Blackbeard: Buccaneer

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

  CHAPTER IV

  THE CAPTIVE SEAMEN IN THE FORECASTLE

  JACK COCKRELL was seasick. This was enough to spoil any adventure.Curled up under a boat, the spray pelted him and the wild motion of theship sloshed him back and forth. He took no interest even in piracy. JoeHawkridge, tough as whip-cord and seasoned to all kinds of weather, cameclawing his way aft while the water streamed from his thin shirt andragged breeches. The pirates of the prize crew had sought shelterwherever they could find it. The waist of the ship was flooded withbreaking seas. A few of the larboard watch were huddled forward, closeto the lofty forecastle where they were stationed as sentries over theimprisoned sailors of the _Plymouth Adventure_.

  The commotion of the wind shrieking in the rigging and the horrid crashof the toppling combers were enough to convince a landlubber that thevessel was doomed to founder. But Joe Hawkridge clapped young Jack anaffectionate 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 tosay. 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 itthrough Charles Town," said Jack, with signs of animation and a sparklein 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 gettingon the blind side of your skipper. This Cap'n Jonathan Wellsby is braveenough and a rare seaman, but he ne'er dealt with a smooth rogue likeNed Rackham. He stays sober to plot for his own advantage. He will serveBlackbeard only till he can trip him by the heels. Now listen well,Jack, seasick though ye be. You will have to warn your skipper, CaptainWellsby."

  "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? Hetoils with might and main for the safety of the ship."

  "Yes, you dunce, and let a lull come," scornfully exclaimed the boyishpirate. "What then? A fine ship this, and well gunned. She would make asmackin' cruiser for Ned Rackham, eh? He hoists the Jolly Roger on hisown account and laughs at Blackbeard."

  "Take our ship for his own?" faltered Jack, his wits confused. "I neverthought of that. Why, that means getting rid of us, of the passengersand crew."

  Joe passed a hand across his throat with a grimace that said more thanwords.

  "He has the ship's company disarmed and helpless, Jack. And piratesa-plenty to work her till he recruits a stronger force. All hands of 'emhave a surfeit of Blackbeard's bloody whims an' didoes."

  "And Captain Wellsby will be caught off his guard?" said Jack, shiveringat 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 slainlike squealin' rats."

  "Recapture the ship ere Ned Rackham casts the dice," said Jack. "But itmeans 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 Cockrell forgot his wretched qualms of mind and body. The trumpetcall of duty invigorated him. He was no longer a useless lump. The colorreturned to his cheek as he crawled from under the boat and shakilyhauled himself to his feet. Joe Hawkridge nodded approval and exhorted:

  "A stiff upper lip, my gallant young gentleman. Steady she goes, an' nottoo hasty. Ned Rackham is as sharp as a whetted sword. Ware ye, boy,lest he pick up the scent. Fetch me word, here, beneath thisjolly-boat."

  Jack stole away, staggering along the high poop deck until he couldcling to the life-line stretched along the roof of the great cabin.There he slumped down and feigned helplessness, banged against thebulwark as a dripping heap of misery or kicked aside by the pirates ofthe watch as they were relieved at the steering tackles. Fromhalf-closed eyes he watched Ned Rackham, a vigilant, dominant figure ina tarred jacket and quilted breeches and long sea-boots. Now and againhe cupped his hands and yelled in the ear of Captain Wellsby whose beardwas gray with brine.

  Jack saw that it was hopeless to get a private word with the skipper ondeck. The clamor of the storm was too deafening. The one chance was tointercept him in the cabin when he went below for food and drink. Jackdragged himself to the after hatchway which was shoved open a trifle toadmit air, and squeezed himself through. Before he tumbled down thesteep staircase he turned to glance at Captain Wellsby. Unseen by NedRackham, the boy raised his hand in a furtive, beckoning gesture.

  The pirates had taken the main room of the after-house for their ownuse, driving the passengers and ship's officers into the small cabins orstaterooms. The air was foul below, reeking of the bilges, and the mainroom was incredibly filthy. The pirates ate from dirty dishes, they hadscattered food about, and they kicked off their boots to sleep on thefloor like pigs in a sty.

  Several of them were seated at the long table, bottle and mug in hand,and the gloomy place was poorly lighted by a swinging whale-oil lamp.Jack Cockrell crept unnoticed into a corner and was giddy and almosthelpless with nausea. It seemed ages before Captain Wellsby's legsappeared in the hatchway and he came down into the cabin, bringing ashower of spray with him. His kindly face was haggard and sad and hetottered from sheer weariness. Passing through to his own room, a scurvypirate hurled refuse food at him, with a silly laugh, and othersinsulted him with the foulest epithets.

