CHAPTER IX
BLACKBEARD'S ERRAND IS INTERRUPTED
BLACKBEARD'S deep-laden boat was rowed on past the pirogue and turned tofollow the channel of the sluggish stream. Bill Saxby thrust aside thecover of grass and boughs and shoved the log canoe out of the cove. Socrooked was the course of the creek that the boat was already out ofsight and by stealthy paddling it was possible to pursue undetected. OldTrimble Rogers had forgotten his lust to slay Blackbeard. His gloatingimagination could picture the contents of that massive sea-chest after along cruise in southern waters.
It was foolish to attempt to surprise Blackbeard while afloat in thecreek. In a race of it, the handy cock-boat could pull away from theclumsier pirogue manned by two paddles only, for Trimble Rogers wasneeded to steer and be ready with the musket. This was their onlyfirearm, which Bill Saxby had snatched up during the flight from thecamp. At the same time he had lifted a powder-horn and bullet pouch froma wounded pirate.
"If I do bang away and miss him," grumbled Trimble Rogers, "he's apt topepper us afore I can reload."
"But you forswore shootin' him," chided Bill Saxby, between strokes ofthe paddle.
"Show me a great sea-chest crammed wi' treasure and I'd put a holethrough the Grand High Panjandrum hisself," replied the ancient one."Aye, Bill, there be more'n one way to skin an eel. We'll lay aboardthis bloody blow-hard of a Cap'n Teach whilst he's a-buryin' of it. Heremay well be where he has tucked away his other plunder. What if we bagthe whole of it?"
"One more fling, eh, Trimble, and more gold than ye lugged on your backfrom Guayaquil," grinned young Bill.
They had spoken in cautious tones and now held their tongues. Thepaddles dipped with no more than a trickle of water and the canoe huggedthe marsh. They were close to the next bend of the stream and the soundof the oars in the cock-boat was faintly audible. As the tallest of thethree, the old man stood up after swathing his head in dried grass, andgazed across the curve of the shore. By signs he told his companionsthat Blackbeard was bound farther up the stream.
They waited a little, giving their quarry time to pass beyond anotherturn of the channel. Jack Cockrell was embarked on the most entrancingexcursion of his life. This repaid him for all he had suffered. His onlyregret was that poor Joe Hawkridge had been marooned before he couldshare this golden adventure. However, he would see that Joe received ahandsome amount of treasure. Trimble Rogers was muttering again, andthus he angrily expounded a grievance:
"A thief is this Cap'n Teach,--like a wild hog, all greed and bristles.'Tis the custom of honest buccaneers and pirates to divide the spoils bythe strict rule,--six shares for the commander, two for the master'smate, and other officers accordin' to their employment, with one shareto every seaman alike. Think ye this bloody pick-purse dealt fairly byhis crew? In yon sea-chest be the lawful shares of all the woesome ladshe marooned this day. An' as much more as he durst skulk away with."
"Easy, now, old Fire-and-Brimstone," warned Bill, "or that temper willgain the upper hand. Don't spoil the show by bombardin' Blackbeard withthat cross-eyed musket."
Now here was young Master Cockrell, a gentleman and a near kinsman of ahigh official who had sworn to hang every mother's son of a pirate thatharried Carolina waters. And yet this godly youth was eager to lay handson Blackbeard's treasure so as to divide it among the pirates who hadbeen robbed of it. It was a twisted sense of justice, no doubt, and acode of morals turned topsy-turvy, but you are entreated to think nottoo harshly of such behavior. Master Cockrell had fallen into almightybad company but the friends he had made displayed fidelity and readinessto serve him.
"How far will the chase lead us?" he inquired.
"Did you men come down this same creek in the pirogue?"
"Aye, in this very same mess o' pea soup and jungle," answered BillSaxby. "Two miles in from the coast, at a venture, was where we stumbledon the canoe and tossed the Indians out of it. Beyond that the waterspreads o'er the swamp with no fairway for a boat."
Once more they paddled for a short stretch and then repeated thestratagem of hauling into the dense growth of the mud-flat and pausinguntil the cock-boat had steered beyond the next elbow of the stream. Itbecame more and more difficult to avoid the fallen trees and otherobstructions, but Blackbeard was threading his course like a pilotacquainted with this dank and somber region. The pirogue ceased to lagpurposely but had to be urged in order to keep within striking distance.
