The events of that night made a terribly clear impression on the mind of
the young New Englander. Years afterward he would wake with a shiver,
imagining that the relentless hand of the pirate captain was again
dragging him toward an unknown fate. It must have been the darkness and
the sudden unexpectedness of it all that frightened him, for as soon as
they came down the rocks into the flaring firelight he was able to
control himself once more. The wild carouse was still in progress among
the crew. Fierce faces, with unkempt beards and cruel lips, leered redly
from above hairy, naked chests. Eyes, lit from within by liquor and from
without by the dancing flames, gleamed below black brows. Many of the
men wore earrings and metal bands about the knots of their pig-tails,
while silver pistol-butts flashed everywhere.
As the Captain strode into the center of this group, the swinging chorus
fell away to a single drunken voice which kept on uncertainly from
behind the rum-barrel.
"Silence!" said the Captain sharply. The voice dwindled and ceased. All
was quiet about the fire. "Men," went on Jeremy's captor, "clear heads,
all, for this is no time for drinking. We have found this boy upon the
hill, who tells of a fleet of armed ships not above a league from here.
We must set sail within an hour and be out of reach before dawn. Every
man now take a water-keg and follow me. You, Job Howland, keep the boy
and the watch here on the beach."
Fresh commotion broke out as he finished. "Ay, ay, Captain Bonnet!" came
in a broken chorus, as the crew, partially sobered by the words, hurried
to the long-boat, where a line of small kegs lay in the sand. A moment
later they were gone, plowing up the hillside. Jeremy stood where he had
been left. A tall, slack-jointed pirate in the most picturesque attire
strolled over to the boy's side and looked him up and down with a
roguish grin. Under his cloak Jeremy had on fringed leather breeches and
tunic such as most of the northern colonists wore. The pirate, seeing
the rough moccasins and deerskin trousers, burst into a roar. "Ho, ho,
young woodcock, and how do ye like the company of Major Stede Bonnet's
rovers?"
[Illustration: "Ho, ho, young woodcock, and how do ye like the company
of Stede Bonnet's rovers?"]
The lad said nothing, shut his jaw hard and looked the big buccaneer
squarely in the face. There was no fear in his expression. The man
nodded and chuckled approvingly. "That's pluck, boy, that's pluck," said
he. "We'll clip the young cock's shank-feathers, and maybe make a
pirate of him yet." He stooped over to feel the buckskin fringe on
Jeremy's leg. The boy's hand went into his shirt like a flash. He had
pulled out the pistol and cocked it, when he felt both legs snatched
from under him.
His head hit the ground hard and he lay dazed for a second or two. When
he regained his senses, Job Howland stood astride of him coolly tucking
the pistol into his own waist-band. "Ay," said Job, "ye'll be a fine
buccaneer, only ye should have struck with the butt. I heard the click."
The pirate seemed to hold no grudge for what had occurred and sat down
beside Jeremy in a friendly fashion.
"Free tradin' ain't what it was," he confided. "When Billy Kidd cleared
for the southern seas twenty years agone, they say he had papers from
the king himself, and no man-of-war dared come anigh him." He swore
gently and reminiscently as he went on to detail the recent severities
of the Massachusetts government and the insecurity of buccaneers about
the Virginia capes. "They do say, tho', as Cap'n Edward Teach, that they
call Blackbeard, is plumb thick with all the magistrates and planters in
Carolina, an' sails the seas as safe as if he had a fleet of twenty
ships," said Job. "We sailed along with him for a spell last year, but
him an' the old man couldn't make shift to agree. Ye see this
Blackbeard is so used to havin' his own way he wanted to run Stede
Bonnet, too. That made Stede boilin', but we was undermanned just then
and had to bide our time to cut loose.
"Cap'n Bonnet, ye see, is short on seamanship but long in his sword arm.
Don't ye never anger him. He's terrible to watch when he's raised. Dave
Herriot sails the ship mostly, but when we sight a big merchantman with
maybe a long nine or two aboard, then's when Stede Bonnet comes on deck.
That Frenchman we sunk tonight, blast her bloody spars"--here the lank
pirate interrupted himself to curse his luck, and continued--"probably
loaded with sugar and Jamaica rum from Martinique and headed up for the
French provinces. Well, we'll never know--that's sure!" He paused, bit
off the end of a rope of black tobacco and meditatively surveyed the
boy. "I'm from New England myself," said he after a time. "Sailed honest
out of Providence Port when I was a bit bigger nor you. Then when I was
growed and an able seaman on a Virginia bark in the African trade, along
comes Cap'n Ben Hornygold, the great rover of those days and picks us
up. Twelve of the likeliest he takes on his ship, the rest he maroons
somewhere south of the Cubas, and sends our bark into Charles Town under
a prize crew. So I took to buccaneering, and I must own I've always
found it a fine occupation--not to say that it's made me rich--maybe it
might if I'd kept all my sharin's."
[Illustration: Job Howland]
This life-history, delivered almost in one breath, had caused Howland an
immense amount of trouble with his quid of tobacco, which nearly choked
him as he finished. Except for the sound of his vast expectorations, the
pair on the beach were quiet for what seemed to Jeremy a long while.
Then on the rocks above was heard the clatter of shoes and the bumping
of kegs. Job rose, grasping the hand of his charge, and they went to
meet the returning sailors.
To the young woodsman, utterly unused to the ways of the sea, the next
half-hour was a bewildering mêlée of hurrying, sweating toil, with
low-spoken orders and half-caught oaths and the glimmer of a dying fire
over all the scene. He was rowed to the sloop with the first boatload
and there Job Howland set him to work passing water-kegs into the hold.
He had had no rest in over twenty hours and his whole body ached as the
last barrel bumped through the hatch. All the crew were aboard and a
knot of swaying bodies turned the windlass to the rhythm of a muttered
chanty. The chain creaked and rattled over the bits till the dripping
anchor came out of water and was swung inboard. The mainsail and
foresail went up with a bang, as a dozen stalwart pirates manned the
halyards.
Dave Herriot stood at the helm, abaft the cabin companion, and his bull
voice roared the orders as he swung her head over and the breeze
steadied in the tall sails.
"Look alive there, mates!" he bellowed. "Stand by now to set the main
jib!" Like most of the pirate sloops-of-war, Stede Bonnet's _Revenge_
was schooner-rigged. She carried fore and main top-sails of the old,
square style, and her long main boom and immense spread of jib gave her
a tremendous sail area for her tonnage. The breeze had held steadily
since sundown and was, if anything, rising a little. Short seas slapped
and gurgled at the forefoot with a pleasant sound. Jeremy, desperately
tired, had dropped by the mast, scarcely caring what happened to him.
The sloop slid out past the dark headlands, and heeled to leeward with a
satisfied grunt of her cordage that came gently to the boy's ears. His
head sank to the deck and he slept dreamlessly.