Blackbeard: Buccaneer Part 5

Feeling sure he could trust this young Hawkridge, Jack informed him:

"Stede Bonnet flies his pennant in a fine brig, the _Royal James_, with seventy l.u.s.ty rovers. But what about him, Joe? Why does he hate this foul ogre of a Blackbeard? Did they ever sail together?"

"'Twas in the Bay of Honduras. Captain Bonnet was a green hand at the trade but zealous to win renown at piratin'. And so he made compact with Blackbeard, to sail as partners. There was Stede Bonnet with a fine s.h.i.+p and his own picked crew. By treachery Blackbeard stole the vessel from him. Bonnet and his men were left to s.h.i.+ft for 'emselves in a rotten old hulk that was like to founder in a breeze o' wind."

"But they stayed afloat and took them a good s.h.i.+p," proudly exclaimed Jack, with a personal interest in the venture.

"True, by what you say. D'ye see the _Revenge_ yonder, Blackbeard's tall cruiser? The very s.h.i.+p he filched from Stede Bonnet by dirty stratagem and broken oaths!"

"Then the powder will burn when next they meet?"

"As long as there's a shot in the locker, Jack. And Blackbeard's men are ripe for mutiny. Let 'em once sight Stede Bonnet's topsails and----"

A gunner's mate broke into this interview with a cat-o'-nine-tails and flogged Joe Hawkridge forward to duty. He ducked and fled with a farewell grin at the nephew of the Secretary of the Council. Now all this was diverting enough to keep Jack from bemoaning his fate, but the other pa.s.sengers counted the hours one by one and their hearts began to drum against their ribs. They scanned the sea and the harbor bar with aching eyes, for the two days were well-nigh spent and there was never a sign of the long-boat and the messengers with the ransom of medicines which should avert the sentence of death.

Sunrise of the second day brought them no comfort. The sea was gray and the sky leaden, without the slightest stir of wind. The drifting vessels rolled in a swell that heaved as smooth as oil. It was a calm which presaged violent weather. Against her masts the yards of the _Plymouth Adventure_ banged with a sound like distant thunder and the idle canvas slatted to the thump of blocks and the thin wail of chafing cordage.

Captain Jonathan Wellsby was permitted the freedom of the p.o.o.p by Blackbeard's sailing-master who seemed a sober and competent officer.

They were seen to confer earnestly, as though the safety of the s.h.i.+p were uppermost in their minds. Soon the pirates of the prize crew were ordered to stow and secure all light sail and pa.s.s extra las.h.i.+ngs about the boats and batten the hatches. They worked slowly, some of them shaking with fever, nor could kicks and curses and the sting of the whistling cat make them turn to smartly. The sailing-master signaled the _Revenge_ to send off more hands but Blackbeard was either drunk or in one of his crack-brained moods. With a laugh he pulled a brace of pistols from his sash and blazed away at the _Plymouth Adventure._

The two sloops of the pirate squadron had sagged down to leeward during the night and were trying to work back to their stations when the dead calm intervened. Their skippers had sense enough to read the weather signs and had begun to take in canvas. On board of the _Revenge_, however, there was aimless confusion, the mates making some attempt to prepare the s.h.i.+p for a heavy blow while Blackbeard defied the elements.

His idea of arousing his men was to try potshots with his pistols as they crept out on the swaying spars.

It was quite apparent that the sailing-master was sorely needed in the _Revenge_, if order was to be brought out of this chaos, but he received no orders to quit the _Plymouth Adventure_. He was a proper seaman, Ned Rackham by name, who had deserted from the Royal Navy, after being flogged and keel-hauled for some trifling offense. Rumor had it that he was able to enforce respect from Blackbeard and would stand none of his infernal nonsense.

"In this autumn season we may catch a storm from the West Indies, Mr.

Rackham," said Captain Wellsby. "The sea has a greasy look and this heavy ground swell is a portent."

"The feel of it is in the air, s.h.i.+pmaster. There fell an evil calm like this come two year ago when I was wrecked in a s.h.i.+p-of-the-line within sight of Havana. Four hundred men sank with her."

"If my sailors were not penned in the fo'castle----" suggested the merchant skipper.

"None o' that," was the stern retort. "This s.h.i.+p is a prize to Blackbeard and so she stays, and you will sink or swim with her."

The morning wore on and the two days of grace had pa.s.sed for those doleful hostages in the _Plymouth Adventure_. They beheld the black flag hoisted to the rigging of the _Revenge_ as a signal of tragic import, but the bandy-legged monster with the festooned whiskers was not to disport himself with this wanton butchery. The sky had closed darkly around the becalmed s.h.i.+ps, in sodden clouds which were suddenly obscured by mist and rain while the wind sighed in fitful gusts. It steadied into the southward and swiftly increased in force until the sea was whipped into foam and scud.

Staunch and well-found, the _Plymouth Adventure_ went reeling off across the spray-swept leagues of water, showing only her reefed topsails and courses. The two pirate sloops vanished beyond the curtain of mist. When last seen, one of them was dismasted and the other was laboring in grave peril. The _Revenge_ loomed as a spectral shape while Blackbeard was endeavoring to get her running free in pursuit of the _Plymouth Adventure_. But slovenly, reckless seamans.h.i.+p had caught him unready.

His sails were blowing to ribbons, ropes flying at loose ends, and it was with great difficulty that the vessel could be made to mind her tiller.