Twice they were compelled to climb out and shove clear of sunkenentanglements or slimy shoals. But when they held themselves to listen,they could still hear the measured thump of oars against the pins, likethe beat of a distant drum in the brooding silence of this melancholysolitude. They had struggled on for perhaps a mile and a half, in all,when Trimble Rogers ordered another halt. He was perplexed, like a hounduncertain of the scent. From the left bank of the creek, a smallerstream meandered blindly off into the swamp. Into which of thesewatercourses had Blackbeard continued his secret voyage?
Again they listened, and more anxiously than ever. The tell-tale thumpof the oars had ceased. The only sounds in the bayou were the trickle ofwater from the tidal pools, the wind in the tree-tops, the rat-tat-tatof a woodpecker, and the scream of a bob-cat. With a foolish air ofchagrin, Trimble Rogers rubbed his hoary pate and exclaimed:
"Whilst Bill and me were a-paddlin' this hollow log down-stream, we tookno heed of a fork like this yonder. With the sun at our backs to guideus, we knew we was makin' easterly to fetch the coast. What say, Bill?"
"Cursed if I know. Spin a coin. The treasure has slipped us."
"Rot me if it has!" snarled the old man. "We'll push on as we are, inthe bigger stream. That stinkin' ditch on my left hand looks too weedyand shallow to float a boat."
"It makes no odds. A gamester's choice," amiably agreed Bill.
They paddled with might and main, flinging caution to the winds. JackCockrell was well versed in handling one of these dugout canoes and hisstout arms made Bill Saxby grunt and sweat to keep stroke with him. Whenthe craft grounded they strove like madmen to push it clear. TrimbleRogers tore the water with a paddle, straining every sinew andcondemning Blackbeard to the bottomless pit in a queer jargon of theSpanish, French, and English tongues. It required such a luridvocabulary to give vent to his feelings. He was even more distressedwhen he sighted the clump of gum trees near by which he and Bill hadpurloined the pirogue. Beyond this the creek was impassable.
"Throwed a blank! Wear ship and drive back to the fork o' the waters,"shouted the old man. "Hull down an' under though he be, we'll nab yon_picaro_, with his jolly treasure. _Rapido, camaradas! Vivo!_"
To make haste was easier said than done but the sluggish current was nowin their favor and there was no more than a half mile to traverse understress of furious exertion. The heavy canoe crashed through obstacleswhich had delayed the upward journey and they knew where to avoid theworst of the shoals. What fretted them was the fear that Blackbeardmight have buried the sea-chest and descended the creek while they wereengaged in this wild-goose chase. But this seemed unlikely and,moreover, old Trimble Rogers was the man to nose out the marks of thelanding-place and the trail which must have been left.
Where the two streams joined, the pirogue turned and shot into thesmaller one. To their surprise it presently widened and was like a tinylagoon, with the water much clearer as if fed by springs. The view wasless broken and there were glimpses of dry knolls in the swamp andverdure not so noxious and tanglesome. Along the edge of this prettypond skimmed the pirogue while Trimble Rogers keenly scanned every inchof it for the imprint of a boat's keel. A hundred yards and the wateragain narrowed to a little creek. Impetuously the canoe swung to passaround a spit of land covered with a thicket of sweet bay.
There, no more than a dozen feet beyond, was the captain's cock-boatfrom the _Revenge_. Its bow had been pulled out of the water whichdeepened from a shelving bank. The boat was deserted but above thegunwale could be seen the iron-bound lid of the massive sea-chest. Thosein the
pirogue desired to behold nothing else. They were suddenlydiverted by a tremendous yell which came booming out of the tall grasswhere it waved breast-high on the shore of the stream. A pistol barkedand the ball clipped a straggling lock of Trimble Rogers' gray hair.
Driving his two seamen before him, Blackbeard rushed for his boat asfast as the bandy legs and clumsy sea-boots could carry him. In fanciedsecurity he had explored the nearest knoll. And now appeared thisinfernal canoe, surging full-tilt at his treasure chest.
Things happened _rapido_ enough to glut even an old buccaneer. Theconsternation in the pirogue prevented any thought of checking headwaywith the paddles. This hollowed cypress log, narrow beamed and solid atboth ends, still moved with a weighty momentum. Its astounded crew wereotherwise occupied. Blackbeard appeared to have the advantage of them.Jack Cockrell ducked to the bottom of the canoe. Bill Saxby's eyes ofbaby blue were big and round as saucers as he wildly flourished hispaddle as the only cudgel at hand.
