Blackbeard: Buccaneer Part 12

Jack swam more strongly and showed greater endurance because he had the beef and had been better nourished all his life than the scrawny young powder boy who was more like a lath. Now and then Jack paused to tread water while his s.h.i.+pmate clung to his shoulder and husbanded his waning strength, with that indomitable grin on his freckled phiz. Of one thing they were thankful, that the tide was bearing them farther away from the pirates' camp, which was now as still as though the sleepers were dead men.

"Blood and bones, but I have swum a league a'ready," gurgled Joe during one of the halts.

"Shut your mouth or you'll fill up to the hatch and founder," scolded Jack. "I see trees in the mist. The sh.o.r.e is scarce a pistol shot away."

"I pray my keel sc.r.a.pes soon," spluttered the waterlogged Hawkridge as he kicked himself along in a final effort.

Huzza, their feet touched the soft ooze and they fell over stumps and rotted trunks buried under the surface. Scratched and beplastered with mud, they crawled out in muck which gripped them to the knees, and roosted like buzzards upon the b.u.t.t of a prostrate live-oak.

"Marooned," quoth Joe, "to be eaten by snakes and alligators."

"Nonsense," snapped Master c.o.c.krell, who had hunted deer and wild-fowl on the Carolina coast. "We can pick our way with care. I have seen pleasanter landscapes than this, but I like it better than Blackbeard's company."

There was no disputing this statement and Joe plucked up spirit, as was his habit when another arduous task confronted him. Cautiously they made their way from one quaking patch of sedge to another or scrambled to their middles. There came a ridge of higher ground thick with brambles and knotted vines and they traversed this with less misery. A gleam of water among the trees and they took it to be the creek which they sought to find. Wary of lurking Indians, they wormed along on their stomachs and so came to the high swamp gra.s.s of the bank.

They swam the creek and crept toward its mouth. Jack was rooting along like a bear when he almost b.u.mped into the dugout canoe which had looked so very like a stranded log. It was tied to a tree by a line of twisted fibre and the rising tide had borne it well up into the marsh. Here it was invisible from the s.h.i.+p and only a miracle of good fortune had revealed it to the lads in that glimpse from the deck at sundown.

They crawled over the gunwale and slumped in the bottom of the pirogue, which was larger than they expected, a clumsy yet seaworthy craft with a wide floor and s.p.a.ce to crowd a dozen men. Fire had helped to hollow it from a giant of a cypress log, for the inner skin was charred black.

Three roughly made paddles were discovered. This was tremendously important, and all they lacked was a mast and sail to be true navigators.

Something else they presently found which was so unlooked for, so incredible, that they could only gape and stare at each other. Tucked in the bow was a seaman's jacket of tarred canvas, of the kind used in wet weather. Sewed to the inside of it was a pocket of leather with a b.u.t.toned flap. This Jack c.o.c.krell proceeded to explore, recovering from his stupefaction, and fished out a wallet bound in sharkskin as was the habit of sailors to make for themselves in tropic waters. It contained nothing of value, a few sc.r.a.ps of paper st.i.tched together, a bit of coral, a lock of yellow hair, a Spanish coin, some shreds of dried tobacco leaf.

Carefully Jack examined the ragged sheets of paper which seemed to be a carelessly jotted diary of dates and events. Upon the last leaf was scrawled, "_Bill Saxby, His Share_," and beneath this entry such items as these:

"Aprl. ye 17--A Spanish s.h.i.+ppe rich laden. 1 sack Vanilla. 2 Rolls Blue Cloth of Peru. 1 Packet Bezoar Stones.

"May ye 24--A Poor s.h.i.+ppe. 3 Bars of Silver. 1 Case Cordial Waters. A Golden Candle-stick. My share by Lot afore ye Mast."

Joe Hawkridge could neither read nor write but he had ready knowledge of the meaning of these entries and he cried excitedly:

"Say the name again, Jack. Bill Saxby, His Share. Strike me blind, but I was chums with Bill when we lay off Honduras. As decent a lad as ever went a-piratin'! A heart of oak is Bill, hailin' from London town."

