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СКАЧАТЬ XIV.

       Blackbeard Appears in Fire and Brimstone

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      Here was a tragic predicament from which there was no release. Jack Cockrell was firmly convinced that Blackbeard must have recognized him that day in the swamp while Joe felt no less certain that he was marked for death because he had been one of the party of marooned mutineers. The hope of prolonging their existence by means of raiding the storeroom had ebbed after Joe's investigation. Such provisions as had been broken out of bulk were kept in lockers and pantries on deck where they were convenient to the galley and forecastle. It was realized also that their twittering nerves could not long withstand the darkness and suspense once the brig had put out to sea. Joe Hawkridge had nothing more to say about enduring it a month o' Sundays.

      While the brig remained at anchor they clung to the thought that Captain Stede Bonnet might intervene in their behalf. It did bring them a gleam of solace to imagine him hoisting sail on the Revenge and crowding out to rake the brig with his formidable broadsides. And yet they were in doubt whether the Revenge was fit to proceed at once, what with all the work there had been to do, rigging a new foremast, caulking leaky seams, repairing the other ravages of the storm.

      These pitiable stowaways had no means of telling one hour from another until, at length, they heard over their heads the faint, musical strokes of the ship's bell on the forecastle head. This led them to believe that the fog had cleared else Blackbeard would not have revealed the vessel's position. And lifting fog meant a breeze to sweep it away from the harbor.

      "Eight bells she strikes, the first o' the forenoon watch," said Joe. "We have been cooped in this black pit a matter of three hours a'ready."

      "No more than that?" groaned Jack. "It seems at least a week. We must divert ourselves in some wise. What say if I learn you a bit o' Latin? And you can say over such sea songs as come to mind, for me to tuck in my memory."

      "Well said, my worthy scholar. 'Tis high time we bowled ahead with my eddication as a proper gentleman."

      Jack began to conjugate amo, amas, amat, and the pupil droned it after him but the verb to love recalled a black-eyed lass who had stolen his heart in the Azores and he veered from the Latin lesson to confide that sentimental passage. So Jack hammered nouns of the first declension into him until they grew tired of that, and then the sea waif played his part by reciting such fo'castle ballads as "Neptune's Raging Fury; or The Gallant Seaman's Sufferings," and "Sir Walter Raleigh Sailing in the Lowlands."

      This was better than the slow agony of waiting in silence, but Joe spoiled it by turning lovelorn and Jack bemourned fair Dorothy Stuart of Charles Town whom he would never greet again, and they sang very softly together a verse of "The Maid's Lamentation" which went like this:

      "There shall be no Scarf go on my Head,

       No Comb into my Hair,

       No Fire burn, no Candle light

       To shew my Beauty fair,

       For never will I married be

       Until the Day I die,

       Since the Seas and the Winds

       Has parted my Love and me."

      This left them really in worse spirits than before, and they drowsed off to sleep, and no wonder, after such a night as they had passed. Accustomed to broken watches, Joe Hawkridge slept uneasily with one ear open. Once or twice he sat up, heard Jack's steady snores, and lay down again. It was the ship's bell which finally brought him to, and he counted the strokes.

      "Five bells, but what watch is it?" he muttered anxiously. "How long was I napping? Lost track o' the time, so I have, and can't say if it's night or day."

      He sat blinking into the darkness and then had an inspiration. So staunch and well-kept was the brig that the deck seams were tight and no light filtered through. Joe left his hiding-place and groped along to where he thought the main hatch ought to be. Gazing upward he saw a gleam like a silvered line between the coaming and the edge of the canvas cover which was battened with iron bars. This persuaded him that the day had not yet faded, and he concluded that he had heard the bell strike either in the afternoon watch or the second dog watch of early evening.

      This he imparted to Jack, after prodding him awake. They mulled it over and agreed that Captain Bonnet must have found the Revenge unready to weigh anchor or he would have engaged the brig ere this. Perhaps there was not breeze enough for either vessel to move. Another hour of this stressful tedium and they heard a sound of sharp significance. It was the lap-lap of water against the vessel's side. No more than the thickness of the planking was between them and this tinkling sea, and Joe exclaimed, in an agitated whisper:

      "A breeze o' wind! Gentle it draws, but steady, like it comes off the land at sundown."

      "The same as it did when we were blown offshore on the little raft, after we quitted the Plymouth Adventure," replied Jack.

      "Blackbeard will take advantage of it to make for the open sea. There be three things offered us, Master Cockrell, to starve or go mad in this blighted hold, to sally on deck and beg mercy, which means a short shift, or to climb out softly in the night and try to swim for it."

      "Swim to what, Joe?"

      "Swim to the bottom, most likely. But we might fetch one o' them cays or the coast itself if he steers close in to find smooth water. 'Tis the worst odds yet but I'd sooner drown than tarry in this vessel. One miracle was wrought when the cask came driftin' to the beach to save me, and who knows but the Lord can spare another one for the salvation of us poor lads that mean to do right and forsake piratin'."

      As they expected, there came soon the familiar racket of making sail and trimming yards and the clank of the capstan pawls. Then the anchor flukes scraped and banged against the bow timbers. The vessel heeled a little and the lapping water changed its tune to a swash-swash as the hull pushed it aside. The brig was alive and in motion.

      "She makes no more than two or three knots," observed Joe, after a little while. "Ye can tell by the feel of her. The wind is steady but small."

      "Then he can't go clear of the islands till long after night," thankfully returned Jack.

      Joe made another trip to crane his neck at the main hatch. The bright thread of daylight had dimmed. He could scarce discern it. The lads occupied themselves with reckoning the distance, the hour, and the vessel's speed. Now that Joe had satisfied himself that the end of the day was near, he knew what the ship's bell meant when it was struck every half-hour. They would await the passing of another hour, until two bells of the first watch, by which time they calculated the brig should be in the wide, outer channel between the seaward islands.

      The plan was to emerge through the forepeak in the very bows of the ship where a scuttle was let into the deck. There they might hope to lower themselves to the chain stays under the bowsprit and so drop into the sea. They would be washed past the ship, close to her side, and into the wake, and there was little chance of drawing attention. True it was that in this hard choice they preferred to swim to the bottom if so it had to be.

      They crouched where they were hid, waiting to hear the fateful signal of two bells. It struck, mellow, clear, and they were about to creep in the direction of the forepeak. But Joe Hawkridge gripped his comrade's СКАЧАТЬ