Blackbeard: Buccaneer Part 20

"There is sense in that," agreed young Master c.o.c.krell.

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 s.h.i.+p 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, p.r.i.c.ked 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 s.h.i.+p and crept out across the harbor until the brig was enveloped in it.

"'Twas like this when we swum ash.o.r.e 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 s.h.i.+p ready. However, Stede Bonnet was not a man to wring his hands because a well-laid scheme went wrong. Without delay the crew was a.s.sembled in the waist and he spoke to them from the break of the p.o.o.p.

"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 m.u.f.fled. 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 c.o.c.krell 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 pa.s.sed 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 compa.s.s 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-gla.s.s in the cabin."

They fidgeted about in aimless fas.h.i.+on 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 sh.o.r.e. Jack dodged into the cabin to watch the sand trickle into the bottom of the gla.s.s. Never was a half-hour so long in pa.s.sing.

A yell from Joe Hawkridge recalled him to the deck. He listened but heard no distant pistol shots or the hoa.r.s.e 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 m.u.f.fled oars close at hand.

"They lost the course. The fog confused 'em," said he, in great disgust.

"But why come back to the s.h.i.+p?" 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 sh.o.r.e 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 a.s.sumed 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 pa.s.sing 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 s.h.i.+p.

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 s.h.i.+p, 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 c.o.c.krell. "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 pa.s.sing 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 G.o.d for another s.h.i.+ft 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 s.h.i.+p.

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 a.s.sume that the dozen seamen who had been left to keep the s.h.i.+p would attempt resisting Blackbeard's mob of pirates all primed for slaughter. When quietude seemed to reign all through the s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 pa.s.sed through it in their headlong flight below. Here was kept the bulk of the s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+ns and his knuckles, until he b.u.mped 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 c.o.c.krell. 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 pa.s.sageway 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 c.o.c.krell 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 pa.s.sageway. 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 s.h.i.+pmen.

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 s.h.i.+rt, 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.