OUR HEROES SEEK SECLUSION
AN hour before dawn the anchor was aweigh and the _Royal James_ drifted
ahead like a shadow, in between the outer islands where the fairway was
wide and safe. Her gun-ports were open and every man was alertly at his
station. It was a silent ship excepting when an officer passed an order
along. Joe Hawkridge began to feel more sanguine of winning against
odds. He had never seen such iron discipline as this in the bedlam
aboard the _Revenge_. Stede Bonnet knew how to slacken the reins and
when to apply the curb. His men were loyal because he dealt out justice
as well as severity.
"The captain says we must go below when the action commences, Joe,"
dismally observed Jack Cockrell.
"It goes against the grain but we will not dispute him," was the sage
reply. "We needn't be idle. You can lend a hand with the powder or pass
the water buckets to douse the fire if she gets ablaze. And there's the
wounded to carry into the cockpit and the blood to mop up, and----"
"Enough o' that," cried Jack, getting pale about the gills. "You take it
like a butcher!"
"What else is it, you big moon-calf? Set me safe ashore in that Charles
Town of yours, and I hope ne'er to see another weapon barring a spoon
and a knife to cut my vittles."
"There is sense in that," agreed young Master Cockrell.
Smartly handled, the brig crept in as far as she dared go without more
light by which to avoid the shallower water. The anchor was dropped to a
short cable and buoyed ready to slip. It was estimated that the distance
from Blackbeard's ship was somewhat more than a mile. The stars faded
and the cloudless sky began to take on a roseate hue. The light breeze
which had breathed like a cool zephyr through the night was dying in
languid catspaws. Gradually the dark outline of coastal swamp and forest
was uncurtained. And eager eyes were able to discern the yellow spars
and blurred hull of the _Revenge_ against the gloomy background.
Stede Bonnet's brig was, of course, pricked out much more sharply with
the seaward horizon behind her. To her crew, in this hushed morning,
there came a prolonged, shrill note that was like the call of a bird. It
trilled with a silvery sweetness and was repeated over and over again.
"A bos'n's pipe," said Captain Bonnet, a hand cupped at his ear.
"Blackbeard has sighted us and is mustering his crew."
So faint was the breeze that the command was given to man two boats and
take a hawser from the brig to tow her through the inner channel. Before
they were in motion, however, the pearly mist began to roll out of the
Cherokee swamp as if a great cauldron were steaming. The weather favored
it, heat in the air and little wind. The mist seemed also to rise from
the water, hanging low but as thick as a summer fog. It shrouded the
coast and Blackbeard's ship and crept out across the harbor until the
brig was enveloped in it.
"'Twas like this when we swum ashore and found the pirogue, Cap'n
Bonnet," said Joe Hawkridge. "A curious kind o' white smother from the
swamp."
"And how long did it hang thus?" was the impatient query.
"When the sun was well up, sir, it seemed to burn away like. It has the
same look as the fever-breedin' vapors of Darien and Yucatan."
Captain Bonnet called his boats back and was in an ugly humor. There was
no towing the brig through this bothersome fog which obscured every mark
and left a man bewildered. And instead of surprising Blackbeard
unprepared, he would now have time to make his ship ready. However,
Stede Bonnet was not a man to wring his hands because a well-laid scheme
went wrong. Without delay the crew was assembled in the waist and he
spoke to them from the break of the poop.
"We shall make this weather serve our purpose, lads. Fill the boats,
every man to his billet. The mates will see to it that the oars are
well muffled. Silence above all things. Nimbly now."
There was no need to say more. They fathomed the strategy which would
enable them to approach Blackbeard's ship unheard and unseen and then
swarm over her side in a ferocious onslaught. Cheerily they took stock
of their weapons, drank a health from a tub of stiff grog, and lined up
for Captain Bonnet's inspection. They wore clean clothes, the best they
could find in their bags, as has always been the sailor's habit when
going into action. The ship was left in charge of the navigator with a
few men who were the least stalwart or experienced in such desperate
adventures as this.
Stede Bonnet went in command of the largest boat to lead the party and
single out Blackbeard as his own particular foe. There was a large
chance that he might not return and he therefore left instructions for
the disposal of the brig, advising the navigator to take her to Charles
Town and there sue for the king's pardon in behalf of those on board. He
shook hands with Jack Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge, bade them be careful
of their own safety, and with no more ado took his place in the boat.