"But what of the riddle?" impatiently demanded Jack. "Whence this Indian pirogue? And where is Bill Saxby?"

"He sailed with Stede Bonnet, bless ye," answered Joe. "These two men we spied in the canoe last night were no Indians. _They were Cap'n Bonnet's men._ Indians would ha' hid the pirogue more craftily."

"But they came not along the coast. Did they drop down this creek from somewhere inland?"

"There you put me in stays," confessed Joe. "One thing I can swear. They were sent to look for Blackbeard's s.h.i.+ps. And I sore mistrust they were caught whilst prowling near the camp. Else they would ha' come back to the canoe before day."

CHAPTER VIII

THE EPISODE OF THE WINDING CREEK

THE singular discovery of Bill Saxby's jacket was like a shock to drive all else out of their minds. Now they found that it had been thrown over a jug of water and a bag of beef and biscuit stowed in the bow. This solved one pressing problem, and they nibbled the hard ration while debating the situation. It was agreed that they could not honorably run away with the pirogue if it really belonged to Stede Bonnet's men, who must have come on foot along the higher ground back of the coast and descended the creek in the canoe stolen or purchased from Indians met by chance.

Granted this much, it was fair to conjecture that Captain Bonnet's s.h.i.+p was in some harbor not many leagues distant and that he knew where to find Blackbeard's rendezvous, at Cherokee Inlet.

"'Tis your job to stand by the pirogue, Jack," suggested Hawkridge, "and I will make a sally toward the pirates' camp afore they rouse out."

"Go softly, Joe, and don't be reckless. Why not lie up till night before you reconnoitre?"

"'Cause the mist still hangs heavy and I'm blowed if I dilly-dally if good Bill Saxby has come to grief."

"Supposing he has, you cannot wrest him single-handed from Blackbeard's crew."

"Well, if I can but slip a word of comfort in his ear, it'll cheer him mightily, unless his throat be cut by now," was the stubborn response.

"Sit thee taut, Jack, old _camarada_, and chuck the worry. Care killed a cat. These rogues yonder in the camp won't _molest me_ if I walk boldly amongst 'em."

"What if you don't return?" persisted Jack. "How long shall I wait here with the pirogue?"

"Now what the deuce can I say to such foolish queries? If things go wrong with me and Bill and his mate, you will have to cruise alone or hop back to the _Revenge_."

With a laugh and a wave of the hand, the dauntless adventurer leaped from the nose of the canoe, nimbly hauled himself into a tree, and then plunged into the gloomy swamp where he was speedily lost to view. Jack c.o.c.krell settled himself to wait for he knew not what. Clouds of midges and mosquitoes tormented him and he ached with fatigue. Soon after sunrise the mist began to burn away and the mouth of the creek was no longer obscured by shadows. In the glare of day Jack thought it likely that the canoe might be detected by some pair of keen eyes aboard the _Revenge_.

To move it far might imperil Joe Hawkridge and Bonnet's two seamen should they come in haste with a hue-and-cry behind them. Jack paddled the pirogue up the creek and soon found a safe ambuscade, a stagnant cove in among the dense growth, where he tied up to a gnarled root. Then he climbed a wide-branching oak and propped himself in a crotch from which he could see the open water and the two vessels at anchor. Clumps of taller trees cut off any view of the beach and the camp but he dared stray no farther from the pirogue.

Tediously an hour pa.s.sed and there was no sign of Joe Hawkridge. He had a journey of only a few hundred yards to make, and Jack began to imagine all kinds of misfortune that might have befallen him, such as being mired beyond his depth in the swamp and peris.h.i.+ng miserably. The sensible conclusion was, however, that he had tarried among his s.h.i.+pmates in the camp with some shrewd purpose in mind.

A little later in the morning, Jack's anxious cogitations were diverted by the frequent pa.s.sage of boats between the _Revenge_ and the sloop which was anch.o.r.ed nearer the beach. One of these small craft was Blackbeard's own c.o.c.k-boat, or captain's gig, which he used for errands in smooth water, with a couple of men to pull it. Jack was reminded of that secret conference in the cabin and Joe's conviction that some uncommon devilment was afoot. It appeared as though "Tallow d.i.c.k"

Spender, that unwholesome master of the _Triumph_ sloop, had been chosen as the right bower.

