BLACKBEARD APPEARS IN FIRE AND BRIMSTONE
HERE was a tragic predicament from which there was no release. Jack
Cockrell was firmly convinced that Blackbeard must have recognized him
that day in the swamp while Joe felt no less certain that he was marked
for death because he had been one of the party of marooned mutineers.
The hope of prolonging their existence by means of raiding the storeroom
had ebbed after Joe's investigation. Such provisions as had been broken
out of bulk were kept in lockers and pantries on deck where they were
convenient to the galley and forecastle. It was realized also that their
twittering nerves could not long withstand the darkness and suspense
once the brig had put out to sea. Joe Hawkridge had nothing more to say
about enduring it a month o' Sundays.
While the brig remained at anchor they clung to the thought that Captain
Stede Bonnet might intervene in their behalf. It did bring them a gleam
of solace to imagine him hoisting sail on the _Revenge_ and crowding out
to rake the brig with his formidable broadsides. And yet they were in
doubt whether the _Revenge_ was fit to proceed at once, what with all
the work there had been to do, rigging a new foremast, caulking leaky
seams, repairing the other ravages of the storm.
These pitiable stowaways had no means of telling one hour from another
until, at length, they heard over their heads the faint, musical strokes
of the ship's bell on the forecastle head. This led them to believe that
the fog had cleared else Blackbeard would not have revealed the vessel's
position. And lifting fog meant a breeze to sweep it away from the
harbor.
"Eight bells she strikes, the first o' the forenoon watch," said Joe.
"We have been cooped in this black pit a matter of three hours a'ready."
"No more than that?" groaned Jack. "It seems at least a week. We must
divert ourselves in some wise. What say if I learn you a bit o' Latin?
And you can say over such sea songs as come to mind, for me to tuck in
my memory."
"Well said, my worthy scholar. 'Tis high time we bowled ahead with my
eddication as a proper gentleman."
Jack began to conjugate _amo_, _amas_, _amat_, and the pupil droned it
after him but the verb _to love_ recalled a black-eyed lass who had
stolen his heart in the Azores and he veered from the Latin lesson to
confide that sentimental passage. So Jack hammered nouns of the first
declension into him until they grew tired of that, and then the sea waif
played his part by reciting such fo'castle ballads as "_Neptune's Raging
Fury_; _or The Gallant Seaman's Sufferings_," and "_Sir Walter Raleigh
Sailing in the Lowlands_."
This was better than the slow agony of waiting in silence, but Joe
spoiled it by turning lovelorn and Jack bemourned fair Dorothy Stuart of
Charles Town whom he would never greet again, and they sang very softly
together a verse of "_The Maid's Lamentation_" which went like this:
"There shall be no Scarf go on my Head,
No Comb into my Hair,
No Fire burn, no Candle light
To shew my Beauty fair,
For never will I married be
Until the Day I die,
Since the Seas and the Winds
Has parted my Love and me."
This left them really in worse spirits than before, and they drowsed off
to sleep, and no wonder, after such a night as they had passed.
Accustomed to broken watches, Joe Hawkridge slept uneasily with one ear
open. Once or twice he sat up, heard Jack's steady snores, and lay down
again. It was the ship's bell which finally brought him to, and he
counted the strokes.
"Five bells, but what watch is it?" he muttered anxiously. "How long was
I napping? Lost track o' the time, so I have, and can't say if it's
night or day."
He sat blinking into the darkness and then had an inspiration. So
staunch and well-kept was the brig that the deck seams were tight and no
light filtered through. Joe left his hiding-place and groped along to
where he thought the main hatch ought to be. Gazing upward he saw a
gleam like a silvered line between the coaming and the edge of the
canvas cover which was battened with iron bars. This persuaded him that
the day had not yet faded, and he concluded that he had heard the bell
strike either in the afternoon watch or the second dog watch of early
evening.
This he imparted to Jack, after prodding him awake. They mulled it over
and agreed that Captain Bonnet must have found the _Revenge_ unready to
weigh anchor or he would have engaged the brig ere this. Perhaps there
was not breeze enough for either vessel to move. Another hour of this
stressful tedium and they heard a sound of sharp significance. It was
the lap-lap of water against the vessel's side. No more than the
thickness of the planking was between them and this tinkling sea, and
Joe exclaimed, in an agitated whisper:
"A breeze o' wind! Gentle it draws, but steady, like it comes off the
land at sundown."