  He paid them no heed and they returned to their own amusements. JackCockrell aroused himself to stumble after the skipper who halted tograsp the lad by the shoulder and shove him headlong into the littleroom. The door was quickly bolted behind them. A lurch of the vesselflung Jack into the bunk but he managed to sit up, holding his head inhis hands, while he feebly implored:

  "Did you note me wave my hand, sir, when I came below?"

  "Yes, and I followed as soon as I could," answered the master of the_Plymouth Adventure_. "There was the hint of secrecy in your signal,Jack. What's in the wind?"

  "I am the only passenger to win the confidence of one of Blackbeard'screw," explained the lad. "This Joe Hawkridge is true to us, I'll swearit. He is a pressed man, hating his masters. He bids me tell you thatNed Rackham will seize the ship for his own as soon as ever the windgoes down."

  "Um-m, is he as bold as that?" grunted the skipper, rubbing his nosewith an air of rueful surprise. "No honor among thieves, Jack. I thoughthim loyal to Blackbeard. I have considered attempting something of myown when the weather permits but this news quickens me. This young impo' Satan that ye call Joe,--he will side with us in a pinch?"

  "Aye, sir. And he knows this Ned Rackham well. There has been talk amongthe pirates of rising against Blackbeard to follow the fortunes ofSailing-Master Rackham. Here is the ship, as Joe says."

  "It has a plausible sound," said Captain Wellsby. "My intention was towait, but I shall have to strike first."

  "Can we fight in this storm, sir, even if we manage to release oursailors?" asked Jack, very dismally.

  "Not what we can, but what we must do," growled the stubborn Britishmariner. "The shame of striking my colors rankles like a wound. Godhelping me, we shall wipe out that stain if we drown in a sinking ship.I talk to you as a man, Master Cockrell, for such you have provenyourself. And who else is there to serve me in this adventure?"

  "To set our sailors free, you mean, sir?" eagerly exclaimed Jack. "Itook thought of that. There is nobody but me, neither your mates nor thepassengers, who can pass among the pirates without suspicion. The knaveshave humored me, hearing the tale of the pirate I knocked on the headand my braggart remark to Blackbeard. They have seen
me about the deckswith Joe Hawkridge as my boon comrade. 'Tis their fancy that I am likelyto enlist."

  "Well said, Jack," was the skipper's compliment. "Yes, you might makeyour way for'ard without interference,--but the fo'castle hatches arestoutly guarded. Again, should my brave fellows find exit, they areweaponless, unready. Moreover, they have been crammed in that dark hole,drenched by the sea, cruelly bruised by the tossing of the ship, andweakened for lack of food and air."

  "Granted, sir," sighed Jack. "But if some message could be smuggled into forewarn them of the enterprise,--would that brace 'em to theassault?"

  "Will ye try it, Jack?" asked the skipper, with a note of appeal in hishearty voice. "I know not where else to turn. You take your life in yourhands but----"

  The shipmaster broke off with a grim smile. It was absurd to prate oflife or death in such a strait as this. The boy reflected before hesaid:

  "If--if I fail, sir, Joe Hawkridge will try to pass a message in to themen. You can depend on 't."

  "A last resort, Jack. You vouch for him but I trust you far sooner. Hehas kept sorry company."

  "When is the best hour, Captain Wellsby?"

  "Just before nightfall when the watches will be changing. I dare notdelay it longer than that. In darkness, my lads will be unable to findthe foe and strike hard and quick. Nor can they rush to lay hold of theonly weapons in their reach,--the pikes in the racks beside the masts.Not a pistol or cutlass amongst 'em, and they must fight with thesewicked dogs of pirates who think naught of killing men."

  "Let your lusty sailors once get clear, sir," stoutly declared JackCockrell, "and they will play a merry game with those long pikes. Then Iam to slip the message written by your hand on a bit of paper?"

  "That's it! I will command them to pound against the scuttle, threeraps, for a signal of response, and you must listen for it. Then it isfor them to stand ready, on the chance that you can slip the bar of thehatch or the bolts on the door."

  "But if they have to come out singly, sir, and the sentries areready-witted, why, your men may be cut down or pistoled in theirtracks."

  "I am so aware," said Captain Wellsby, his honest features glum, "but wecannot change the odds."

  He found an ink-horn and quill and laboriously wrote a few lines on aleaf torn from the back of a sea-stained log-book. Jack tucked itcarefully away and thus they parted company, perhaps to meet no more inlife. Through the waning afternoon, Jack stowed himself on deck and heldlong converse with Joe Hawkridge when they met between the keel-chocksof the jolly-boat. Because he shared not the skipper's feeling ofdistrust, Jack sought the active aid of his chum of a pirate lad. It wasagreed that they should endeavor to reach the forecastle together whenthe ship's bell tolled the hour of beginning the first night watch.