With a whoop-la, old Trimble Rogers leaped to his feet, the long musketat his shoulder. Before he could aim at the savage, bushy figure ofBlackbeard, the prow of the pirogue crashed into the side of thecock-boat, striking it well toward the stern. The ancient freebooterdescribed a somersault and smote the water with a mighty splash, musketand all. Blowing like a grampus, he bobbed to the top, clawing the weedsfrom his eyes but still clutching the musket. Nobody paid his misfortunethe slightest heed.
The water deepened suddenly, as has been said, where the current hadscoured the bank. With the nose of the little boat pulled well up in themud, the stern sloped almost level with the surface of the stream. Theblunt, slanting bow of the pirogue banged into the plank gunwale andslid over it. The force of the blow dragged the cock-boat to one sideand wrenched it free of the shore. It floated at the end of a tether butthe bow of the canoe pressed the stern under and tipped it until thewater rushed in.
Listed far over, the sea-chest slid a trifle and this was enough to pushthe gunwale clear under. The boat filled and capsized, what with theweight of the chest and the pressure of the canoe's fore part. Down tothe oozy bed sank Blackbeard's treasure.
The arch-pirate himself came charging out of the marsh-grass in time towitness this lamentable disaster. His hoarse ejaculations were toodreadful for a Christian reader's ears. Dumfounded for an instant, hegathered his wits to fire another pistol at the pirogue. The ball flewwild, as was to be expected of a marksman in a state of mind sodistraught. He had overlooked those two poor seamen of his who had beenimpressed to bury the treasure, after which they were presumably to bepistoled or knocked on the head. Dead men told no tales. Doomedwretches, they were quick to snatch from this confusion the precioushope of life.
The pockmarked fellow, who was powerfully built, whirled like a cat ashe heard Blackbeard's pistol discharged just behind him. There was notime to draw and cock another pistol. The seaman fairly flew at thepirate captain's throat. Down they toppled and vanished in the grasstogether. A moment later Blackbeard bounded to his feet, a bloody dirkin his hand. He had done for the poor fellow who lay groaning where hefell. Terrified by this, the other seaman wheeled and fled to the bankof the creek, seeking the pirogue as his only refuge.
He leaped for it but his feet slipped in the treacherous mud and hisimpetus was checked so that he tumbled forward, striking the solid sideof the dugout with great force. He was splashing in the water but hisexertions were feeble. Either the collision had stunned him or he wasunable to swim. Bill Saxby and Jack Cockrell were trying to swing thecanoe clear of the boat and effect a landing. Trimble Rogers had rescuedhimself from the creek and was ramming a dry charge into his drippingmusket. Blackbeard was a deadly menace and their attention was fixed onhim.
When they endeavored to lend a hand to the helpless seaman he had sunkbeneath the surface of the roily stream. They saw him come up and turn aghastly face to them, but he went down like a stone before a hand couldclutch at him. A few bubbles and this was the end of him. Jack Cockrellhesitated with a brave impulse to dive in search of him although he knewthe bottom was a tangle of rotted trees, but just then Bill Saxby yelledto him to follow ashore with a paddle for a weapon. The luckless seamanwas already drowned, this was as good as certain, and Jack jumped fromthe pirogue.
Blackbeard had halted his onrush and he wavered when he beheld stoutBill Saxby within a few strides of him and long Trimble Rogers gallopingthrough the grass with his musket. Another pistol shot or two would notstop these three antagonists and a buffet from one of those hewn paddleswould dash out a man's brains. The most ferocious of all pirates foronce preferred to run away and live to fight another day. His boatdenied him, he whirled about to plunge through the tall, matted grass.He was running in the direction of the dry knoll whence he hadappeared.
Infuriated by the fate of the two seamen, Trimble Rogers made a try atshooting him on the wing but the musket ball failed to find the mark. Itwas necessary to hunt him down for the sake of their own safety. Theymight have gone their way in the pirogue but this would have been toabandon the sea-chest without an effort to drag it up or fix itslocation.
Now it might seem an easy matter for these pursuers, two of them youngand active, to run down this fugitive Blackbeard, encumbered as he wasby middle age and dissipation. They put after him boldly, with littlefear of his pistols. In this dense cover he would have to fire at themhaphazard and he was unlikely to tarry and wait for them. They saw himin glimpses as he fled from one grassy patch to another, or burst out ofa leafy thicket, the great beard streaming over his shoulders likestudding-sails, the red turban of calico a vivid blotch of color.
