CHAPTER XIX
THE QUEST FOR PIRATES' GOLD
A SMALL sloop was making its leisurely way up the Carolina coast with acrew of a dozen men all told. The skipper was Captain Jonathan Wellsbywho was taking this holiday cruise before sailing for England to commanda fine new ship in the colonial trade. In the cabin were Jack Cockrelland Joe Hawkridge, Councilor Peter Arbuthnot Forbes, and that briskyoung linen draper William Saxby. In the forecastle were trusty seamenwho had sailed in the _Plymouth Adventure_. The sloop's destination wasCherokee Inlet and she was equipped with tackle and gear for a peculiarkind of fishing.
For once they made a voyage without fear of pirates. Safely the slooppassed in by the outlying cay where the charred bones of Blackbeard'sbrig were washed by the surf. An anchorage was found in the bight wherethe _Revenge_ had tarried, close by the beach and the greensward of thepirates' old camp. After diligent preparation all hands manned a boatwhich pulled into the mouth of the sluggish creek. With axes to clearthe entanglements and men enough to shove over the muddy shoals theboat was slowly forced up-stream and then into the smaller creek at thefork of the waters.
Uncle Peter Forbes was as gay as a truant schoolboy. This was the larkof a lifetime. The two lads, however, were uneasy and depressed. To themthis sombre region was haunted, if not by ghosts then by memories asunhappy. They would not have been surprised to see Blackbeard skulkingin the tall grass, his head bound in red calico, his pistols cocked toambush them. And, alas, old Trimble Rogers was not along to protect themwith his musket. He had lived and dreamed in expectation of this quest.
"We'll find no treasure, nary a penny of it," dolefully observed JoeHawkridge who had actually begun to shiver.
"Of course we can find the sea-chest, you ninny," scolded Jack.
"Dead or alive, Cap'n Ed'ard Teach flew away with it afore now," wasJoe's rejoinder. "He was a master one at black magic."
"Don't chatter like an idiot," spoke up Uncle Peter who was wildlybrushing the mosquitoes from a sun-blistered nose. "My faith, I cannotunderstand how you lads got out of this swamp alive. It breeds all theplagues of Egypt."
They came to the tiny lagoon and rounded the bend beyond which thepirogue had capsized Blackbeard's cock-boat. There was nothing toindicate that any human being had visited this lonely spot since thatsensational encounter. No trees had been cut down to serve as purchasesfor lifting the sea-chest from its oozy hiding-place. It was agreed thatsome traces would have remained if Blackbeard had been at work herebefore his death.
A camp was made upon the higher ground of the knoll and the party wentabout its task with skill and deliberation. Jointed sounding rods ofiron were screwed together and the exact position of the spot determinedfrom Jack Cockrell's chart and description. But neither he nor JoeHawkridge could be coaxed into lending more active assistance. They wereafraid of disturbing the bones of the drowned seaman who had fled fromBlackbeard's bloody dirk. Jack had seen him go down and it was not apleasant recollection. And so these two heroes who had faced so manyother perils without flinching were content to putter abouthalf-heartedly and let the others exert themselves.
All one day they prodded and sounded but struck only sunken logs. Whatgave them more concern than this was the discovery that the slenderrods, sharpened to a point, could be driven through one yielding stratumafter another of muck and ooze. Through myriad years the decayingvegetable matter of this rank swamp had been accumulating in theselayers of muck. There was no telling how deep down the weight of thesea-chest might have caused it to settle.
Mr. Peter Forbes began to lose his youthful optimism and took four mento go and dig in the knoll while the others continued to search for thechest. The wooden cross still stood above the grave of Jesse Strawn andthe long-leaf pines murmured his requiem. Having selected at random aplace where he thought treasure ought to be, the worthy Councilorwielded a shovel until he perspired rivers.
"Confound it, Blackbeard must have left a scrap of paper somewhere togive us the proper instructions," he complained. "'Tis the custom of allproper pirates. Look at the trouble he has put us to."
"I helped search the cabin afore the brig was set afire," replied one ofthe seamen, "and all the writin' we found was in the bit of a book withthe leaves tore out, same as Cap'n Wellsby made a fair copy of."