  Joe hoped he might decoy or divert the sentries. If not, he had anotherscheme or two. A gunner's mate of the prize crew had sent him tooverhaul the lashings of the battery of nine-pounders which were rangedalong the waist. With several other hands Joe had made all secure,because the guns were apt to get adrift in such weather as this andplunge to and fro across the deck like maddened beasts. Now JoeHawkridge had lingered, on pretext of making sure that one forward guncould be fired, if needs be, as a distress signal should the ship openher seams or strike upon a shoal.

  He had satisfied himself that the tompion, or wooden plug which sealedthe muzzle was tight, and that no water had leaked through the wrappingof tarred canvas which protected the touch-hole. Before replacing them,he had made two or three trips to the deck-house amidships in which wasthe carpenter's room. Each time he tucked inside his shirt as manyforged iron spikes, bolts, and what not as he could safely carry.

  Unobserved, he shoved this junk down the throat of the nine-pounder andwadded it fast with handfuls of oakum. He worked coolly, without haste,as agile as a monkey when the ship careened and the sea spurted throughthe cracks of the gun-ports. Well pleased with his task, he said tohimself, with that grin which no peril could obliterate:

  "God alone knows how I can strike fire to a match and keep it alight,but the sky shows signs of easier weather."

  The fury of the storm had, indeed, diminished. It might be a respitebefore the wind hauled into another quarter and renewed its ferociousviolence, but the air was no longer thick with the whirling smother offoam and spray and the straining topmasts had ceased to bend like whips.The ship was gallantly easing herself of the waves which broke aboardand the rearing billows astern were not threatening to stamp her under.

  It lacked almost an hour of nightfall when Jack Cockrell crept along thepoop and halted to lean against the timbered railing by the mizzenshrouds. All he could think of was that Ned Rackham might seize uponthis sudden abatement of the gale to hasten his own wicked conspiracyand so ruin the plan to restore the _Plymouth Adventure_ to her ownlawful company. This menace had occurred to Captain Jonathan Wellsby whostood tense and rigid at the sailing-master's elbow, watching him fromthe tail of his eye.

  Relief o'erspread the skipper's worn features when he espied JackCockrell who stood as if waiting for orders. A nod, a meaning glance,and they understood each other. Striving to appear unconcerned, Jackmoved toward the forward part of the ship. He was aquiver withexcitement, and his breath was quick and small, but the sense of fearhad left him. Captain Wellsby had called him a man and, by God's sweetgrace, he would so acquit himself.

  The pirates were swarming out of the cabin to taste the clean air andlimber their cramped muscles. The ship still wallowed as she ran beforethe wind and it was breakneck work to clamber about. From the topsailyards fluttered mere ribbons of canvas where the reefed sails hadbellied. Ned Rackham shouted for the watch to lay aloft and cut theremnants clear and bend new cloths to keep her from broaching to.

  Jack Cockrell's heart leaped for joy. At least a dozen of the mostactive pirates would have to obey this order. This would remove themfrom the deck for a precious interval of time. He slouched aimlesslynearer the forecastle, stretching his neck to gaze up at the pirates asthey footed the ratlines and squirmed over the clumsy tops. JoeHawkridge joined him, as if by chance, and they wandered to the lee sideof the forecastle. There they were screened from the sight of thesentries.

  The wooden shutters of the little windows had been spiked fast on theoutside and Jack was at his wits' end to find by what means he mightslip the fateful message to the captive seamen. He dared not climb uponthe roof and seek for a crack in a hatchway. This would make him tooconspicuous.

  Cautiously he stole around the massive structure and was all but washedoverboard when he gained the windward side where the water broke inhissing cataracts. So great had been its force during the height of thestorm, that one of the shutters had been splintered and almost crushedin. Clutching the bit of paper which was tightly rolled and wrapped in asquare of oiled linen, Jack pushed it through a ragged crevice in theshutter.

  It was gravely doubtful whether the men would discover the message inthe gloom of their prison. It might fall to the floor and be trampledunperceived. And yet Jack Cockrell could not make himself believe thatdeliverance would be thwarted. He said a prayer and waited with his earagainst the wall of the forecastle. There he leaned through an agonizedeternity as the slow moments passed. It was like the ordeal of acondemned man who hopes that a blessed reprieve may save him, in thelast hour, from the black cap and the noose.

  Up aloft the pirate seamen were slashing the torn canvas with theirdirks and casting loose the gaskets. Presently they began to come downto the deck, one by one. Some whispered word must have passed amongstthem, because they drifted aft as by a common impulse although it wasnot yet the hour to change the watch. Their gunner's mate, a giganticmulatto with a broken nose, went to the poop when Ned Rackham crookedhis finger and these two stood aside, beyond earshot of Captain Wellsby,while they conferred with heads together.

