The Jolly Roger Tales: 60+ Pirate Novels, Treasure-Hunt Tales & Sea Adventures. Лаймен Фрэнк Баум

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СКАЧАТЬ Shall we flap our wings and crow?"

      "Crow we must, or have our necks wrung as pirates," said Jack, gnawing a bone. "Which one of us shall make the first oration?"

      "The nephew of the Councilor, of course," cried Joe, "with his cargo of Greek and Latin education. Make a power of noise, Jack."

      And now indeed did young Master Cockrell prove that all those drudging hours with snuffy Parson Throckmorton had not been wasted. Standing in an open space, clear of the crowd, he addressed the chief in loud and impressive language. The gist of it was that he and his friends were the sworn foes of all pirates and especially anxious to rid the world of such vermin as those that had come into the Cherokee swamp in the great ship's boat and were encamped on the bank of the creek.

      This other peaceful party entrenched on the knoll were honest, law-abiding men of Charles Town who would harm no one. They had come in search of pirates' gold. If the chief of the Yemassees would join forces with them and smoke the pipe of peace, they would drive those foul pirates out of the Cherokee swamp. And should the gold be found, it would be fairly divided between the godly men of Charles Town and their Indian allies. To bind this bargain Master Cockrell and Master Hawkridge were ready to pledge their honor and their lives.

      It was a most eloquent effort delivered with much gesticulation. The Yemassee braves set in a circle and grunted approval. They liked the sound and fury of it. Jack hurled scraps of Homer and Virgil at them when at a loss for resounding periods. The chief nodded his understanding of such words as pirates and gold and actually smiled when Jack's pantomime depicted the death of Blackbeard on the deck of his ship. Gold was a magic word to these Indians. It would purchase muskets and powder and ball, cloth and ironmongery and strong liquors from the white men of the settlements.

      The chief discussed it with his followers. During the lull Joe Hawkridge said, with a long sigh of relief:

      "My scalp itches not so much, Jack. The notion of having it twisted off with a dull blade vexed me. Ye did wondrous well. The mouth of Secretary Peter Forbes would ha' gaped wide open."

      "Much sound and little sense, Joe, but methinks it hit the target. I took care to sprinkle it with such words as yonder savage could bite on."

      "If we find no gold, the fat may be in the fire again, but it gives us time to draw breath."

      They rubbed their chafed wrists and sat on the ground while the savages held a long pow-wow. The chief was explaining the purport of Master Cockrell's impressive declamation. There was no enmity in the glances aimed at the English lads. It was more a matter of deliberation, of passing judgment on the truth or the falsity of the story. It was plain to read that the Yemassees desired to lay greedy hold of Blackbeard's gold. They were like children listening to a fairy tale. The fat little papooses crawled timidly near to inspect the mysterious strangers and scrambled away squealing with delicious terror.

      The hours passed and the verdict was delayed. Two young braves stole away into the pine woodland on some errand, at the behest of the chief. It was after noon when they returned. With them came a dozen Yemassee warriors from another hunting camp, strong, quick-footed men in light marching order who were armed with long bows and knives. The chief spoke a few words and mustered his force. All told he had more than thirty picked followers. The English lads were told to move with them.

      In single file the band flitted silently along the ridge and plunged into the swamp. The prisoners were closely guarded. At the slightest sign of treachery the long knives would slither between their ribs. This they well knew and their devout prayer was that their friends on the knoll might not commit some rash act of hostility and so ruin the enterprise. With heart-quaking trepidation they perceived at some distance the rude barricade of logs and the yellow streaks of earth hastily thrown up.

      The cautious Yemassees concealed themselves as though the swamp had swallowed them up. The chief made certain signs, and the lads understood his meaning. Jack Cockrell ripped a sleeve from his shirt and tied it to a stick as a flag of truce. Joe Hawkridge advanced with them, the stalwart chief between them, his empty hands extended in token of peace. The ambushed Yemassees, lying in the tall grass, were ready to let fly with musket balls and flights of arrows or to storm the knoll.

      A sailor on sentry duty gave the alarm and the lads saw a row of heads bob above the logs, and the gleam of weapons. Then Captain Jonathan Wellsby moved out into the open and was joined by Mr. Peter Forbes. They stood gazing at the singular spectacle, the bedraggled runaways who had vanished without trace, the odd flag of truce, the brawny, dignified savage making signs of friendship. The men in the stockade were ordered to lay down their arms. They came running out to cheer and wave their hats.

      Mr. Peter Forbes was torn betwixt affection and the desire to scold his flighty nephew. They met half-way down the slope and Jack hastened to explain:

      "Before you clap us in irons as deserters, Uncle Peter, grant a parley, if you please. Our lives hang by a hair."

      "God bless me, boy, we thought the pirates had slain you both," spluttered Uncle Peter, a tear in his eye. "What means this tall savage?"

      "A noble chief of the Yemassees who used us with all courtesy," said Jack.

      Captain Wellsby had drawn Joe Hawkridge aside and was swiftly enlightened concerning the alliance with the Indians. Presently they were holding a conference, all seated together in the shade of a tree. A tobacco pipe of clay, with a long reed for a stem, was lighted and passed from hand to hand. The chief puffed solemnly with an occasional nod and a grunt. It was agreed, with due ceremony, that the pirates should be attacked in their camp and driven away. The Yemassee warriors would make common cause with the Englishmen. As a reward, Blackbeard's treasure was to be fairly divided, half and half.

      The chief raised his voice in a long, deep shout of summons and his band of fighting men emerged from their ambush in the swamp. There was no reason for delaying the movement against the pirates. The Yemassees were eager for the fray. They were about to advance through the swamp, cunningly hidden, while the Englishmen followed at a slower pace to spread out on the flanks. Just then there was heard a sudden and riotous commotion among the pirates at the creek. It was a mad, jubilant uproar as though some frenzy had seized them all. Bill Saxby leaned on his musket and listened for a long moment.

      "The rogues have fished up the sea-chest, by the din they make," said he. "We left that sounding rod a-stickin' in the mud. They save us the trouble, eh, Captain Wellsby?"

      The skipper laughed in his beard and floundered ahead like a bear. Jack Cockrell passed the word to the chief that the gold was awaiting them. Like shadows the Yemassees drew near the creek and then, full-lunged, terrific, their war-whoop echoed through the dismal Cherokee swamp. Nimble Jack Cockrell was not far behind them, his heart pumping as though it would burst.

      He was in time to see four lusty pirates swaying at a rope which led through the pulley-blocks of the spars that overhung the creek as a tall derrick. They were hoisting away with all their might while there slowly rose in air a mud-covered, befouled sea-chest all hung with weeds and slimy refuse. Two other pirates tailed on to a guy rope and the heavy chest swung toward the bank, suspended in air.

      At this moment the screeching chorus of the Indian war-whoop smote their affrighted ears, followed by the discharge of muskets. These startled pirates let go the tackle and the guy rope and, with one accord, leaped for the pinnace which floated close to the bank. The weighty sea-chest swinging in air came down by the run as the ropes smoked through the blocks. It had been swayed in far enough so that it fell not in the water but upon the edge of the shore between the derrick spars. The rusty hinges and straps were burst asunder as the treasure chest crashed upon a log and cracked open like an egg.

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