"That explains it," cried Uncle Peter. "I have no doubt the vileBlackbeard destroyed his private note of where he hid it, just to makethe matter more difficult for us honest men."
This was plausible, but it failed to solve the riddle. A day or two ofimpatient digging and the portly Secretary of the Council was almostwrecked in mind and body, what with insects and heat, ague and fatigue.The ardor of his companions had likewise slackened. The boat's crewswore that the condemned sea-chest must have sunk all the way to China.Joe Hawkridge still argued that Blackbeard had whisked it away in acloud of smoke and brimstone. The unhappy Mr. Peter Forbes suggested:
"What say you, lads, to dropping down to the sloop for a respite fromthis accursed swamp? There we can take comfort and discuss what is to bedone next."
Captain Jonathan Wellsby, who was a stubborn man, urged that they fishonce more for the sunken chest before taking a rest, and this was agreedto. The sounding rods were plied with vigor and, at length, one of themdrove against some solid object deep in the mud. It was more unyieldingthan a water-soaked log. The iron rod was lifted and rammed down with athud which was like metal striking against metal. The explorers forgotthe torments of the swamp. Uncle Peter Forbes was in no haste to fleethe mosquitoes and the fever.
The sailors began to rig the spars and tackle as a derrick set up on thebank of the creek, with grapple hooks like huge tongs to swing out overthe water and grope in the muddy depths. Absorbed in this fascinatingtask, they were startled beyond measure to hear the _thump, thump_ ofthole-pins sounding from somewhere below them in the swamp. It was noIndian pirogue. Only a ship's boat heavily manned could make thatcadenced noise of oars. Bill Saxby bade the men be silent while he helda hand at his ear and harkened with taut attention. The mysterious boat,following the winding channel of the creek, was drawing nearer. Voicescould be heard, a rough command, a curse, a laugh.
"No honest men, I warrant," growled Captain Jonathan Wellsby, ready totake command by virtue of long habit. "Who else can they be but pirates,plague 'em. And they are betwixt us and the sea. All hands ashore andlook to your arms. Lively now."
They were bewildered and taken all aback. In this holiday excursionafter Blackbeard's treasure the party had reckoned only with dead orphantom pirates. There was some confusion, while Bill Saxby bawled atthe seamen as addle-pated lubbers. Deserting their boat, they scrambledto cover in the tall grass while those busy with the derrick gear rushedto catch up muskets and powder-horns.
The strange boat was steadily forging up-stream and presently it wasdisclosed to view no more than a cable-length away. It was a pinnacefilled with ruffianly fellows, more than a score of them. No merchantseamen these but brethren of the coast, freebooters who weregallows-ripe. Bill Saxby was quick to recognize two or three of them asold hands of Blackbeard's crew who must have deserted their leader intime to escape his fate. Presumably they had recruited others of theirown stamp to go adventuring in the Cherokee swamp. They could have onlyone purpose. The very sight of them was enough to explain it. They werein quest of treasure like bloodhounds trailing a scent.
Against such a force as this, discretion was the better part of valor. Aferocious yell burst from the pinnace and a flight of musket ballswhistled over the heads of the fugitives who had so hastily abandonedtheir operations with the derrick and gear and the boat. Stout BillSaxby and his comrades, finding concealment in the swamp, primed theirmuskets and let fly a volley at the pinnace which was an easy target. Apirate standing in the stern-sheets clapped a hand to his thigh and satdown abruptly. Another one let go his oar to dangle a bloody hand.
The pinnace drifted with the tide and stranded on a weedy shoal whilethe blue powder smoke hung over
it like a fog. For the moment it was ademoralized crew of pirates, roaring all manner of threats but at a losshow to proceed. The other party took advantage of this delay to beat arapid retreat along the path which led to the knoll where the camp waspitched. Upon this higher ground they might hope to defend themselvesagainst a force which outnumbered them. They ran at top speed, bendinglow, hidden from observation, avoiding the pools and bogs.
