THE OLD BUCCANEER IS LOYAL
SORROW mingled with rejoicing when the _King George_ brigantine sailed
into Charles Town harbor. The sea fight off Cherokee Inlet had taken a
heavy toll of brave seamen and there were vacant chairs and aching
hearts ashore, but the fiendish Blackbeard had been blotted out and
would no more harry the coast. Small and rude as was this pioneer
settlement, it was most fair and attractive to the eyes of young Master
Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge. In the house of Uncle Peter Forbes they
rested at their ease and planned sedate careers for themselves.
Even the treasure ceased to be uppermost in their lively discussions. It
could wait a while. They were no longer under the spell of its
influence. This different world in which they now dwelt so contentedly
made their adventures seem like shadowy figments with precious little
romance in them. And neither lad expressed any great anxiety to go
exploring the noisome Cherokee swamp and to challenge the ghost of
Blackbeard.
Without a sign of rebellion, Jack returned to his books and lessons in
Parson Throckmorton's garden. The learning already acquired he began to
pass on to Joe Hawkridge, who was a zealous pupil and determined to
read and write and cipher without letting the grass grow under his feet.
It was this young pirate's ambition to make a shipping merchant of
himself, and Councilor Forbes found him employment in a warehouse where
the planters traded their rice, resin, and indigo for the varied
merchandise brought out from England. Jack aspired to manage his uncle's
plantation and to acquire lands of his own and some day to sit in the
Governor's Council.
Of a Sunday morning he went to the little English church, dressed in his
best and using a cane, for he limped from the wound in his thigh. Joe
Hawkridge walked with him, careful to banish his grin, and sat in the
Councilor's pew where he paid proper attention to the prayers and
responses. This caused some gossip but the ocean waif was winning his
way to favor by dint of industry, a shrewd wit, and his perennial good
humor.
Frequently they escorted fair Dorothy Stuart home from church. She was
fonder than ever of stalwart Master Cockrell because the colonel had
told her he would have been a dead man had not the lad intervened to
save him from the stroke of a negro pirate. Alas, however, it was not
that sentimental devotion for which the lovelorn Jack yearned, and he
confided to Joe that his existence was blighted. This evoked no sympathy
from the fickle Hawkridge, who was forgetting his black-eyed lass in the
Azores and was already a slave to Dorothy Stuart. She laughed at them
both and was their true friend, tender, and whimsical and anxious for
their welfare. It was a valuable chapter in their education.
One morning while Joe was at work in the warehouse near the harbor, he
heard a commotion in the street and was about to run out when his
employer came in and explained:
"Two pirates captured,--just as I happened to pass. The knaves landed
from a boat in broad daylight, unaware that Charles Town has mended its
loose habit toward such gentry."
"What will be done with 'em?" quickly asked Joe, with an unhappy
premonition.
"They were recognized as two of Stede Bonnet's old hands that used to
resort to the tavern. Soldiers of the Governor's guard have been sent
for to drag them to the gaol."
Joe hastened out but slackened his pace to lag behind the crowd of
idlers who were jostling the prisoners along with hoots and jeers. Yes,
there was the tall, gaunt frame and gray head of old Trimble Rogers
whose mien was so forbidding and masterful that the mob forbore to
handle him too roughly, unarmed though he was. At his elbow trudged
chubby Bill Saxby, gazing about him with those wide blue eyes in which
was not a trace of guile. Joe realized that for him to intercede would
make matters worse. He was a reformed pirate on probation and was known
to have sailed with Blackbeard himself.
Therefore he darted into another street and sped to find Jack Cockrell,
who chanced to be at home. They rushed into the room where Uncle Peter
Forbes was writing at his desk and informed him that their two staunch
comrades had come ashore to find them and were already in custody and
something must be done to save them from the wrath of Governor Johnson,
who had a mortal distaste for pirates still at large. The Councilor
calmed the perturbation by assuring them:
"I have already spoken to His Excellency in behalf of these two men
should they appear in this port. He was not wholly pleased but promised
clemency should they offer to repent and if I gave surety for the
pledge."