"The same as it did when we were blown offshore on the little raft,
after we quitted the _Plymouth Adventure_," replied Jack.
"Blackbeard will take advantage of it to make for the open sea. There be
three things offered us, Master Cockrell, to starve or go mad in this
blighted hold, to sally on deck and beg mercy, which means a short
shift, or to climb out softly in the night and try to swim for it."
"Swim to what, Joe?"
"Swim to the bottom, most likely. But we might fetch one o' them cays or
the coast itself if he steers close in to find smooth water. 'Tis the
worst odds yet but I'd sooner drown than tarry in this vessel. One
miracle was wrought when the cask came driftin' to the beach to save me,
and who knows but the Lord can spare another one for the salvation of us
poor lads that mean to do right and forsake piratin'."
As they expected, there came soon the familiar racket of making sail and
trimming yards and the clank of the capstan pawls. Then the anchor
flukes scraped and banged against the bow timbers. The vessel heeled a
little and the lapping water changed its tune to a swash-swash as the
hull pushed it aside. The brig was alive and in motion.
"She makes no more than two or three knots," observed Joe, after a
little while. "Ye can tell by the feel of her. The wind is steady but
small."
"Then he can't go clear of the islands till long after night,"
thankfully returned Jack.
Joe made another trip to crane his neck at the main hatch. The bright
thread of daylight had dimmed. He could scarce discern it. The lads
occupied themselves with reckoning the distance, the hour, and the
vessel's speed. Now that Joe had satisfied himself that the end of the
day was near, he knew what the ship's bell meant when it was struck
every half-hour. They would await the passing of another hour, until two
bells of the first watch, by which time they calculated the brig should
be in the wide, outer channel between the seaward islands.
The plan was to emerge through the forepeak in the very bows of the ship
where a scuttle was let into the deck. There they might hope to lower
themselves to the chain stays under the bowsprit and so drop into the
sea. They would be washed past the ship, close to her side, and into the
wake, and there was little chance of drawing attention. True it was that
in this hard choice they preferred to swim to the bottom if so it had to
be.
They crouched where they were hid, waiting to hear the fateful signal of
two bells. It struck, mellow, clear, and they were about to creep in the
direction of the forepeak. But Joe Hawkridge gripped his comrade's arm
and held him fast. A whispered warning and they ceased to move. Behind
them, in the after part of the ship, gleamed a lantern. It illumined the
open door of the bulkhead which walled off the storeroom. And in this
doorway, like a life-sized portrait, grotesque and sinister, set in a
frame, was the figure of Blackbeard.
He advanced into the hold and the cowering stowaways assumed that he had
come to search them out. The impulse was to dash into the forepeak and
so plunge overboard, flinging away all caution, but before their
palsied muscles could respond, the behavior of Blackbeard held them
irresolute and curious. He had turned his back to them and was shouting
boisterously to others to follow him. Seven men came through the
doorway, one after the other, hanging back with evident reluctance. It
was impossible to discern who they were, whether officers or seamen.
Every one carried in his arms what looked to be a tub or an iron pot.
These they set upon the dunnage boards which covered the ballast and
made a flooring in the hold.
Blackbeard bellowed at them to squat in a circle, which they meekly did.
He was in one of his fiendishly mirthful humors, rumpling his beard,
strutting to and fro, laughing in senseless outbursts. At such times his
men were most fearful for their lives. What sort of an infernal pastime
he had now concocted was beyond the imagination of the lads who were
concealed a dozen yards away. He was not hunting them, this much was
plain, and it seemed wise to be quiet and avoid drawing attention to
themselves.
They saw Blackbeard ignite a torch at the lantern and poke it into one
pot after another. Flames began to burn, blue and green and yellow, and
lurid smoke rolled to the deck-beams overhead. Amid this glare and reek
of combustibles, Blackbeard waved his torch and tremendously proclaimed:
"Come, lads, we be all devils together, with a hell of our
own,--brimstone fires and pitch. Now, braggarts, see how long ye can
bear it. 'Tis a foretaste of what's in store for all hands. At this game
I'll outlast ye, for, harkee, I sold my soul to the Old Scratch as is
well known."
[Illustration: HE LOOMED LIKE THE BELIAL WHOM HE WAS SO FOND OF CLAIMING
AS HIS MENTOR]
He stirred his infernal pots and the greasy smoke rolled upward in
choking volume. The brimstone fumes were so vile and noxious that the
victims of this outlandish revel soon gasped and wheezed. But they dared
not object nor move from their places among the villainous pots.