The pirates were diverted from their hostile intentions as soon as theycaught sight of the tall spars and tackle, and the boat with itssounding rods and other gear. With a great clamor they swarmed out ofthe pinnace and began to investigate. This gave the refugees on theknoll a little time to make their camp more compact, to wield theshovels furiously and throw up intrenchments, to cut down trees for abarricade, to fill the water kegs, to prepare to withstand an assault ora siege.
The sun went down and the infatuated pirates were still exploring thecreek, convinced that they could straightway lay hold of the treasurethey had come to find. They kindled a fire on the bank and evidentlyintended to pass the night there. This mightily eased the minds of thetoilers upon the knoll. Their predicament was still awkward in theextreme but the fear of sudden death had been lifted. And it seemedpossible that these bothersome pirates might conclude to leave themalone.
It went sorely against the grain, however, to be driven away from theprecious sea-chest when it was almost within their grasp, to have toscuttle from this crew of scurvy pirates. Jack Cockrell was for making asortie by night, gustily declaiming to his companions:
"The sentries will be drunk or drowsy. I know these swine. A well-timedrush and we can cut 'em down and pistol the rest. Didn't they open fireon us from the pinnace?"
"Aye, Jack, and we'll fight to save our skins," said the cool-headedCaptain Wellsby, "but 'tis a desperate business to attack yoncut-throats, even by night, and there will be men of us hurt and killed.Blackbeard's gold is not worth it."
"Right sensibly put," declared Mr. Peter Forbes. "We had best spend thisnight in felling more trees and notching logs to pile them breast high.If these pirates find the sea-chest, they will leave us unmolested. Ifthey fail to find it, they may conclude that we have already discoveredthe treasure. In that event, they will storm the knoll and give us noquarter."
"It would be rank folly to surrender," said stout Bill Saxby. "There bemen in the pinnace who have no love for me nor for the two lads. 'Twas ashrewd suspicion of theirs that Blackbeard had played secret tricks inthis Cherokee swamp, what with his excursions in that little cock-boat."
Keeping vigilant watch, they labored far into the night until the campon the knoll was a hard nut to crack, with its surrounding ditch andpalisade of logs behind which a man could lie and shoot. Now and then itmight have been noted that Jack Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge conferredwith their heads together as though something private were in the wind.As soon as they were relieved from duty, some time before the dawn, theystole very softly away from the knoll and groped along the path whichled to the creek. Curiosity and the impetuous folly of youth impelledthem to reconnoitre the pirates' bivouac.
"We may hear something worth listening to," whispered Jack, "and perhapswe can crawl close and steal some of their arms."
"None of that," chided young Hawkridge. "I am a man of goodly station inCharles Town and I would go back with a whole hide."
"You have grown too respectable," grumbled Jack. "Here is the chance forone last fling----"
His words stuck in his throat. A gurgle of horrified amazement and hetumbled headlong into the grass with a bare, sinewy arm wrapped aroundhis neck. He fought to free himself but the breath was fairly choked outof him. Joe Hawkridge was desperately thrashing about in the swamp,gasping and snorting, his cries also smothered. In a twinkling they werecaptives, their arms tightly bound behind them, the stifling grip oftheir necks unrelaxed. Weakened almost to suffocation, the two ladscould make no lively resistance. Jack uttered one feeble shout for helpbut subsided when those strong fingers tightened the clutch on hiswindpipe.
The assailants made no sound. Not a word was uttered. There were severalof them, for the helpless prisoners were picked up bodily and luggedalong by the head and the heels. They expected to be taken into thepirates' camp, believing they had been surprised and overpowered by anoutlying sentry post. It was an old game, reflected Joe Hawkridge, tohold them alive as hostages. But he was vastly puzzled when these silentkidnappers, deftly picking their way in the darkness, took a directionwhich led them away from the bank of the creek. They had forsaken thetrampled path and were proceeding through the trackless swamp whosepitfalls were avoided by a sort of sixth sense.
A mile of this laborious, uncanny progress and the bearers dumped theirburdens and paused to rest. The two lads dizzily crawled to their feetand peered at the shadowy figures surrounding them. They heard aguttural exclamation and words exchanged in a strange, harsh tongue.
"Indians, blow me!" hoarsely whispered Joe, his throat sore and swollen.