"They will be ready to live as respectable as Joe," impetuously declared
Master Cockrell. "I'll go bail on it. Bill Saxby is a tradesman by
nature and if you will lend him enough money to set himself up as a
linen-draper and haberdasher, Uncle Peter, he can live happily ever
after."
"And old Trimble Rogers has sailed his last cruise under the Jolly
Roger, Councilor," put in Joe Hawkridge. "His timbers are full o' dry
rot and he seeks a safe mooring."
"There seems no end to the bad company you drag me into," quoth Uncle
Peter. "My hat and broadcloth cloak, Jack, and let us fare to the gaol
and see what these awkward visitors have to say. After that I will
attend upon the Governor."
In better spirits the anxious lads followed the dignified Secretary of
the Council to the strongly built gaol on the edge of the town. In a
very gloomy cell behind iron bars they found the luckless brace of
pirates, shackled hand and foot. Bill Saxby took it like a placid
philosopher but the ancient buccaneer was spitting Spanish oaths and
condemning the hospitality of Charles Town in violent terms. He quieted
instantly at sight of his young friends and the harsh, wrinkled visage
fairly beamed as he shouted:
"Our _camaradas_, Bill. Here they be, to haul us out of this filthy
hole! I forgive the unmannerly folks that allus used to welcome us."
They shook hands through the bars while Uncle Peter stood aside. He felt
that his official station forbade his joining this fraternal reunion. In
the narrow corridor he chatted with the gaoler to pass the time while
Bill Saxby was explaining to the lads:
"We was in duty bound, in a manner of speakin', to run you down as soon
as possible and make a report. Eh, Trimble?"
"Aye, Bill, to see what was to be done about the treasure. We wouldn't
have 'em think we had run off with it. D'ye see, Master Cockrell, me and
Bill took Cap'n Bonnet into our confidence. He is an honorable man and
to be mentioned along with the great Cap'n Ed'ard Davis what I was
shipmates with in the South Sea and at the sack of----"
"Stow it, grandsire," cried Bill. "I don't want to linger in gaol while
you spin that long-winded yarn. Tell the lads what they want to know."
"If I weren't chained to the wall, Bill, I'd put my fist in your eye,"
severely retorted the veteran. "As I was a-sayin', Cap'n Bonnet was all
courtesy and allowed the treasure belonged to us and he was ready to
help find it."
"We told him we had to join up with our gentleman partner, Master
Cockrell, and win his consent," said Bill, "afore we put our hooks on
that blessed sea-chest."
"Which is exactly how I felt about you," Jack told them and he was
greatly touched by this proof of their unbending fidelity. "But how did
you manage it to reach Charles Town?"
"Cap'n Bonnet hove to outside the bar last night," explained Trimble
Rogers, "and gave us a handy boat to sail in with."
The wary Joe Hawkridge took alarm at this and put a finger to his lips.
It was unwise to parade the fact that Stede Bonnet cruised so near. His
Excellency, the Governor, was anxious that he should share the fate of
Blackbeard. Jack Cockrell had no fear that his Uncle Peter would be a
tale-bearer. His private honor would forbid because this interview with
the two lads was a privileged communication. What made Jack a trifle
anxious was the presence of the gaol keeper in the corridor. He was a
sneaking sort of man, soft of tread and oily of speech and inclined to
curry favor with those in authority.
Councilor Peter Forbes had tactfully withdrawn this person beyond
earshot but he began to edge toward the cell. Old Trimble Rogers tried
to heed Joe's cautionary signal but what he meant to be a whisper was a
hoarse rumble as he explained:
"Cap'n Bonnet sends word he will be off this coast again in thirty days.
He will come ashore hisself, to Sullivan's Island to get the answer,
whether you are to go with us, Master Cockrell, to Cherokee Inlet."
Jack glanced at the gaol keeper but he was a dozen feet away and deep in
talk with Mr. Forbes. There was no sign that this confidence had been
overheard. Bill Saxby scolded the buccaneer for his careless speech but
the old man had been a freebooter too long to be easily tamed. With
artful design, Jack led him away from this dangerous ground and
suggested:
"You are done with pirating? And will you both be ready to stay ashore
in Charles Town after this,--this certain errand is accomplished?"
"I swear it gladly and on my own Bible," answered Trimble Rogers.