  "They will strike first," Jack whispered to himself.

  The misty daylight had not darkened. The decks were not yet dusky withthe shadows w
hich Jack had hoped might enable him to approach theforecastle door in his brave endeavor to unbar it. The plans were allawry. Tears filled his eyes. And then there came to his ear a muffledknock against the other side of the forecastle planking.

  Once, twice, thrice! The signal was unmistakable. A little interval andit was repeated.

  Softly the trembling lad tiptoed to the corner of the forecastle houseand peered around it to look for the sentries. Two of them had moved afew yards away to join a group which gazed aft as if expecting asummons from Ned Rackham on the poop. The third sentry leaned againstthe forecastle door, a cutlass at his belt. He was a long, bony man witha face as yellow as parchment from the Spanish fever and it was plain toread that there was no great strength in him.

  Faithful Joe Hawkridge sat astride the breech of the nine-pounder atwhich he had been so busily engaged earlier in the afternoon. Heappeared to be an idler who merely looked on but he was watching everymotion, and that hard, canny face of his had, for once, forgot to grin.Releasing a three-foot handspike from its lashing beside thegun-carriage, he awaited the next roll of the deck and deftly kickedthis handy weapon. It slid toward the forecastle and Jack Cockrellstopped it with his foot.

  There was no time for hesitation. Snatching up the iron-shod handspike,Jack rushed straight at the forecastle door. Just then the ship lurchedfar down and he was shot headlong, like falling off the roof of a house.He had the momentum of a battering-ram. The sentry yelled and drew hiscutlass with a swiftness amazing in a sick man. His footing was unsteadyor Jack would have spitted himself on the point of the blade. As he wentcrashing full-tilt into the man the impact was terrific. They went tothe deck together and the handspike spun out of Jack's grasp. There wasno need to swing it on this luckless pirate for his bald head smote aplank with a thump which must have cracked it like an egg.

  Not even pausing to dart after the cutlass which had clattered from thelifeless fingers, Jack spun on his heel and wrenched at the heavy baracross the forecastle door and felt it slide from the fastenings. Hetugged it clear and swung himself up to the roof to draw the bolts whichsecured the hatch. Rusted in their sockets, they resisted him but hespied a pulley-block within reach and used it as a hammer.

  All this was a matter of seconds only. The pirates grouped amidships hadbeen waiting for Ned Rackham's word from aft and they were muddled bythis sudden shift of action. The other sentries stared in foolishastonishment. The brief delay was enough to let Jack Cockrell free thehatch. While he toiled furiously, several pistols and a musket weresnapped at him but the flint sparked on damp powder in the pans and onlyone ball whistled by his head.

  Out of the forecastle hatchway and through the door, the enraged sailorsof the _Plymouth Adventure_ came rocketing like an explosion. Theystumbled over each other, emerging head or feet first, blinking likeowls in the daylight but with vision good enough to serve their purpose.Their goal was the nearest stand of boarding-pikes at the foot of themainmast.

  But as they came surging on deck, they were not empty-handed. In theforecastle was a bricked oven for warmth in winter and for cookingkettles of soup. This they had torn to pieces and every man salliedforth with a square, flat brick in each hand and more inside his shirt.Those who were first to gain the deck pelted the nearest pirates withthese ugly missiles. The air was full of hurtling bricks and theearliest casualty was a stout buccaneer who stopped one with hisstomach.

  Driven back in yelling confusion, the pirates found their firearmsalmost useless, so drenched had the whole ship been by the batteringseas, but they were accustomed to fighting it out with the cold steeland they were by no means a panicky mob. The fusillade of bricks heldthem long enough for the merchant sailors to escape from the forecastleand this was an advantage more precious than Captain Wellsby had hopedfor.

  What the pirates required was a leader to rally them for attack. Quickerthan it takes to tell it, Ned Rackham had raced along the poop andleaped to the waist at peril of breaking his neck. Agile, quick-witted,he bounded into the thick of it, cutlass in hand, while he shouted:

  "At 'em, lads! And give the dogs no quarter!"

  With hoarse outcry, his gallows-birds mustered compactly while those whohad been in the cabin came scampering to join them. Curiously enough,Captain Jonathan Wellsby had been forgotten. He was left alone to handlethe ship while the pirate helmsmen stood by the great tiller. To forsakeit meant to let the vessel run wild and perhaps turn turtle in theswollen seas. And so the doughty skipper was, for the time, a looker-on.

  And now with Ned Rackham in the van, it seemed that the British sailorswere in a parlous plight and that their sortie must fail. Craftily thepirates manoeuvered to drive them back into the forecastle and thereto butcher them like sheep.