The flotilla stole away from the brig, sunburned, savage men with bright
weapons for whom life was like a throw of the dice, and the pearly fog
concealed them when they had passed no more than a cable-length away. So
skilfully was the sound of the oars deadened that you would not have
guessed that boats were moving across the harbor.
"Blackbeard fights like a tiger but trust Cap'n Bonnet to outwit him,"
said Joe Hawkridge, who stood at the brig's rail with Jack at his elbow.
"It will be mighty hard waiting," was the tense reply. "We shall know
when they find the _Revenge_. They are not apt to miss her, with a
compass in the captain's boat."
"Aye, there'll be noise enough. Plaguey queer, eh, Jack, to be a-loafin'
with nothing to see, like your head was wrapped in a blanket. They ought
to fetch alongside Blackbeard in a half-hour. Go turn the sand-glass in
the cabin."
They fidgeted about in aimless fashion and fell into talk with the
navigator, or artist, as he was called, a middle-aged man who had been a
master mariner in the slave trade. He told them a yarn or two of the
Guinea coast but he, too, was restless and left them to stump up and
down the deck and peer toward the shore. Jack dodged into the cabin to
watch the sand trickle into the bottom of the glass. Never was a
half-hour so long in passing.
A yell from Joe Hawkridge recalled him to the deck. He listened but
heard no distant pistol shots or the hoarse uproar of men in mortal
combat. Joe raised a warning hand and told him to stand still. There
came a faint splash. It might have been a fish leaping but Joe insisted
that it was made by a careless oar. Jack heard it again and then fancied
he caught the softened beat of muffled oars close at hand.
"They lost the course. The fog confused 'em," said he, in great disgust.
"But why come back to the ship?" demanded Joe. "They could lay and wait
for the fog to lift a little. And I told Cap'n Bonnet to bear to the
north'ard if in doubt and find the shore of the swamp. Then he could
coast back to the beach and so strike the _Revenge_."
"Well, here they come, Joe, and there is sure to be a good reason.
Mayhap the fog cleared to landward and they intend to tow the brig in,
after all."
Just then the foremost boat became visible and behind it was the vague
shape of another. The puzzled lads stared and stared and the hair
stiffened on their scalps for sheer horror. These were not the boats
from the _Royal James_. They were filled with Blackbeard's own pirates
from the _Revenge_!
The explanation was simple enough. Joe Hawkridge read it at a glance.
Blackbeard was not the drunken chuckle-head that Stede Bonnet had
assumed him to be. He, too, had taken advantage of the fog to attempt to
carry the enemy by stealth. The wit of the one had been matched by the
other. And the two flotillas had gone wide enough in passing to escape
mutual discovery. In a way it was a pirates' comedy but there were two
spectators who foresaw a personal tragedy. They fled for the cabin and
scuttled through a small door in a bulkhead which admitted them to the
dark hold of the ship.
It was their purpose to hide in the remotest nook that could be found.
Falling over odds and ends of cargo they burrowed like rats and stowed
themselves behind a tier of mahogany logs which had been taken out of
some prize or other. They were in the bottom of the ship, upon the rough
floor covering the stone ballast. Then these frightened stowaways found
respite to confer in tremulous whispers.
"This is the very dreadfulest fix of all, Joe. I had a fair look at
Blackbeard himself, in the stern of the boat,--red ribbons in his
whiskers, and his sash stuck full of pistols."
"That old rip isn't an easy man to mistake, Jack. Now the fat _is_ in
the fire," replied the Hawkridge lad who, for once, appeared
discouraged. "Cap'n Bonnet is a vast sight happier than us. He gets the
_Revenge_ without strikin' a blow."
"But Blackbeard gets _us_," wailed Master Cockrell. "And I helped to
chase him through the swamp after we rammed the pirogue into his wherry
and capsized the treasure chest. Do you suppose he knew me just now?"
"Those little red eyes of his are passing keen. But didn't ye tell me of
smearing your face with mud that day to fend off the mosquitoes? It may
ha' disguised you."
"A little comfort in that, Joe, but to be found in Stede Bonnet's brig
bodes ill enough. Of a truth we be born to trouble as the sparks fly
upward ever since we joined the pirates. What is your advice?"
