranded yester-eve?" said he. "Know ye the
lay of the coast where the wreck lies? What of the shipmaster and Ned
Rackham? Were they able to fix the shoal by reckoning?"
"No, sir," readily answered Joe Hawkridge. "'Twas strange land to all
hands."
From a chest Blackbeard hauled out a dog-eared chart of parchment and
unrolled it upon the table. The boys foresaw his intention and feared
the worst. Presently they heard him mumble to himself:
"A small wind setting from the west'ard,--twenty-four hours of drift
for the lads' raft,--a dozen leagues, I call it."
He looked up from the chart to ask:
"The wreck was lodged fast in smooth water and holding together?"
"Aye, but in peril of working off and sinking like an iron pot,"
answered Joe. "For this reason the people were in haste to quit her."
"Her own crew made for the beach, I have no doubt," shrewdly pursued
Blackbeard, "but my men 'ud stay by the wreck and watch the weather ere
they shoved off. Trust the food and drink and plunder to hold 'em."
He lumbered to the hatch and called up to the mate on watch. While they
conferred, Joe Hawkridge whispered to his perturbed companion:
"He will hunt for the wreck, Jack. But unless the wind changes, he can't
beat in to the coast with his fore-topmast gone."
"A merciful delay," muttered Jack. "I worry not so much for Captain
Wellsby and his people. They will hide themselves well inland when they
make out the _Revenge_, but what of you and me?"
"'Tis a vexing life we lead. I will say that much, Master Cockrell."