Blackbeard enjoyed their sufferings, taunting them as milksops and
poltroons who could not endure even this taste of Gehenna. He himself
appeared to be unaffected by it, lurching from one man to another,
whacking them with the burning torch or playfully upsetting them. In the
gaseous pall of smoke he loomed like the Belial whom he was so fond of
claiming as his mentor.
Finally one of his involuntary guests toppled over in a faint.
Blackbeard was kind enough to haul him to the door and boot him through
it. A second man dragged himself thither. A third found voice to
supplicate. The witch-fires still smoked and stewed in the pots and
Blackbeard had proved that he was the toughest demon of them all.
The two stowaways watched this demented exploit in sheer wonderment. The
fumes were not dense in their part of the hold and they could breathe,
but they well-nigh strangled in trying to refrain from coughing. The
fires of tar and brimstone and what not cast so much light that they
dared not betray themselves by crawling toward the forepeak. The upright
beams between the keelson and the deck threw black shadows over them and
they were in no great peril of detection so long as they stayed
motionless.
Joe Hawkridge had heard gossip of this extraordinary amusement as a kind
of initiation for hands newly joining Blackbeard's ship. He therefore
read it that these unfortunates were some of Stede Bonnet's men who had
been captured with the brig. They had been allowed to enlist and were
being taught to respect their new master.
Jack Cockrell had hugely admired young Joe for his ready wit and
coolness in other crises of their mutual fortunes but now came a moment
in which the astute sea urchin surpassed himself. It was not too much to
say that he displayed absolute genius with the sturdy Master Cockrell to
aid and abet him. Joe clawed in the dark until he found the sack with a
few pounds of wheat flour in it. A quick whisper and his comrade grasped
the great idea. They took no thought of a sequel. They would trust to
opportunity. Hastily they rubbed the flour into their shirts and
breeches. They covered their faces with it and lavishly sprinkled their
hair. They looked at each other in the shadow of the beams and were
pleased with their handiwork.
Another whispered consultation and Joe possessed himself of the
cannon-ball of a cheese while Jack grasped the side of salt-fish by the
tail. They resembled two whitened clowns of a pantomime but in spirit
they were as grimly serious as the menace of death could make them.
Blackbeard was dancing clumsily, like a drunken bear, and deriding with
lewd oaths the two or three tortured survivors of his brimstone
carnival. In a high, wailing voice which rose to a shriek there was
borne to him the words:
"Ye dirked poor Jesse Strawn and left him rotting in the swamp. I was a
true and faithful seaman, Cap'n Teach."
A deeper voice boomed out, filling the hold with unearthly echoes:
"I am the shade of the master mariner whom ye did foully murder off
Matanzas and there is no rest for me ten fathom down."
The apparitions flitted out of the shadow and were vaguely disclosed in
the flickering glare from the brimstone pots. The smoke gave them a
wavering aspect as though their shapes were unsubstantial. Blackbeard
stood beholding them in a trance of horror. With an aimless finger he
traced the sign of the cross and his pallid lips moved in the murmur:
"_The ghost o' Jesse Strawn! For the love of God, forbear._"
It was a petition as pious as ever Christian uttered. Forgotten was his
wicked counterfeit of the nether region. Again the shrill voice wailed:
"Pity poor Jesse Strawn. I'll haunt ye by land and sea, Cap'n Teach.
Swear by the Book to let that treasure chest lie at the bottom of the
creek else I tear your sinful soul from your body."
The terrible Blackbeard was incapable of motion. Huskily he muttered:
"I'll ne'er seek the chest, good Jesse Strawn, an' it please you to pass
me by."
The two spectres moved forward as the one of the deeper voice declaimed:
"Doomed I was to find no rest till I overtook your ship, Ed'ard Teach.
Each night you'll see me walk the plank from your quarter-deck."
The unhappy Blackbeard gibbered something and would have fled as the
spirits approached him. But those bandy legs tottered and before he
could turn the awful visitants were upon him. One raised a round shot
above his head, or so it appeared to be, and smote him full upon the
crown. The other whirled a flat bludgeon and hit him on the jaw. With
the smell of brimstone was mingled the pungent flavor of ripe cheese and
salt-fish. Blackbeard measured his length, and the ghost of Jesse Strawn
delayed an instant to dump a pot of sizzling combustibles over him.