"To stay hid below and pray God for another shift o' fortune," piously
answered Joe. "There is no fear of Blackbeard's rummagin' the hold at
present. He must decide if he'll fight the _Revenge_ or give her the
slip. And whilst him and his men are busied on deck, I can make bold to
search for stores fit to eat. Cap'n Bonnet allus had a well-found ship.
Blast it, Jack, my hearty, stock us up and we could lie tucked in the
forepeak for a month o' Sundays."
"But the rats and the darkness and the stinks, and to be expecting
discovery," was Jack's dreary comment.
"It would ha' looked like a parlor to me when I was on that barren cay
and sighted Ned Rackham's rogues coming off from the snow," said the
other stowaway. He was beginning to recuperate from the shock.
They were in a mood for no more speech but sat in this rayless cavern of
a hold and strove to hear any sounds which might indicate the course of
events on deck. There was no hubbub of firearms nor the cries of wounded
men. It was foolish to assume that the dozen seamen who had been left to
keep the ship would attempt resisting Blackbeard's mob of pirates all
primed for slaughter. When quietude seemed to reign all through the ship
Joe Hawkridge whispered this opinion:
"If his fancy was to deal with 'em later, he would pitch the lot down
here in the hold. Failing that, Jack, he has offered 'em the chance to
enlist. Being so few, they can't plot mischief, and he has lost the
hands he left aboard the _Revenge_."
"But I thought all this crew was true as steel to Stede Bonnet, Joe."
"Many a man'll change his mind to save his life," was the reply. "And
these lads aren't what you call Cap'n Bonnet's picked men. As for the
navigator, Blackbeard needs him to fill Ned Rackham's berth."
Soon Joe Hawkridge told Jack to stay where he was. Now was the time to
explore the lower part of the ship. Squeezing his comrade's hand in
farewell, Joe crawled aft to make his way to a rough bulkhead which
walled off a storeroom built next to the cabin. The boys had passed
through it in their headlong flight below. Here was kept the bulk of the
ship's provisions. Joe Hawkridge had learned of the storeroom through
helping the steward hoist out a barrel of pork.
With his heart in his throat the venturesome lad groped like a blind
man, grievously barking his shins and his knuckles, until he bumped into
the timbers of the bulkhead. Inching himself along, he came to the small
door which had been cut into the hold to connect with the main hatch. He
had slipped the iron bar behind him during his flight with Jack
Cockrell. Pulling the door ajar he wormed through into the storeroom
which was also dark as midnight. His fingers touched what seemed to be
a tierce of beef but he had no tools to start the head or the hoops. In
the same manner he discovered other casks and barrels but they were
utterly useless to him. Here was food enough, he reflected, if a man had
teeth to gnaw through oak staves.
Now and again he had to cross to the other door which led into the cabin
passageway and press his ear against a plank to make certain against
surprise. Up and down the dark room he blundered, refusing to admit
himself beaten. The first bit of cheer was when his foot struck a round
object as solid as a round shot and he picked up a small Dutch cheese.
This renewed his courage and he ransacked the corners on hands and
knees. Blackbeard's treasure chest was not half so precious as a side of
salted fish which he ran down by scent, saying to himself:
"With this rancid cheese and the slab o' ancient cod, ye could smell my
course a league to wind'ard."
In a crumpled sack he found a few pounds of what seemed to be wheat
flour, by the feel and taste of it. Poor stuff as it was, dry and
uncooked, he added it to his stock.
"Rubbishy vittles," he sighed. "They may keep a man alive but he'll
choke to death a-swallowin' of 'em."
Water was the desperate necessity and it was not to be sought for in the
storeroom. There was rum enough, the place reeked with it, but to
thirsty throats it was so much liquid fire. Joe was resolved not to
return to Jack Cockrell without a few pints of water if reckless
enterprise could procure it. Was the cabin still empty? He stood for a
long time and listened but there was not a sound beyond the door of the
passageway. Taking his courage in both hands he pushed at the door and
it creaked open on rusty hinges. Light as a feather he moved one foot in
front of the other, halted, advanced another step, and so entered the
large cabin in which Stede Bonnet had lived with a Spartan simplicity.