"Comrade ahoy!" croaked Jack. "No pirates these, but Yemassees. Do theysave us for the torture?"
"God knows. 'Tis a sorry mischance as ever was. I'd sooner meet up withBlackbeard's ghost. Are ye badly hurt?"
"Like a man hanged by the neck, Joe, but no mortal wounds. Had we mindedUncle Peter we would be safe in the sloop by now. One more day ofhunting that filthy treasure undid us."
The half dozen Yemassees squatted about them, talking in low tones, andoffered no further violence. Presumably they were waiting for daybreak,having conveyed their prisoners beyond all chance of rescue. The twolads shivered with fear and weariness. They were bruised and breathlessand the thongs which tightly bound their wrists made their arms acheintolerably. Bitter was the regret at invading this baleful Cherokeeswamp when they might have remained safe from all harm in pleasantCharles Town.
Sadly they watched the eastern sky grow brighter while the gloom of thedesolate swamp turned wan and gray. The Indian captors became visible,brown, half-naked men wearing leggings and breech-clouts of tanneddeerskin. Two of them carried muskets. They were not made hideous bywar-paint, as Jack Cockrell was quick to note. He said to his companion:
"A hunting party, Joe. They were spying on our camp, like enough, orkeeping watch of the pirates. No doubt they wonder why white men come tofight one another in the swamp."
"They will wish to find out from us," was the hopeful reply. "They seema deal more curious than bloodthirsty. A stout heart, say I, and we mayweather it yet."
Soon the lads were roughly prodded ahead and went stumbling andsplashing through the marshy verdure and slippery ooze until they cameto higher ground and easier walking. Upon this ridge they descried thecamp of the Yemassees--huts fashioned of poles and bark and boughs, afreshly killed deer hanging from a tree, smoke rising from beneath ahuge iron kettle, plump, naked children scampering in play with severalbarking dogs, the squaws shrilly scolding them. Several warriors lazilyemerged from the huts, yawning, brushing the long black hair from theireyes.
They moved more actively at perceiving the procession which approachedfrom the swamp. Two or three ran back to the largest shelter andpresently a big-bodied, middle-aged man strode out, his mien stern anddignified, his rank denoted by the elaborate fringed tunic of buckskinand the head-dress of heron plumes. He shouted something in a sonorousvoice. The hunting party hastened forward, dragging the two English ladsby the elbows and flinging them down at the feet of the chief. He stoodwith arms folded across his chest, scowling, formidable.
Then he spoke a few words of broken English, to the astonishment of thecaptives. He mentioned the names of settlements on the Cape Fear Riverwhere, it was inferred, he had been on friendly terms with thecolonists. His manner was not so much hostile as questioning. In CharlesTown both Joe and Jack had learned the common phrases of the Indiantongue such as were used among the merchants and traders. Pieced outwith signs and gestures, they were able to carry on a halting dialoguewith the chief of this small band.
They were able to comprehend that he hated pirates above all other men.He recognized the name of Blackbeard and indicated his great joy thatthis eminent scoundrel had met his just deserts. Many times thefreebooters of the coast had hunted and slain the Indians for wantonsport. And perhaps the word had sped of that expedition of Captain StedeBonnet out of Charles Town when he had exterminated the Yemassees whohad set out to harry and burn the near-by plantations. The two uneasylads felt that they still stood in the shadow of death unless they couldpersuade the chief that they were not pirates, that they were in no wayto be confused with the crew of blackguards which had ascended the creekin the pinnace.
The chief delayed his judgment. Two young men lifted the huge kettlefrom the fire. It was steaming with a savory smell of stewed meat. Thecaptives were invited to join the others in spearing bits of venisonwith sharpened sticks. Chewing lustily, with a noble appetite, JoeHawkridge confided:
"My spirits rise, Jack. An empty belly always did make a coward of me.How now, my lusty cockerel? Shall we flap our wings and crow?"
"Crow we must, or have our necks wrung as pirates," said Jack, gnawing abone. "Which one of us shall make the first oration?"
"The nephew of the Councilor, of course," cried Joe, "with his cargo ofGreek and Latin education. Make a power of noise, Jack."