"Swear it for me," said Bill Saxby.
Mr. Forbes interrupted and told the lads to go home and await his
conference with Governor Johnson. It proved to be a session somewhat
stormy but the upshot was a pardon conditioned on good behavior. The
convincing argument was that these men had been faithful to Master
Cockrell through thick and thin and had saved him from perishing in the
Cherokee swamp. Moreover, it might be an inducement to others of Stede
Bonnet's crew to surrender themselves and forsake their evil ways.
No sooner were these two pirates released from gaol than they found an
active friend in Mr. Peter Forbes. He went about it quietly, for obvious
reasons, but he felt under great obligation to them for their goodness
to his nephew. Just at this time one of the shop-keepers became a
bankrupt because of unthrifty habits and too much card-playing. Through
an agent, Peter Forbes purchased the stock of muslins and calicos, of
brocades and taffetas, calash bonnets, satin petticoats, shoe-buckles,
laces, and buttons. And having given his promissory notes for said
merchandise, Bill Saxby proudly hung his own sign-board over the door.
There was a flutter among the ladies. Here was a noteworthy sensation,
to be served by an obsequious pirate with innocent blue eyes who had
sailed the Spanish Main. A few days and it was evident that William
Saxby, late of London, would conduct a thriving trade. He was fairly
enraptured with his good fortune and congenial occupation and took it
most amiably when Jack Cockrell or Joe Hawkridge sauntered in to tease
him. He was a disgrace to Stede Bonnet, said they, and never had a
pirate fallen to such a low estate as this.
Trimble Rogers was in no situation to rant at smug William, the linen
draper. The old sea wolf who had outlived the most glorious era of the
storied buccaneers, had a few gold pieces tucked away in his belt and at
first he was content to loaf about the tavern, with an audience to
listen to his wondrous tales which ranged from Henry Morgan to the great
Captain Edward Davis. But he had never been a sot or an idler and soon
he found himself lending a hand to assist the landlord in this way or
that. And when disorder occurred, a word from this gray, hawk-eyed rover
was enough to quell the wildest roisterers from the plantations.
Children strayed to the tavern green to sit upon his knee and twist
those fierce mustachios of his, and their mothers ceased to snatch them
away when they learned to know him better. Sometimes in his leisure
hours he pored over his tattered little Bible with muttering lips and
found pleasure in the Psalmist's denunciation of his enemies who were
undoubtedly Spaniards in some other guise. He puttered about the flower
beds with spade and rake and kept the bowling green clipped close with a
keen sickle. In short, there was a niche for Trimble Rogers in his old
age and he seemed well satisfied to fill it, just as Admiral Benbow
spent his time among his posies at Deptford when he was not bombarding
or blockading the French fleet off Dunkirk.
Jack Cockrell halted for a chat while passing the tavern and these two
shipmates retired to a quiet corner of the porch. The blind fiddler was
plying a lively bow and a dozen boys and girls danced on the turf.
Trimble Rogers surveyed them with a fatherly aspect as he said:
"They ain't afeard of me, Jack, not one of 'em. Was ever a worn out old
hulk laid up in a fairer berth?"
"None of the sea fever left, Trimble? What about Captain Bonnet? He is
due off the bar two days hence. My uncle frowns upon my sailing with him
to seek the treasure. He insists that I steer clear of pirates."
"And that's entirely proper, Jack. I look at things different like, now
I be a worthy citizen. 'Tis better to fit out a little expedition of our
own, if we can drag silly Bill out of his rubbishy shop."
"Oh, he will come fast enough after a while. We are all tired of the sea
just now," said Jack. "What about Captain Bonnet and meeting him at
Sullivan's Island to pass the word that we must decline his courteous
invitation?"
"I shall tend to that," answered the retired buccaneer, "And from what
gossip I glean in the tavern, Cap'n Bonnet had best steer for his home
port of Barbadoes and quit his fancy piratin'. This fractious Governor
has set his heart on hangin' him. And Colonel Stuart is up and about
again and has ordered the _King George_ to fit for sea. 'Tis rumored he
has sent messages to the north'ard for Lieutenant Maynard to sail
another cruise in his company."