And now there arose a sudden and riotous noise in the camp. It was not the mirth and song of jolly pirates a-pleasuring ash.o.r.e but the ferocious tumult of men in conflict and taken unawares. Perched in the tree, Jack c.o.c.krell listened all agog as the sounds rose and fell with the breeze which swayed the long gray moss that draped the branches. He heard a few pistol shots and then was startled to see a spurt of flame dart from a gun-port of the sloop. The dull report reached him an instant later. He could see that the gun had been fired from the vessel's sh.o.r.eward battery. It meant that Blackbeard was making a target of some part of the camp. Another gun belched its cloud of smoke.

The noise died down, save for intermittent shouts and one long wail of anguish. Presently a boat moved out past the sloop. A dozen men tugged at the oars and others stood crowded in the stern-sheets. Jack caught the gleam of weapons and thought he recognized the squat, broad figure of Blackbeard himself beside the man at the steering oar. Behind this pinnace from the _Revenge_ trailed two other boats in tow. They pa.s.sed in slow procession, out between the vessels. The boats which the pinnace towed were not empty. Instead of sitting upon the thwarts, men seemed to be strewn about in them as if they had been tossed over the gunwales like so much dunnage.

Jack rubbed his eyes in amazement and watched the line of boats turn to follow the channel which led out of the sheltered roadstead to the sea beyond. When they vanished beyond a sandy island, the lad in the live-oak tree said to himself:

"My guess is that Blackbeard has put a stopper on all talk of mutiny by one bold stroke. A b.l.o.o.d.y weeding-out, and in those two boats are the poor wretches who were taken alive. Alas, one of 'em may be Joe Hawkridge unless he be dead already. He talked too much of Stede Bonnet aboard the s.h.i.+p. And there were sneaking dogs in the crew who spied on their comrades. We saw them enter the cabin last night."

There was no getting around the evidence. It fitted together all too well. Jack sadly reflected that, beyond a doubt, he had seen the last of gallant, loyal Joe Hawkridge. Left alone with the pirogue, which he could not paddle single-handed, it was folly to think of trying to escape along the coast. And to wander inland, ignorant of the country, was to court almost certain death. Nor could he now expect mercy from Blackbeard, having deserted the s.h.i.+p against orders and known to be a true friend of Captain Stede Bonnet.

The most unhappy lad could no longer hold his cramped station in the tree and he decided to seek the canoe and find the meagre solace of a little food and water. He was half-way to the ground when he clutched a limb and halted to peer into the swamp. Something was splas.h.i.+ng through the mud and gra.s.s and making a prodigious fuss about it. Then Jack heard two voices in grunts and maledictions. Fearing the enemy might have tracked him, he stood as still as a mouse in the leaf.a.ge of the oak.

Out of the swamp emerged a young man with a musket on his shoulder.

Behind him came one very much older, gaunt and wrinkled, his hair as gray as the Spanish moss that overhung his path. They reached the edge of the creek and then turned down to halt where the pirogue had been left. At failing to find it there, they argued hotly and were much distressed. Jack c.o.c.krell's fears were calmed. These were no men of Blackbeard's company, but good Bill Saxby and his mate. He called to them from his perch and they stood wondering at this voice from heaven.

In a jiffy Jack had slid down and was beckoning them. They hurried as fast as they could pull their feet out of the muck, and were overjoyed to jump into the hidden canoe. There they sat and thumped Jack c.o.c.krell on the head by way of affectionate greeting. The younger man had a chubby cheek, a dimple in his chin, and blue eyes as big and round as a babe's.

"Bill Saxby is me," said his pleasant voice, "and a precious job had I to get here. Joe Hawkridge told me of you, Master c.o.c.krell."

"Where is Joe?" cried Jack, dreading to hear his own opinion confirmed.

"Marooned, along with two dozen luckless lads that were trapped like pigeons----"