What Joe coveted was the porous jar or water-monkey which hung suspended
in a netting above the table. It was kept filled, he knew, in order to
cool the tepid water from the casks. A heavenly sight it was to him to
see the drops sweating on its rounded sides. He snatched it down and was
about to make a swift retirement, but still spread upon the table he
noted the chart of the Carolina and Virginia coasts which he had pored
over with Stede Bonnet. This he delayed to roll up and tuck under one
arm, not that he expected to employ it himself, but to make cruising
more difficult for Blackbeard.
This bit of strategy held him a moment too long. He shot a glance over
his shoulder, alarmed by a tread on the companion ladder. Horrified he
beheld a pair of Spanish boots with scarlet, crinkled morocco tops, and
they encased bandy legs which were strong and thick. What saved the
miserable young Hawkridge was that the occupant of these splendid boots
paused half-way down the ladder to shout a profane command or two in
those husky accents so feared by all lawful shipmen.
Before that sable beard came into his field of vision the lad was in
full stride, running like a whippet, chart under one arm, water-jar
under the other. He checked himself to ease the door behind him just as
the truculent captor of the _Royal James_ brig reached the foot of the
ladder and let his gaze rove about the cabin. Sinking to the floor of
the storeroom, Joe was afraid that for once he was about to swoon like a
silly maid at sight of a mouse. As he had truly said, this pirating was
no trade for a nervous man. Never mind, a miss was as good as a mile.
Thankful for the darkness that closed around him, he slung the
water-monkey over his shoulder in its hammock of netted cord, pushed the
side of codfish inside his shirt, poked the chart into his boot-leg, put
the cheese in the sack atop the flour, and was freighted for his journey
through the hold.
This he accomplished after great difficulty and had to whistle and wait
for a response before he could be sure of Jack Cockrell's whereabouts.
"What luck, Joe?" was the plaintive question. "I'd sooner starve than be
left alone in this dungeon."
"Behold the dashing 'prentice-boy with another hairbreadth escape to his
credit," replied the hero. "Be thankful for your dinner 'cause
Blackbeard all but made a mouthful of me."
"You saw him, Joe?"
"Up to the middle of him, and that was a-plenty. Don't ask me. I had a
bad turn."
"I feel sick, too," said Jack. "The smell of this vile bilge-water
breeds a nausea, and, whew, 'tis worse than ever."
"Bilge, my eye! You sniff the banquet I fetched ye. Here's a prime
cheese that was hatched when Trimble Rogers was a pup."
Jack offered a feeble apology and felt revived after a pull at the
water-monkey. What they craved most was a spark of light, the glimmer of
a candle to lift this appalling gloom which pressed down like a visible
burden. With nothing to do but discuss the situation from every slant
and angle of conjecture, it was Joe Hawkridge's theory that Stede Bonnet
would not rest content with regaining the _Revenge_ but would come out
to attack the brig as soon as the wind favored. His hatred of Blackbeard
was one motive but there was a point of honor even more compelling.
"He called you his guest, Jack," explained Joe, "and I never did see a
man so jealous of his plighted word when once he swore it. He took
obligation to set you safe in Charles Town, d'ye see? And powder smoke
won't stop him."
"Will Blackbeard tarry for a fight, Joe?"
"Not to my notion. He knows well this brig is no match for the
_Revenge_, knows it better than did Cap'n Bonnet, what with all the
heavy metal slung aboard from the sloop. And what does Blackbeard gain
by having this brig hammered into a cocked hat? Fate tricked him
comically with this swappin' about of ships."
"And will he linger on this coast? Oh, Joe, if he goes for a long
cruise, what in mercy's name becomes of us two?"
"A long cruise, it looks like, shipmate. In the _Revenge_ he could laugh
at the small king's men-o'-war commissioned to hunt him down. He was
ready to slap alongside any of 'em. Now 'tis different. As another flea
in his ear, I stole the only chart of these waters. To the south'ard
he'll turn, and I will bet that rampageous cheese on it."
"Clear to the Bay of Honduras?" said Jack.
"As far as that, at a guess. Or he may skirt the Floridas to look for
Spanish prizes and put in at the Dry Tortugas which is a famous
rendezvous for pirates of the Main. He will be hot to fit himself with a
bigger ship, by capture or by some knavish trick such as he dealt Cap'n
Bonnet."