"Then be sure you warn Stede Bonnet," strongly advised Jack. "I would
not be disloyal to the Province or to mine own good uncle, but one good
turn deserves another."
Two days after this, Trimble Rogers vanished from the tavern and found
Jack's canoe tied in a cove beyond the settled part of the town. It was
in the evening of this same day that Jack was reading in his room by
candle-light when a tap-tap on the window shutter startled him. He threw
it open and dimly perceived that Dorothy Stuart stood there. Her face
was white in the gloom and she wore a dress of some dark stuff. At her
beckoning gesture, Jack slipped through the window and silently led her
into the lane.
"Oh, Jack, I have been so torn betwixt scruples," she softly confided.
"And I hope I am not doing wrong. If I am disloyal to my dear father,
may I be forgiven. But I have made myself believe that there is a
stronger obligation."
"It concerns Stede Bonnet," murmured Jack, reading the motive of this
secret errand.
"Yes, you are bound to befriend him, Jack, on your honor as a
gentleman."
"He has been warned to keep clear of Charles Town, Dorothy. Trimble
Rogers has gone off to meet him."
"But it is worse than that. The keeper of the gaol, Jason Cutter, was
closeted with my father this morning. I heard something that was said.
Soldiers have been sent to Sullivan's Island."
"To capture Captain Bonnet?" wrathfully exclaimed Jack. "Did Colonel
Stuart go with them? Does he know why Stede Bonnet risks putting into
this harbor in a small boat? It is to do a deed of pure friendship and
chivalry."
"All my father understands is what the gaoler reported," replied
Dorothy, "and the Governor acted on this evidence. No, he did not go
with the troops but sent a major in command."
"Too late for me to be of service, alas! If they take Captain Bonnet
alive, he will most certainly hang. And Bill Saxby and Trimble Rogers
will be embroiled in some desperate attempt to aid his escape from
gaol."
"I am a dreadful, wicked girl to be thus in league with pirates," sighed
Mistress Dorothy, "but I confess to you, Jack dear, that it would grieve
my heart to see this charming pirate wear a hempen halter."
"My rival, is he? So I have found you out," flared Jack, pretending vast
indignation. "Nevertheless, I shall still be true to him."
"And to me, I trust," she fondly replied. "Oh, I feel so thankful that
faithful Trimble Rogers is keeping tryst. He will hear the soldiers
blundering about in time to make Captain Bonnet take heed and shove
off."
Jack walked home with her, very glad of the excuse, but with jealousy
rankling in his bosom. It was not a lasting malady, however, and he had
forgotten it next morning when he went early to the tavern to look for
Trimble Rogers. There he found the major of the detachment at breakfast
with an extraordinary story to tell. He had made a landing on Sullivan's
Island after dark and deployed some of his men to patrol the beach that
faced the ocean. The squad which remained with him had surprised a man
lurking amongst the trees. Pursued and fired at, he had led them an
infernal chase until they burst out upon the open beach. There they
heard the sound of oars and voices in a boat which was making in for the
shore. The hunted man raised his voice in one stentorian shout of:
"Pull out to sea, Cap'n Bonnet. And 'ware this coast. The soldiers are
on my heels. Old Trimble Rogers sends a fare-ye-well."
The boat was wrenched about in a trice and moved away from the island,
soon disappearing in the direction of the bar. The major's men had shot
at it but without effect. When they had rushed to capture the fugitive
who had shouted the warning, they found him prone upon the sand. There
was not a scratch on him and yet he was quite dead. The prodigious
exertion had broken his heart, ventured the major, and it had ceased to
beat. His body would be prepared for Christian burial because of the
esteem in which he was already held by many of the townspeople.
To Jack Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge it was sad news indeed but
tender-hearted Bill Saxby mourned like one who had lost a parent. He
closed the shop for a day and hung black ribbons on the knob. They
agreed that the end had come for Trimble Rogers as he would have wished
it, giving his life in loyal service to a friend and master. And perhaps
it was better thus than for the creeping disabilities of old age to
overtake him.
"He knew he was liable to pop off," said Bill, "with the rheumatism
getting closer to his heart all the time. And he told me, did Trimble,
that his share of the treasure was to go to the poor and needy of the
town. Orphans and such was Trimble's weakness."