Then the spirits twain made for the cabin at top speed. Several of the
crew had rushed down to harken to the strange disturbance. They
scattered wildly at the first glimpse of these phantoms, being
superstitious sailormen with many a wicked deed to answer for. It
flashed into Joe Hawkridge's mind that all the men of the watch might be
chased below, the hatches clapped on them, and the mastery of the brig
secured. Blackbeard was absent for reasons best known to himself and his
pirates lacked leadership. A brace of ghosts could put them to panic
rout. And, no doubt, that wailing message of dead Jesse Strawn had
carried like the cry of a banshee.
The poop was deserted in the twinkling of an eye, even to the pair of
helmsmen and the officer of the watch. Against the sky of night the
unwelcome phantoms were wan and luminous while the groans which issued
from them were enough to curdle the blood of the brawniest pirate. He
who had been Jack Cockrell in mortal guise was quick to slide the cabin
hatch closed and fasten it. For the moment they had captured the armed
brig _Royal James_ and as ferocious a crew of rascals as ever scuttled a
merchantman.
Joe Hawkridge glided to the taffrail and peered over the stern. A boat
was towing behind the ship. It had been left there for taking soundings
or pulling the brig's head around while she was still in the shoaler
waters near the coast. This was better than Joe had dared anticipate.
Feeling his way along the rail, he found the end of the rope which was
belayed around a wooden pin. Heaven be praised, they would not have to
swim for it! He beckoned his comrade to say in his ear:
"They will soon find their wits. It 'ud be foolish to try scaring 'em
under hatches now that the jolly-boat floats so handy. There's hard
cases amongst 'em that will begin shooting at us presently. Down the
rope ye go, Jack. I'll stand by and give 'em another dose of poor Jesse
Strawn."
Over the rail flew the stouter phantom of the two and slid like a white
streak, fetching up in the boat with a most earthly and substantial
thump. With a farewell wail the other ghost flung a limber leg over and
shot down so fast that his hands were scorched. To such pirates as
beheld this instant vanishment, these disturbing spirits floated off
into space. Jack cut the rope with his knife and the boat dropped back
in the shining wake. They shoved out two heavy oars and fairly broke
their hearts in pulling dead into the wind where the brig would have to
tack to pursue them.
The rattle of the oars and the discovery of the shorn rope's end must
have convinced the pirates who ran aft that they had been tricked by
mortal beings like themselves. A musket spat a red streak of fire.
Blocks whined as the braces were hauled to change the brig's course. In
the light breeze she responded awkwardly and soon hung in stays.
Meanwhile the jolly-boat was slowly working to windward while two
frightened lads tugged and swung until the flour turned to paste on
their dripping faces.
Before the brig began to forge ahead, the boat was invisible from her
decks. This was evident because the spatter of musket-fire ceased. Soon
the fugitives heard Blackbeard's harsh voice damning all hands. That
thick skull of his had not been cracked by the impact of the solid
cheese and he had been released from his brimstone inferno. The ghosts
rested on their oars. They could watch the glimmering canvas of the brig
and see what her procedure might be. Soon she filled away and forsook
the attempt to find the boat. Blackbeard had wisdom enough to avoid
blundering about and putting the brig aground in a chase so elusive as
this.
"Farewell, ye hairy son of Tophet," said Joe Hawkridge, waving his hand
at the disappearing vessel. "And here's hoping I set your whiskers
ablaze when I turned the pot over 'em."
"Did you hear him swear not to touch the treasure chest, Joe? That was a
master stroke of yours."
"Aye, it was bright of me. But he thinks different now. He knows we made
a booby of him."
"But we learned one thing,--he hasn't recovered the treasure yet,"
suggested Jack.
"He is such a powerful liar that I don't know as the ghost o' Jesse
Strawn could budge the truth out of him. However, it was comfortin' to
hear him swear it on his marrow-bones. I fetched away the navigation
chart, the one I poached from the cabin table. It gives us the lay o'
the coast."
"What ho and whither bound?" was Jack's question. "Here is a sail wound
round a sprit beneath the thwarts."
"The wrong wind to head for Cap'n Bonnet and the _Revenge_. This
swag-bellied jolly-boat handles like a firkin. We had best wait for day
and then decide the voyage."
"Nothing to eat and no water, Joe. All I can find is an empty pannikin."
"You're a glutton," severely exclaimed young Hawkridge. "After the
banquet I served in the hold!"
What Master Cockrell said in reply sounds as familiar and as wistful
to-day as when he spoke it two hundred years ago.
"I have had enough of wandering and strange adventures, Joe. I want to
go home."