Nimble as they were, however, they failed to overtake him. This wasbecause he was familiar with this landscape of bog and hummock and pineknoll. Jack Cockrell fell into a hidden quagmire and had to be fishedout by main strength. Bill Saxby was caught amidst the tenacious vines,like a bull by the horns, and old Trimble came a cropper in a patch ofsaw-tooth palmetto. They straggled to the nearest knoll after Blackbeardhad crossed it. Then he followed a ridge which led in the direction ofanother of these dry islands.
The pursuers halted to gaze from this slight elevation. There was not asolitary glimpse of the crimson turban. Trimble Rogers plowed throughthe prickly ash, short of wind and temper, with the musket again readyfor action. His language was hot enough to flash the powder in the pan.
"Lost him a'ready, ye lubbers, whilst I fetched up the rear?" hescolded. "Leave the old dog to find the trail. I be hanged if I take himalive for Stede Bonnet. What say, Bill? Skin and stuff him for atrophy----"
"First catch the slippery son o' Satan," tartly answered Bill. "He hidesaway like a hare. You can track him, no doubt, Trimble, but the sun willbe down ere long. I'll not pass the night in this cursed puddle of aplace."
Just then Jack Cockrell roved far enough to find on the knoll a smallpit freshly dug, with a spade and pick beside it. Like excited children,his two comrades ran to inspect the hole which Blackbeard's seamen haddug ready for the treasure chest. Then they scattered to explore theknoll in search of signs to indicate where previous hoards might havebeen buried. Trimble Rogers scouted like a red Indian, eager to findtraces of upturned earth, or the leaf mould disturbed, or marks of anaxe on the pine trees as symbols of secret guidance. It was a futilequest, possibly because the high spring tides, when swept by easterlygales, had now and then crept back from the coast to cover the knoll andobliterate man's handiwork.
Like a hunter bewitched, the gray buccaneer was absorbed in this rarepastime until Bill Saxby exclaimed:
"Is there no wit in our addled pates? Quit this dashed folly! What ofthe treasure chest that was spilled from the boat?"
"It won't take wings. Wait a bit," growled Trimble. "_Madre de Dios_,but there must be more of it here. This truant Cap'n Teach knew the roadwell. Did ye mark how he doubled for the knoll, like a fox to its hole?"
Jack Cockrell ended the argument when he spoke up, with a shamefacedair:
"We are three heartless men! One
of the seamen is drowned, rest hissoul, and we could not save the poor wretch. But the other fellow wasstabbed and lies in the grass near the stream. For all we know, theremay be life in him."
"Heartless? 'Tis monstrous of us," cried Bill Saxby. "This greed forpirates' gold is like a poison."
They hastened to retrace their steps. The wounded seaman was breathinghis last when they reached his side. They could not have prolonged hislife had they remained with him. Jack Cockrell stroked his damp foreheadand murmured:
"Farewell to ye, Jesse Strawn. Any message before you slip your cable?"
There was a faint whisper of:
"Scuppered, lad! Take warnin' and avast this cruel piratin' or you'llget it. A few words from the Bible 'ud ease me off."
To Jack's amazement, the veteran sinner of the lot, old Trimble Rogers,fumbled in his breeches and withdrew a small book carefully wrapped incanvas. Solemnly he hooked behind his ears a pair of huge, horn-rimmedspectacles and knelt beside the dying pirate. In the manner of a priestthe buccaneer intoned a chapter of Holy Writ which he appeared to knowby rote. Then he said a prayer in a powerful broken voice. Silencefollowed. The others waited with bared heads until Trimble said:
"His soul has passed. Shall we give the poor lad a decent burial?"
"His grave is ready. He helped dig it himself," said Bill Saxby. "Andmay his ghost be a torment to the fiend that slew him."
It seemed a fitting suggestion. In the freshly made treasure pit on theknoll they laid the dead pirate and used the spade to cover him. JackCockrell had a sheath knife with which he fashioned a rude cross andhacked on it:
JESSE STRAWN A. D. 1718
"Aye, his ghost will flit to plague this Cap'n Teach," said TrimbleRogers. "We can leave Jesse Strawn to square his own account. Now forthe sea-chest, though I misdoubt we can fish it up."
Blackbeard: Buccaneer Page 9