And now indeed did young Master Cockrell prove that all those drudginghours with snuffy Parson Throckmorton had not been wasted. Standing inan open space, clear of the crowd, he addressed the chief in loud andimpressive language. The gist of it was that he and his friends were thesworn foes of all pirates and especially anxious to rid the world ofsuch vermin as those that had come into the Cherokee swamp in the greatship'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 insearch of pirates' gold. If the chief of the Yemassees would join forceswith them and smoke the pipe of peace, they would drive those foulpirates out of the Cherokee swamp. And should the gold be found, itwould be fairly divided between the godly men of Charles Town and theirIndian allies. To bind this bargain Master Cockrell and Master Hawkridgewere ready to pledge their honor and their lives.
It was a most eloquent effort delivered with much gesticulation. TheYemassee braves set in a circle and grunted approval. They liked thesound and fury of it. Jack hurled scraps of Homer and Virgil at themwhen at a loss for resounding periods. The chief nodded hisunderstanding of such words as _pirates_ and _gold_ and actually smiledwhen Jack's pantomime depicted the death of Blackbeard on the deck ofhis ship. _Gold_ was a magic word to these Indians. It would purchasemuskets and powder and ball, cloth and ironmongery and strong liquorsfrom the white men of the settlements.
The chief discussed it with his followers. During the lull JoeHawkridge said, with a long sigh of relief:
"My scalp itches not so much, Jack. The notion of having it twisted offwith a dull blade vexed me. Ye did wondrous well. The mouth of SecretaryPeter Forbes would ha' gaped wide open."
"Much sound and little sense, Joe, but methinks it hit the target. Itook care to sprinkle it with such words as yonder savage could biteon."
"If we find no gold, the fat may be in the fire again, but it gives ustime to draw breath."
They rubbed their chafed wrists and sat on the ground while the savagesheld a long pow-wow. The chief was explaining the purport of MasterCockrell's impressive declamation. There was no enmity in the glancesaimed at the English lads. It was more a matter of deliberation, ofpassing judgment on the truth or the falsity of the story. It was plainto read that the Yemassees desired to lay greedy hold of Blackbeard'sgold. They were like children listening to a fairy tale. The fat littlepapooses crawled timidly near to inspect the mysterious strangers andscrambled away squealing with delicious terror.
The hours passed and the verdict was delayed. Two young braves stoleaway 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 Yemasseewarriors from another hunting camp, strong, quick-footed men in lightmarching order who were armed with long bows and knives. The chief spokea few words and mustered his force. All told he had more than thirtypicked followers. The English lads were told to move with them.
In single file the band flitted silently along the ridge and plungedinto the swamp. The prisoners were closely guarded. At the slightestsign of treachery the long knives would slither between their ribs. Thisthey well knew and their devout prayer was that their friends on theknoll might not commit some rash act of hostility and so ruin theenterprise. With heart-quaking trepidation they perceived at somedistance the rude barricade of logs and the yellow streaks of earthhastily thrown up.
The cautious Yemassees concealed themselves as though the swamp hadswallowed them up. The chief made certain signs, and the lads understoodhis meaning. Jack Cockrell ripped a sleeve from his shirt and tied it toa stick as a flag of truce. Joe Hawkridge advanced with them, thestalwart chief between them, his empty hands extended in token of peace.The ambushed Yemassees, lying in the tall grass, were ready to let flywith 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 headsbob above the logs, and the gleam of weapons. Then Captain JonathanWellsby moved out into the open and was joined by Mr. Peter Forbes.They stood gazing at the singular spectacle, the bedraggled runaways whohad vanished without trace, the odd flag of truce, the brawny, dignifiedsavage making signs of friendship. The men in the stockade were orderedto lay down their arms. They came running out to cheer and wave theirhats.
Mr. Peter Forbes was torn betwixt affection and the desire to scold hisflighty nephew. They met half-way down the slope and Jack hastened toexplain:
"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 tallsavage?"
"A noble chief of the Yemassees who used us with all courtesy," saidJack.