Already the sea was rising in crested combers which broke with the noise of thunder and the fury of the wind was insensate. Slowly the struggling _Revenge_ dropped astern, yawing wildly, rolling her bulwarks under, splintered spars dangling from the caps. She was a crippled s.h.i.+p which would be lucky to see port again. It was to be inferred that Blackbeard had ceased to cut his mirthful capers on the p.o.o.p and that he would have given bushels of doubloons to regain his sailing-master and men.

In the _Plymouth Adventure_ things were in far better plight, even with the feeble, short-handed prize crew. Prudently snugged down in ample time, with extra hands at the steering tackles, they let her drive. She would perhaps wear clear of the coast and there was hope of survival unless the tempest should fairly wrench her strong timbers asunder.

Lashed to the weather rigging, Captain Jonathan Wellsby wiped the brine from his eyes and waved his arm at the helmsman, now to ease her a little, again to haul up and thus thwart some ravening sea which threatened to stamp his s.h.i.+p under. Sailing-Master Ned Rackham was content to let the skipper con his own vessel in this great emergency.

The mind of Captain Wellsby was very active and he pondered on something else than winning through the storm. He had been helpless while under the guns of the _Revenge_, with the two sloops in easy call. Now the situation was vastly different. He had been delivered out of Blackbeard's clutches. And in the forecastle were thirty British seamen with hearts of oak, raging to be loosed with weapons in their hands.

Peering into the gray smother of sea and sky, Captain Jonathan Wellsby licked his lips hungrily as he said to himself:

"Not now, but if the storm abates and we float through the night, these lousy picaroons shall dance to another tune."

CHAPTER IV

THE CAPTIVE SEAMEN IN THE FORECASTLE

JACK c.o.c.kRELL was seasick. This was enough to spoil any adventure.

Curled up under a boat, the spray pelted him and the wild motion of the s.h.i.+p sloshed him back and forth. He took no interest even in piracy. Joe Hawkridge, tough as whip-cord and seasoned to all kinds of weather, came clawing his way aft while the water streamed from his thin s.h.i.+rt and ragged breeches. The pirates of the prize crew had sought shelter wherever they could find it. The waist of the s.h.i.+p was flooded with breaking seas. A few of the larboard watch were huddled forward, close to the lofty forecastle where they were stationed as sentries over the imprisoned sailors of the _Plymouth Adventure_.

The commotion of the wind shrieking in the rigging and the horrid crash of the toppling combers were enough to convince a landlubber that the vessel was doomed to founder. But Joe Hawkridge clapped young Jack an affectionate clout on the ear and bawled at him:

"For his work he's never loth, An' a-pleasurin' he'll go, Tho' certain sure to be popt off; _Yo, ho, with the rum below!_"

Jack managed to fetch a sickly smile of greeting, but had nothing to say. Joe snuggled down beside him and explained:

"I wouldn't dare sing that song if Blackbeard's bullies could hear me.

'Tis known as Stede Bonnet's ditty, for a fight or a frolic."

"By Harry, they can roll it out. My blood tingled when they chorused it through Charles Town," said Jack, with signs of animation and a sparkle in his eye. "Tell me truly, Joe. What about this pirate sailing-master, Ned Rackham? He seems a different sort from your other drunken wretches.

He is more like one of Captain Bonnet's choosing."

"Gulled you, has he?" cried Joe. "I was afeard of that. And he's getting on the blind side of your skipper. This Cap'n Jonathan Wellsby is brave enough and a rare seaman, but he ne'er dealt with a smooth rogue like Ned Rackham. He stays sober to plot for his own advantage. He will serve Blackbeard only till he can trip him by the heels. Now listen well, Jack, seasick though ye be. You will have to warn your skipper, Captain Wellsby."

"Warn him of what? My poor head is so addled that I can fathom no plots.

How can Ned Rackham do us mischief while this infernal gale blows? He toils with might and main for the safety of the s.h.i.+p."

"Yes, you dunce, and let a lull come," scornfully exclaimed the boyish pirate. "What then? A fine s.h.i.+p this, and well gunned. She would make a smackin' cruiser for Ned Rackham, eh? He hoists the Jolly Roger on his own account and laughs at Blackbeard."

"Take our s.h.i.+p for his own?" faltered Jack, his wits confused. "I never thought of that. Why, that means getting rid of us, of the pa.s.sengers and crew."

Joe pa.s.sed a hand across his throat with a grimace that said more than words.

"He has the s.h.i.+p's company disarmed and helpless, Jack. And pirates a-plenty to work her till he recruits a stronger force. All hands of 'em have a surfeit of Blackbeard's b.l.o.o.d.y whims an' didoes."

"And Captain Wellsby will be caught off his guard?" said Jack, s.h.i.+vering at the aspect of this new terror.

"Can he do aught to prevent, unless he is bold enough to forestall it?"

answered the shrewd young sea waif. "Better die fighting than be slain like squealin' rats."

"Recapture the s.h.i.+p ere Ned Rackham casts the dice," said Jack. "But it means playing the hazard in the midst of this storm. How can it be done?

A forlorn venture. It can but fail."

"You are as good as dead if you don't," was Joe's sensible verdict.

Jack c.o.c.krell forgot his wretched qualms of mind and body. The trumpet call of duty invigorated him. He was no longer a useless lump. The color returned to his cheek as he crawled from under the boat and shakily hauled himself to his feet. Joe Hawkridge nodded approval and exhorted:

"A stiff upper lip, my gallant young gentleman. Steady she goes, an' not too hasty. Ned Rackham is as sharp as a whetted sword. Ware ye, boy, lest he pick up the scent. Fetch me word, here, beneath this jolly-boat."