Captain Wellsby had drawn Joe Hawkridge aside and was swiftlyenlightened concerning the alliance with the Indians. Presently theywere holding a conference, all seated together in the shade of a tree. Atobacco pipe of clay, with a long reed for a stem, was lighted andpassed from hand to hand. The chief puffed solemnly with an occasionalnod and a grunt. It was agreed, with due ceremony, that the piratesshould be attacked in their camp and driven away. The Yemassee warriorswould make common cause with the Englishmen. As a reward, Blackbeard'streasure was to be fairly divided, half and half.
The chief raised his voice in a long, deep shout of summons and his bandof fighting men emerged from their ambush in the swamp. There was noreason for delaying the movement against the pirates. The Yemassees wereeager for the fray. They were about to advance through the swamp,cunningly hidden, while the Englishmen followed at a slower pace tospread out on the flanks. Just then there was heard a sudden and riotouscommotion among the pirates at the creek. It was a mad, jubilant uproaras though some frenzy had seized them all. Bill Saxby leaned on hismusket and listened for a long moment.
"The rogues have fished up the sea-chest, by the din they make," saidhe. "We left that sounding rod a-stickin' in the mud. They save us thetrouble, eh, Captain Wellsby?"
The skipper laughed in his beard and floundered ahead like a bear. JackCockrell 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 asthough it would burst.
He was in time to see four lusty pirates swaying at a rope which ledthrough the pulley-blocks of the spars that overhung the creek as atall derrick. They were hoisting away with all their might while thereslowly rose in air a mud-covered, befouled sea-chest all hung with weedsa
nd slimy refuse. Two other pirates tailed on to a guy rope and theheavy chest swung toward the bank, suspended in air.
At this moment the screeching chorus of the Indian war-whoop smote theiraffrighted ears, followed by the discharge of muskets. These startledpirates let go the tackle and the guy rope and, with one accord, leapedfor the pinnace which floated close to the bank. The weighty sea-chestswinging in air came down by the run as the ropes smoked through theblocks. It had been swayed in far enough so that it fell not in thewater but upon the edge of the shore between the derrick spars. Therusty hinges and straps were burst asunder as the treasure chest crashedupon a log and cracked open like an egg.
Out spilled a stream of doubloons and pieces of eight, a cascade of goldand silver bars, of jewels flowing from the rotten bags which hadcontained them. In this extraordinary manner was the hoard of thedeparted Blackbeard brought to light. The unfortunate pirates who hadfound the spoils tarried not to gloat and rejoice. They appeared to haveurgent business elsewhere. In hot pursuit came the ravening Yemassees,yelling like fiends, assisted by the reinforcements of Captain JonathanWellsby.
What saved the lives of these panic-smitten pirates was the dramaticexplosion of that great treasure chest when it fell and smashed upon thelog. Indians and Englishmen alike forgot their intent to shoot andslaughter. They rushed to surround the bewitching booty, to cut caperslike excited urchins.
"Share and share," roared Captain Wellsby, shoving them headlong. "Halfto the Yemassees and half to us. Our word is given. Stand back, yelunatics, while we do the thing with order and decency."
Already the pinnace was filled with cursing pirates who saw that thegame was lost. Some of them had left their weapons in camp, others fireda few wild shots, but those who had any wit left were tugging at theoars to make for the open sea.
"After 'em," roared Bill Saxby. "Follow down the creek to make sure theydo not molest our sloop."
A score of men, Indians included, jumped into the boat and pulled inchase, no longer on slaughter bent. The only thought in their heads wasto despatch the errand and return to squat around the treasure chest.Jack Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge remained to help scoop up the coin andjewels and stow them in stout kegs and sacks. The stoical chief of theYemassees was grinning from ear to ear as he grunted:
"_Plenty gold. Good! Hurrah, boys!_"
Arm-in-arm Jack Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge danced a sailor's hornpipeupon the splintered lid of Blackbeard's sea-chest while they sang withall their might:
"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._"
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 34, "Steve" changed to "Stede" (Stede Bonnet frowned)
Page 77, "than" changed to "them" (rally them for attack)
Page 85, "arsensal" changed to "arsenal" (arsenal of himself)
Page 306, "Yemasses" changed to "Yemassees" (The Yemassees were eager)
Blackbeard: Buccaneer Page 19
